When Frank had come to say good-bye before going down to his wedding, she almost regretted that she had refused his earnest request to be one of the bridesmaids, for she felt that she could now have seen him married with hardly a pang6. But this new trial had once again broken her down. She could not bear to think that Frank, who had been her idol7, whom she had looked up to as a model of all that was good and honest and honourable8, could have done this thing. She did not think it. [233] She clung to the belief that he would clear it all up on his return; at any rate, only from Frank's own lips, or from Frank's own handwriting, would she believe it, and she counted the days to his return, when he would get her uncle's letter, and would, she was sure, repel9 the accusation10.
Captain Bradshaw, too, was longing11 for Frank's return. Not that he doubted the facts. These, to his mind, were clearly established; but he hoped that Frank might be able to offer some sort of palliation or excuse; might somehow put his conduct in a more favourable12 light; might plead guilty to imprudence, but deny evil intention even when confessing the fault; might, in fact, in some way or other, enable him to forgive him, and after a due amount of scolding and lecturing, to restore him to at least a portion of his old share of his affection.
Fred Bingham, too, grew nervously13 anxious as the time for Frank's return approached. He came back to town a few days before Frank was expected, but he only called once upon his uncle; he felt that it would look better if he were not to seem too anxious to step into the [234] place of favourite, and had been very careful during that one visit to say nothing against Frank. He knew that his cousin had not yet received Captain Bradshaw's letter, for he had said on leaving that he should give no address upon the Continent, for that he did not know where he should go, and did not mean to be bothered with letter-writing while he was away. There was, therefore, no danger until Frank's return, and then Fred knew he would at once write to demand an explanation. He felt sure that his uncle's letter contained no direct allusion14 to the circumstances of which Frank was accused, and that therefore he could produce no proofs of his innocence15, which, indeed, now that Stephen Walker had left New Street, was impossible. The great step then was to prevent Captain Bradshaw from receiving Frank's letter demanding an explanation. That once done Fred Bingham felt certain of his ground. He was playing a difficult game for high stakes, but he felt pretty confident in his own skill. His one fear was that Frank, in his indignation, might rush down to Lowndes Square and personally demand an explanation from his [235] uncle; but the letter had been so extremely offensive, that Fred Bingham hoped and believed that Frank would write. On the day upon which he knew Frank was to return, Fred Bingham called in Lowndes Square, at a time when his uncle would be from home.
“Is Miss Heathcote in?” he asked.
“Yes, sir; she is up in her own room. Shall I tell her you are here?”
“No, James, it is hardly worth while. I could only stay a few minutes. By the way, just step in here, I want to speak to you.” He went into the dining-room and the servant followed and closed the door. “You must have had rather a hard time with your master lately, James.”
“Awful, sir; I can't stand it much longer. Flesh and blood can't put up beyond a certain point, you know, sir. Do what I will, nothing pleases him. He does swear sometimes really awful to hear; but there, sir, I need not tell you; you know what master is.”
“Well, James, he has been a good deal put out lately. There is a man who fancies he has some claim upon my uncle, and he writes to him and threatens to make public some old [236] story which your master does not want talked about. Now, I am on this man's track, and I fancy I shall be able to find him in a day or two and put an end to all this. I expect he will be writing to-day or to-morrow to my uncle again, and I know it will make him so furious that he will be doing something rash. Now, I wish to prevent that letter reaching him until I have seen this man who is annoying him. I want you, therefore, to show me all the letters that come for the next day or two. I will come over twice a-day, so you will only have to keep them back one post. I only want to save him annoyance16, and I can see he is quite wearing Miss Heathcote out. I will give you a five pound note if you will manage this, and you will be doing your master a real service. I know I can rely upon your holding your tongue. What do you say, James?”
“Lor' yes, sir, I would do anything to save master from annoyance. He is a real good master on the whole, though he is awful, sir. I can assure you he is downright awful when he is put out.”
“I am sure he must be very difficult to [237] manage, James. The best way to arrange this will be for me to call each day at nine o'clock in the morning and at three in the afternoon. He never comes down to breakfast until ten, and Miss Heathcote does not come down till half-past nine, so there is no chance of his knowing that I have come; you can be looking out of the hall window and can open the door when you see me. I will call again at three, after he has gone out, and I will get you to put on your hat and run round to Hans Place of an evening with any letter which may come by a late post. You understand, James?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Bingham! I will see to it. It is only for two or three days you say.”
The next day there was no letter from Frank Maynard, nor was there on the following morning; but when Fred Bingham called at three o'clock there was a letter, the handwriting of which he at once recognised.
“Ah! this is the letter, James. I am very glad I have stopped it, especially as I expect to see the man this evening and to put a stop to his annoying my uncle. Here is what I promised you, James. I need not tell you to [238] say nothing about it, for my uncle would not be pleased if he knew I was interfering17 in his affairs even for his own good.”
