Only One Love; or, Who Was the Heir

“What do you mean?” asked Jack, sharply.

“Where have you been to-night?” asked Leonard.

“To the theater with Lady Bell.”

“I expected as much,” said Leonard, and he fell to at his writing, and would say no more, though Jack stormed and raved.

Meanwhile the Davenant party had, thanks to Stephen, made a comfortable journey. They found a carriage and pair waiting for them at the station; not the ramshackle vehicle of the old squire’s time, but a new carriage from the best man in Long Acre, and they were rolled along the country lanes in a style Ralph Davenant would have marveled at.

Presently they came in sight of the Hurst, and Mrs. Davenant uttered an exclamation.

“Why, Stephen, it is altered!” she said.

Stephen smiled proudly.

Short as the time had been he had effected a radical change in the old house; a hundred workmen had been busy, and the ramshackle old mansion had been transformed. Wings had been added, the grounds had been newly laid out; the road, even, had been altered, and they drove through an avenue of thriving young limes.

Una, silent and interested, kept her eyes fixed on the house. She had often heard Jack describe it, but this palatial residence did not answer to his description. Stephen’s money and energy had entirely transformed the place.

The carriage pulled up at the entrance, and half a dozen grooms flew to the horses’ heads: footmen in handsome liveries stood in attendance, and the servants formed a lane for their master to pass through. Una had often read of such a reception, but here was a reality.

Stephen helped her to alight, and took her and his mother on his arm, his head erect, a warm flush on his cheek.

Suddenly the flush disappeared and a frown took its place as he saw amongst the crowd gathered together at the entrance the parchment-like visage of old Skettle.

But the frown disappeared as he entered the house, and stood silent, listening to the approving comments of Mrs. Davenant.

“My dear Stephen,” she said, “you have certainly altered the place – I should not have known it. And is this what was the gloomy old Hall?”

“Yes,” said Stephen, proudly, and he glanced round at the alterations with an air of satisfaction, and looked at Una’s face for some sign of approval.

But Una was looking around anxiously. If it was so much altered, then it was not the old home that Jack knew and remembered.

“You will find everything altered and improved, I hope,” said Stephen.

Altered, indeed! They have even shifted the old staircase, so that it would have been difficult to have found the room in which the old squire died, exclaiming:

“You thief! you thief! what have you done with the will?”

Yes, indeed, there was great alteration. The old squire, if he had come to life again, would not have known Hurst as Stephen had made it. Masons, carpenters, and decorators had been at work to some purpose. Everything was changed, and unmistakably for the better.

Stephen looked around with an air of pride.

“They have been very quick,” he said. “I placed it in good hands. You will find everything you require up-stairs. You must know,” he said, turning to Una, “that I found the place little better than a barn, and have done my best to make it fit to receive you! You are looking at the portraits,” he added, seeing Una’s gaze wandering along the double line of dead and gone Davenants. Most of them you would not have seen two months ago, they had been terribly neglected, but I have had them cleaned and renewed. That is the old squire, my poor uncle,” and he sighed comfortably.

Una paused before this, the last portrait of the series, and looked at it long and curiously, and the other two stood and watched her, Stephen with a keen glance of scrutiny and with a nervous tremor about his heart. If she could but know that she was looking at the portrait of her own father! Una turned away at last with a faint sigh. She was thinking that this was the old man who had once loved Jack and left him to poverty.

Mrs. Davenant shuddered slightly.

“He was a terrible old man, my dear,” she murmured, “and always frightened me. I trembled when he looked at me.”

“He does not look so terrible,” said Una, sadly.

Stephen fidgeted slightly.

“Come,” he said, “you must not catch cold. Your maids are here by this time. Will you go up to your room? The housekeeper will show them to you, and I hope you will find everything comfortable.”

Very slowly, looking to right and left of her, Una followed Mrs. Davenant up the broad staircase.

