which you have assisted. The present proprietor has closed it against that class of visitors, but it is in charge of the respectable Madame Maletarde, whom you may remember as the cook, hostess, femme de chambre, and everything else, to the ladies who honoured the place. But, as I concluded that you would have no special anxiety to see that worthy person, or rather to be seen by her, upon this occasion, madame has somehow been called away to the town, and has left her niece in charge. Justine has never been in this part of the country before.”
All this was said with the utmost deliberation before the speaker offered Mrs. Lygon his hand to assist her from the carriage. Indeed, as he stood at the door, he presented an obstacle to her alighting.
“I observed,” he went on, “that you look with very well-merited distaste at the house, and I am scandalised at asking you to enter so ill-repaired a place. It is but to enter, however, for if you will condescend to pass into the garden, we can there say, in perfect security from interruption, all that is necessary, and the carriage will await you where it stands. As regards refreshments”
“I want nothing,” was the reply,
“In that case, will you be pleased to follow me?”
They passed through the large room, over which Mrs. Lygon gave a woman’s rapid glance, and was reminded of pleasant joyous days when a merry little company—including herself and her young husband—came forth in procession from the town, bearing with them certain materials for a little feast, and quartered themselves upon the delighted Madame Maletarde, whose garden they ransacked for additions to the banquet, and whose utmost culinary skill was gladly exerted to prepare it. There was but a moment for the recollection of the laughing, and the love-passages, and the rest of the happy meetings, a moment to hush down the swelling heart, and Mrs. Lygon stood in the well-remembered garden.
“We are out of ear-shot,” said Adair, “though it is of little consequence, for Justine, though she loves the English, has no syllable of their language. I will fetch you a chair.”
“I will stand.”
“I accept the hint not to fatigue you by too long an oration. You will, I know, forgive my omission to express to you the thanks which fill my heart for your having obligingly consented to come here, and you will prefer that I should proceed with almost mercantile brevity to the business which has induced me to ask your presence. I have rightly interpreted your feelings, I trust.”
She made no reply.
“Precisely. Another graceful protest against garrulity. That I may not offend again, will you kindly allow this letter to speak for me? It is not my own writing, but that of a person who is in every way more entitled to your attention.”
He produced a pocket-book, from which he took a letter, opened it, and handed it respectfully to her.
Mrs. Lygon evinced no surprise at seeing the handwriting, but a flush of angry shame came over her beautiful face as she perused the lines.
This evidence of feeling was noted by her companion, and a smile of satisfaction stole to his lips, to be instantly repressed.
The letter was to himself, and written by a sister of her who read it. It was this:
“Have you no pity, Ernest? Why are you driving me to ruin? Again and again, I assure you, on my knees, that it is impossible for me to meet your repeated demands, and I passed two days in an agony lest the means you forced me to adopt last week should have been discovered. I can give you no more, at least now, and, for mercy’s sake, leave me in peace for a short time. I send you a ring, which I suppose is valuable, and which will supply the immediate need you speak of; but do, Ernest, try to spare me. Remember, that if you force me into any act that may betray me, your own hopes from me must be at an end for ever. You press me so cruelly that I am at times on the point of confessing all, and if the opium which I take to escape from my dreadful thoughts should make me light-headed, I know not what I may say. Pray, Ernest, spare me for your own sake, if not for that of “B. U.”
Mrs. Lygon read the latter part of the note hastily, but not so hastily as to fail in comprehending its significance. She was about to return it to him, and then instinctively drew back her hand.
“Nay,” he said, “I am not playing a mean and petty game. I have no wish to retain a document that might inculpate the writer. Pray retain and destroy it, if you please; or rather I would say retain it as your credentials for the negotiation which I trust to succeed in inducing you to undertake for me.”
“For you.”
The words were said in such a tone of contempt that a worm might have turned at them, though Adair did not.
“The expression has the misfortune to displease you. I repeat it, and apologise. Let me say, then, the negotiation which I trust you will undertake for the sake of the writer of that interesting letter.”
“Ernest Hardwick—” said Mrs. Lygon.
“Ah,” he murmured, “the old name, and it is ever the sweetest.”
Disregarding his insolence, she proceeded:
“You know for what reasons I have undertaken a certain task.”
“The last word is harsh,” he said, “but we will pass it by. I believe myself to be aware of those reasons.”
“You hold this unfortunate creature in your power, and I know that it is idle to make any appeal to your heart.”
“And idleness is a charge which no one could ever bring against Miss Laura Vernon or Mrs. Arthur Lygon,” said he, in a passionless voice.
“You have had a great deal of money from her, and your demands for more are endangering her position as a wife.”
“With what rapidity, in combination with what exactitude, does Mrs. Lygon master the contents of a letter!”
{{nop]}