The place seemed to have a strange fascination for her; she could almost have persuaded herself that she had been in it before, and it seemed familiar, though so much changed from all likeness to Jack’s description of it.

They found the rooms upstairs beautifully decorated, and furnished in the most approved and luxurious style. Lady Bell’s house in Park Lane even was eclipsed.

“Stephen has made it a palace,” said Mrs. Davenant. “How I used to hate it in the old time! it was so dark and grim and gloomy, always felt dull and damp. Stephen tells me that he has had it thoroughly drained after the new fashion, and that it is quite dry. Such a palace as this wants a mistress; I wish he would marry.”

“Why do you not tell him so?” said Una, with a smile.

Mrs. Davenant shook her head nervously.

“That would do no good, my dear,” she said. “I sometimes think he will never marry.”

And she glanced at Una with some embarrassment. A dim suspicion had of late crossed her mind that if Una had been free, Stephen might have stood in Jack’s place. She could not help noticing Stephen’s close attendance on Una – a mother’s eyes are sharp to note such things.

If the old squire could have seen the dining-room and the elaborate menu that evening, he would have stared and sworn. Stephen had engaged a French cook; the appointments were as perfect as they could be; the servants admirably trained, and as to the wines the Hurst cellar stood second to none in the country.

It almost seemed as if he were sparing no pains to impress on Una all that the wife of Stephen Davenant would possess. And Una, more than half the dinner-time, was thinking of Jack, and fondly picturing the little house they had so often talked of setting up when the commissionership came home. Just at the same time, Jack was leaning over Lady Bell’s chair in the theater.

Stephen was in his best mood, and exerted himself to the uttermost. He described the neighborhood, planned excursions and expeditions; told innumerable anecdotes of the village folk, and played the host to perfection.

In a thousand ways he showed his anxiety for Una’s comfort; and after dinner he had the place lit up, and went over it, asking her opinion on this point and the other, and humbly begging her to suggest alterations. So much so that Una began to grow shy and reserved, and shrank closer to Mrs. Davenant; and Stephen, quick to see when he was going too fast, left them and went to the library to write letters.

Now, strange to say, of all the rooms in the house, this one room remained unaltered. He had not allowed it to be touched – indeed it was kept closely locked, and the key never left him night and day. Just as it had been on the night of the squire’s death, when Stephen stood with the stolen will in his hand, so it was now.

He never entered it without a shudder, and all the time he was in it his eyes unconsciously wandered over the floor and furniture as if mechanically searching for something.

It exerted a strange, weird influence over him, and seemed to draw him into it. Tonight he paced up and down, looking at the familiar objects, and making no attempt to write his letters.

His brain was busy, not with schemes of ambition and avarice, but of love. The blood ran riot in his veins as he thought that Una was under the same roof as himself, and one mighty resolve took possession of him.

“She shall never leave it but to come back as my wife,” was his resolve.

Even the lost will did not trouble him tonight. He had Una in his grasp, Una upon whom everything turned.

It was far into the morning before he went to bed, and at the head of the stairs he turned and looked round with a proud smile.

“All – all mine!” he muttered, “and I will have her, too,” and he went to sleep and dreamed, not of Una, but of Laura Treherne.

All through the watches of the night the pale, dark face haunted him. At times he saw it peering at him through the library window, at others it was pursuing him along an endless road; but always it wore a threatening aspect and filled him with a vague terror.

Some men’s conscience only awake at night.

CHAPTER XXXII

If Una had been a queen visiting some distant part of her realm, more elaborate preparations for her amusement could not have been made.

Not a day passed but Stephen had got some proposition for pleasuring, and he never tired of hunting up some place to go.

One morning they would drive to some romantic and historic spot; another there would be some flower show or fete, which he insisted upon them seeing; on others, they would play lawn tennis in the now beautiful grounds. The fame of the new Hurst had spread abroad, and those of the county families who were in residence called at once, and dinner parties were given and accepted. So the week glided by quickly, even to Una, who reckoned time by the day on which she would see Jack.

Every morning there came a scrawl – Jack’s handwriting was mysterious and terrible – from him; in every letter he expressed his longing to see her, and the hateful time he was having in town. But every letter had some mention of Lady Bell; and it was evident that he spent most of his time at Park Lane.

But Una was not jealous – she put away from her resolutely any feeling of that kind.

“I am so glad that Lady Bell is in town, and that Jack has some place to go to,” she said to Mrs. Davenant.

And Mrs. Davenant smiled; but sighed at the same time. To her, as to others, it seemed that Jack spent too much time in attendance upon the great heiress.

Stephen’s money flew, it was scattered about in every direction; but still he was not popular. Men touched their hats, but they never smiled as they had done at the old squire, and as they had done at Jack. There was something about Stephen that the Hurst folk could not and would not take to; and even while they were drinking with his money, they talked of Master Jack and shook their heads regretfully.

And Stephen knew it, and hated them all; but most of all hated old Skettle. It seemed as if the old man was ubiquitous; he was everywhere. Stephen could not take a walk outside the grounds but he came upon the old man; and, though Skettle always raised his hat and gave him “Good-day,” Stephen felt the small, keen eyes watching him. Of Hudsley he had seen nothing.

At last the county papers announced the important fact that Lady Earlsley had arrived at Earl’s Court, and Una knew that in two days she would see Jack.

That night Stephen was more attentive than ever. They had been dining out at a neighbor’s, and were sitting in the drawing-room, talking over the evening. The prospect of Jack’s coming had brought a glad light to Una’s eyes – a brighter color to her face. In two days she should see him! In her happiness she felt amiable and tender to all around her, and, for the first time, she responded to Stephen’s unceasing devotion. He had brought in from the new library a whole pile of books relating to the county, and was showing and explaining the illustrations.

“That is Earl’s Court,” he said; “a beautiful place, isn’t it? But Lady Bell has several grander places than that.”

“She is very rich,” said Una.

“Very,” he said, thoughtfully. “It’s a pity that she does not marry.”

Una smiled.

“She says that she will never marry,” she said.

Stephen looked up.

“And yet a little while ago they were saying that she would be married before the year was out.”

“Indeed!” said Una.

“It would be a grand match for any one,” said Stephen. “It would have been a great match for him.”

“For him?” said Una. “Who was it?”

Stephen started and looked embarrassed, as if he had made a slip of the tongue.

“Well,” he said, with a little, awkward laugh; “but – are you jealous? Perhaps I ought not to tell tales out of school, though the affair is off long ago, and he has made a happier choice.”

Una put the fire screen on one side and looked at him calmly. He was sitting almost at her feet. Mrs. Davenant was dozing in her accustomed arm-chair.

“Of whom do you speak?” she asked.

Stephen hesitated, as if reluctant to reply.

“Well,” he said, “it is mere gossip, of course, but gossip awarded the great prize of the season to a near and dear friend of yours.”

Una’s heart beat fast. She guessed what was coming.

“Tell me,” she said, in a low voice.

“Tut!” said Stephen, as if ashamed to retail such idle gossip.

“Well, they said that Jack meant to marry the great heiress.”

“It is not true,” Una said; but her color went, and left her quite pale and cold.

“Of course not,” said Stephen, cheerfully; “though I would not say but there was some excuse for the rumor. Jack was a great deal at Park Lane until he met – one who shall be nameless.” And he looked up at her with a smile. “Why, they went so far as to congratulate him,” he said, laughing as if at an excellent joke. “And indeed I think if Jack had said ‘Yes,’ Lady Bell would not have said ‘No.’ So, you see, that you have made a veritable conquest!”

And he laughed again.

But there was no answering smile on Una’s pale face. It was not of Lady Bell she thought, but of herself and Jack.

It was true she had stepped in between Jack and wealth and prosperity – she, the penniless daughter of a woodman, had prevented his marrying the great heiress and becoming the master of Earl’s Court and all the Earlsley wealth! A chill passed over her, and she raised the screen to hide her face from Stephen’s eye.

“Yes, it would have been a great match for Jack,” he said, carelessly – “it would have set him on his feet, as they say. But he is still more fortunate.” And he sighed.

Una rose.

“I think I will go up now,” she said; and she went and woke Mrs. Davenant.

Stephen escorted them to the head of the stairs, smiling as if nothing had been said, and then went straight to the old library and rang the bell.

It was understood that no one was to answer the library bell but Slummers, and Slummers now appeared.

Stephen wrote two letters; one ran thus:

“My Dear Mr. Rolfe: – Be kind enough to be at my chambers tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

The other was still more short; it was addressed to Mr. Levy Moss:

“Put on the screw at once.”

Calmly and leisurely he put them in their envelopes, as if the fate and happiness of two souls were not hanging upon them, and gave them to Slummers.

“Take the morning express and deliver these yourself,” he said, quietly. “I shall follow you by the midday train. When you have done so, find Mr. Newcombe and keep him in sight. You understand?”

“Quite, sir,” said Slummers, and disappeared as silently as usual.

CHAPTER XXXIII

It was Jack’s last day in town. Tomorrow he would be at Earl’s Court, and in the evening would be riding as fast as a horse could carry him to Una.

The hours seemed to drift with leaden wings.

It was no use going to Park Lane, for the blinds were down, and Lady Bell was at Earl’s Court. It was no use going to the club, for the whitewashers had taken possession of it; never had Jack been so utterly bored and wearied. At last he strolled into the park, and sat on one of the seats and stared at the Row, giving himself up to thoughts of Una, and picturing their meeting on the morrow.

He lingered in the park till dusk: then he went home to dress.

“Still writing, old man?” he said, as he entered, and laid his hand on Leonard’s shoulder.

“Halloa! is that you, Jack?” said Leonard, throwing down his pen. “I have been expecting you.”

“Why for?” asked Jack, yawning. Then he looked up curiously. “I wish I’d known it; I’d have come home. Look here, Len, we’ll go and dine somewhere; if there is anything left to eat in this howling desert of a London. If ever any man was bored to death and sick of it, I am this day. Twenty-four hours more of it, and I should chuck myself into the Serpentine! I never spent such a day – ”

He stopped suddenly, for he became conscious that Leonard was standing, looking down at him with a grave and earnest regard.

“What’s the matter, old man?” he asked.

Leonard hesitated.

“Jack,” he said, at last, “Moss has been here.”

“Oh, has he?” said Jack, carelessly.

“Yes, and there is trouble about. He is pressing for his money.”

“What!” exclaimed Jack.

Leonard nodded.

“Yes, he means mischief; he made quite a fuss here. Said he had a heavy claim to meet – ”

“Oh, I know that old yarn.”

“And that he must and would have money to meet those bills of yours.”

Jack looked grave.

“Did he mean it?”

“Yes,” said Leonard. “Thanks to you, I know Mr. Levy Moss by this time, and I am sure he was in earnest.”

“Confound him!” muttered Jack.

“Confounding him won’t pay him,” said Leonard, sensibly.

Jack rose and paced the room.

“What am I to do, Len?”

“I don’t know,” said Leonard. “If I could help you – but all I have wouldn’t meet one bill.”

“And I wouldn’t take it if it would,” said Jack. “But I can’t understand it! Only last week he was bothering me to take a hundred or two.”

Leonard shook his head.

“All I can tell you is, that he was simply furious. He said that he must and would have some money, that if you did not pay him he would – ”

“Well?” said Jack, grimly.

“That he would put you through the Court,” said Leonard.

Jack turned pale.

“What am I to do?” he said. “I have been relying on the commissionership that Stephen promised, and Moss seemed quite willing to wait. I can’t find any money.”

Leonard shook his head.

“The man was furious. Worse than I have ever seen him. You will have to find some money somewhere. How much do you owe him?”

Jack tilted his hat on one side and scratched his head.

“Hanged if I know. He has let me have a great deal lately. Five hundred, perhaps.”

“Jack, you have been a fool,” said Leonard. “I told you that it was no use counting upon the place your cousin Stephen promised you.”

“I don’t so much care for myself, but Una, Una,” said Jack, with a groan. Then he jumped up. “Let us go and get some dinner, and think it over.”

They went to a well-known house in Strand, and Jack, careless Jack, ordered a dinner fit for a prince, and enjoyed it as he would have enjoyed it if he had been going to be hanged on the morrow.

“I don’t understand Moss,” he said. “He was everything that was agreeable and pleasant a few days ago.”

“And today he was like a wolf hunting for a bone,” said Leonard. “Hello, who’s this?” for a gentleman had entered the dining-room and approached their table.

“Why, it’s Stephen!” exclaimed Jack, forgetting Moss in a moment. “Just in time, Stephen, we’ll have another bottle of claret up. What on earth brings you to town? And how is – how are they all?”

Stephen sat down with a grave smile, and just sipped the claret, the best the house had on its list. And he sat and talked till the wine was finished, the greater part of which Jack drank, then he said:

“Jack, I want you to come to my chambers; I have something to tell you.”

“All right,” said Jack. “Leonard can find his way home very well.”

Stephen called a hansom, and they were rattled away to the Albany.

As they ascended the stairs, Stephen laid his hand on Jack’s arm.

“Jack, I am sorry to say I have bad news for you. You will be calm.”

“Bad news!” said Jack, and his heart stood still. “What is it? Una – ”

“Yes,” said Stephen; “it is about Una. You will be calm, my dear Jack?”

Jack leaned against the balustrade and drew a long breath.

“Is she ill – dead?” he gasped.

“Neither,” said Stephen. “Come, be a man.”

“I am ready,” said Jack. “If she is neither ill nor dead I can bear anything else.”

Stephen opened the door, and Jack, entering, saw Gideon Rolfe standing on the hearthrug.

“Mr. Rolfe!” he exclaimed. “How do you do? I am very glad to see you!” and he held out his hand.

Gideon Rolfe nodded and turned aside.

“What is it? What is the matter?” asked Jack, turning to Stephen, who had carefully closed the door and stood with knitted brow and sad countenance.

At Jack’s question he glanced at Rolfe, and then, with a sigh, said:

“Yes, Jack, I will tell you. It will come better from me than Mr. Rolfe. Jack, you were right in suspecting that the business referred to Una. She is quite well – and happy. But – but I am afraid your engagement must cease.”

At this, Jack’s calmness came back to him, and with something like a smile, he said, scornfully:

“Indeed!”

“Yes,” said Gideon Rolfe, but Stephen held up his hand and silenced him.

“Perhaps you will tell me for what reason?” said Jack, quietly.

“For a sad, very sad reason,” said Stephen, in a subdued and mournful tone. “Jack, my heart bleeds for you – ”

“Never mind your heart,” said Jack, curtly. “Come to the point, Stephen.”

“I sympathize with you deeply,” continued Stephen, not at all affronted. “The fact is, Mr. Rolfe has tonight made a communication respecting our dear young friend, which has completely overwhelmed me – ”

“Let me see if it will overwhelm me,” said Jack. “What is it?”

“My dear Jack, it is a story involving shame – ”

“Shame!” echoed Jack, and his brow darkened. “To whom?”

“To those who can feel shame no longer,” said Stephen; “but alas! its shadow falls on a young life as innocent and pure as the angels.”

“On Una?” demanded Jack, fiercely.

Stephen bowed his head.

“Yes, Jack. Una is a nameless child – she is illegitimate.”

Jack reeled and fell into a chair, and there he sat for a moment.

“It is a lie!” he said at last.

“It is true!” said the deep voice of Gideon Rolfe; and Jack, fixing his startled eyes on the rough, ragged face, knew that it was the truth.

With a groan he covered his face with his hands; then he started up and struck the table a blow that made Stephen wince.

“Well,” he exclaimed, with a short laugh – “well, what business is it of anyone’s but mine and Una’s? What do I care whether she is illegitimate or not? Let her be the daughter of whom she may, married or unmarried, it matters not to me. She is Una, and that is enough!”

His voice rang out loud and clear as a bell’s tone, and he looked from one to the other defiantly.

“And now that is settled,” he said, sternly. “Let us come to particulars, to proof. Mr. Rolfe, though I know you are averse to our marriage, I believe you. I do not think you are capable of inventing a lie – a base, fiendish lie – to serve your ends. But all the same I ask, and not without reason, some proofs. First, who are Una’s parents?”

Gideon Rolfe was about to reply, but a glance from Stephen stopped him.

“That is the question I have implored Mr. Rolfe to answer,” he said. “I have entreated him to give us some information, but he declines. It is a secret which he says shall go down to the grave with him, unless – ”

“Unless what?” demanded Jack, hoarsely.

“Unless you are still determined to hold Una to her engagement. Then – ”

He paused, and Jack looked from one to the other.

“Well?”

“Then he declares he will go to Una and inform her of the shame that clings to her name.”

Jack uttered a low cry and sank back in his chair. He saw by what heavy chains he was bound. To get possession of Una he must inflict the agony of shame upon her.

If ever a man loved truly and nobly Jack loved Una. He would have died the death to spare her a moment’s pain; and here was this man threatening to darken and curse her whole life if he, Jack, did not relinquish her.

“Are you human?” he said, turning his eyes upon Gideon Rolfe with a wild, hunted gaze.

Gideon Rolfe smiled bitterly.

“I am human enough to prevent this marriage.”

Jack rose and confronted him.

“I will not give her up,” he said hoarsely. “I defy you!”

“Good!” said Gideon Rolfe. “Then I go to the girl and acquaint her with the true story of her birth. If I know her – and I do – she has sufficient pride to prevent her staining so honorable a family as the Davenants by marrying into it,” and he sneered bitterly.

Jack’s face flushed.

“You professed to love her,” he said. “Are you totally indifferent to her happiness?”

“No happiness could follow her union to one of your race,” said Gideon Rolfe.

Stephen trembled. He was playing a dangerous and desperate game. A word from Rolfe might put Jack in possession of Una’s real parentage, and Stephen would be ruined.

“My dear Jack,” he said, sorrowfully, “I have besought Mr. Rolfe, almost on my knees, to hold his hand, but he is like stone – immovable.”

There was a pause.

Jack stood, his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly. His frenzied brain saw the whole thing clearly. On one side stood his passionate love and his life-long happiness, on the other Una’s shame and agony.

“I love her so!” he moaned.

“You say that you love her,” said Gideon Rolfe, sternly. “Prove it by saving her from the knowledge of the shame which clings to her name. If your love is worth anything it will make that sacrifice. Remember, it is on your side only. She is young – a mere girl, a few weeks, months at most, and she will have learned to forget you.”

“That’s a lie, at least,” groaned Jack. “I know her better than you.”

“No matter,” said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. “Time will heal a disappointed love; no time can heal an undying shame.”

Jack rose and paced the room.

“Leave me alone for a few minutes,” he said hoarsely. “I must think this out; nothing you can say can influence me.”

At a signal from Stephen, Gideon Rolfe remained silent.

Five minutes passed and then Jack came to the light.

The handsome face was haggard and white and so changed that ten years might have passed over his head in those few minutes.

“Mr. Rolfe,” he said, and his voice was broken and hollow, “why you bear me such deadly enmity I cannot imagine, and you will not tell me?”

Gideon Rolfe made a gesture of assent.

“It is a mystery to me; I only know its results. Once more I ask you to relent, and spare the unhappiness of both of us.”

“I am resolved,” said Gideon. “Either relinquish her or I tell her all. The decision is in your hands. I do not doubt you will seize your happiness, even at the cost of her shame.”

“Then you wrong me,” said Jack. “Rather than she should know the shadow which hangs on her life I relinquish her.”

A light gleamed in Stephen’s eyes, and his lips twitched.

“This I do,” continued Jack, in a voice so low and broken that it scarcely reached them, “placing implicit trust in your assertion that she is – as you state.”

He drew a long breath.

“I dare not risk it; but if in the future I should find that you have played me false – if, I say, this should prove a lie, then I tell you beware, for, as there is a Heaven above us, I will take my vengeance.”

“So be it,” said Gideon Rolfe, grimly. “Now write,” and he pointed to a bureau on which stood pen and paper, as if prepared for use.

Jack started.

“You will not take my word?” he said, bitterly.

Gideon Rolfe hesitated; but, at a glance from Stephen, said:

“Let the knowledge that the engagement is at an end come from you; it will be better so.”

Jack went to the bureau and sank into a chair.

Yes, if the blow must be dealt it better be by his hands, as tenderly as possible.

He sat for some moments with his head in his hands, as utterly oblivious of the presence of the others as if they were absent.

Before him rose the lovely face with its trustful eyes; in his ears rang the musical voice which he should never hear again.

What should he write? Why should he write?

Stephen stole behind him.

“You will be careful to conceal the truth, my dear Jack,” he murmured.

Jack started, and turned upon him with a look that caused Stephen to shrink back behind the table.

“For what am I giving up what is most precious in life?” he said hoarsely.

Then in sheer despair he seized the pen, and wrote in a trembling hand:

“My Dearest: – Since you left me, circumstances have occurred which have changed the current of both our lives. I dare not tell you more, but I pray, I beseech, you not to misjudge me. If you knew the position in which I am placed, you would understand why I am acting thus, and instead of condemning, pity me. Una, from this moment our lives are separate. Heaven send you happiness, and – as I know your true, loving heart – forgetfulness. I cannot tell you more – would to Heaven that I could. From the first I have been unworthy of you; I am more unworthy now than ever. I dare not ask of you to remember me; forget me, Una, forget that such a person as I ever crossed your path. Would to Heaven that we had never met! Don’t think hardly of me, my darling, whatever you may hear. What I am doing is as much for your good as for mine. Good-bye. I shall never cease to remember and love you, whatever happens. Good-bye!

“Jack.”

Blotted and smeared, he enclosed it in an envelope, and dropped it before Gideon Rolfe; then he looked round for his hat.

“A glass of wine, Jack?” murmured Stephen.

But Jack took no more notice than if he had been deaf, and seizing his hat staggered from the room.

Stephen drew a long breath.

“Well, Mr. Rolfe,” he said, “we have conquered. As for this note, I will see that it is delivered at a proper opportunity.”

“Good,” said Gideon Rolfe; then he paused, and frowned sternly. “I am sorry for the young man.”

Stephen smiled, and waved his hand.

“A mere fancy,” he said, lightly. “My dear Jack is apt to take these matters as very serious, but he generally manages to get over them. And now what will you take to drink, Mr. Rolfe?”

Gideon Rolfe waved his hand and put on his hat.

“I leave the letter with you,” he said. “Good-night.”

Stephen filled a wine glass with brandy, and drank it off, his hand shaking. Then he eyed Jack’s letter curiously, and at last held the envelope over the steam of the hot water, and drew it apart.

“A very sensible letter,” he muttered, as he read. “Ambiguous, but all the better for that. Really, anyone reading this, would conclude that Jack had made up his mind to marry Lady Bell, and was ashamed to say so.”