“You may be sure I won't say a word, sir, I do think master has been expecting the letter, for he has been very anxious about letters the last day or two, and savage18, sir, that savage that one daren't as much as look at him. If he goes on like this I must make a change, sir. I can't stand it much longer.”
“I dare say he will be better, James, when, this annoyance is removed. I will go into the dining-room for a few minutes, I have a letter to write which I forgot before I started.”
Once in the dining-room Fred Bingham took the inkstand and writing materials from the side-table, and then produced from a large pocket-book an envelope upon which he had written Frank Maynard's name and address in a very accurate imitation of the peculiar19 hand of Captain Bradshaw. In this he enclosed Frank's letter, and, lighting20 the taper21, sealed it with a small seal which was in the drawer of the inkstand, and which bore the three-fingered hand, the crest22 of the Bradshaws.
[239]
“There,” he said, with his unpleasant smile, “if that won't keep you apart, Master Frank, I am mistaken; you are a very fine fellow, no doubt, and Alice Heathcote liked you better than she did me; but I don't think you will have much reason to boast in the end. Now, if the old man does but go away for the winter, as he talks about, there is no fear of their coming together again, and he is too proud and too passionate23, and Frank is too hot-headed and mighty24 ever to condescend25 to make the first advances. I don't think the old boy can live long.”
So, putting on his hat he went out, down into Knightsbridge and up the hill, dropping the letter into the post-office at the corner of Wilton Place. Then he sauntered on, smiling pleasantly as he went, and meditating26 not unflattering thoughts of himself.
“Yes, Fred Bingham,” he concluded, “deuced few fellows would have got, as you have, out of about as nasty a scrape as a man could want to get into. Made it turn out all to my advantage; why, I might have tried, and schemed, and flattered the old man, and listened to his endless stories about India, and at most I should only [240] have shared with Frank. Now I am as good as certain of it all. I am a lucky fellow,”—and here he gave a penny to a beggar-woman, who looked after him and blessed him for a pleasant-looking young gentleman—“very lucky; to think of old Walker never mentioning my name! That was a fluke indeed! Savage old brute28, who would have thought it of him? Poor Carry.” And here the smile passed away from his face, and he went on angrily, “A little idiot, I would have made her comfortable, and settled her in some snug29 little place, and she upsets the whole thing. She must have known I never meant to marry her, and why the deuce she could not have done as other girls do, and made the best of it, I can't make out. Instead of that she nearly ruins me. Bah! what fools women are,” and he gave a savage cut with his cane30 at a dog who was asleep by the railings by the side of the footway. The dog leapt up with a sharp yell, and Fred Bingham went on relieved, and rather liking31 than otherwise the curses and threats which the dog's master, a little boy with matches, shouted after him.
The letter was delivered to Frank as he was sitting with his wife after dinner.
[241]
“Here is the answer, Katie, sealed with the family crest in due form,” and he tore the paper so as not to destroy the seal, with the intention of showing the crest to her. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, angrily, “this is too bad, Katie; he has sent back my letter unopened, without a word.”
Katie's face flushed up, and she was about to burst out indignantly, but seeing by her husband's face that he was grieved as well as angry, she only said,—
“Never mind, Frank, it is no use our worrying ourselves about it; you can do nothing more after this refusal to hear you. We have a good conscience, dear, and can afford to wait. As you said at first, Frank, there can be no doubt that your uncle has worried himself so much about the upset of his plans for you to marry that Miss Heathcote, that he has really gone a little out of his mind about it. Perhaps it is a pity you did not do as he wanted you to,” and she looked up maliciously32 at Frank.
The attack had the effect she desired, and in administering what he called punishment [242] Frank soon forgot the annoyance of the letter.
It was not, indeed, until they rose to go upstairs to tea, that the subject was renewed; then Frank put the letter into its envelope, opened his desk, and threw it in.
“There,” he said, “we won't talk about it any more, Katie. It is a great annoyance, but it can't be helped. It is no use crying over spilt milk.”
The next day Katie sat up in state, and many of Frank's acquaintances or friends called, and also friends of the Drakes. Frank, of course, stayed at home to help his wife through the ordeal33. Among the callers was Fred Bingham. After the first introduction and greetings were over, Frank said to him aside,—
“Look here, Fred, I want to have a talk with you about a most unpleasant business, which I can't for the life of me understand. I can't talk now before all these people. Come, like a good fellow, to dinner this evening. We shall be alone, and then I can tell you all about it.”
“Very well, Frank, I will come.”
[243]
Fred then turned to Katie, and was very chatty and amusing, as he could be when he chose. He stayed some little time, and helped Frank much in smoothing away the stiffness, and in filling up the occasional pauses which are incidental to ceremonies of this kind.
He came again to dinner, and was still in high spirits, paying Katie many hyperbolical compliments, which she laughed at, telling him that he was not an Irishman, and that no one but Irishmen had a right to talk outrageous34 nonsense.
Soon after the dessert was placed upon the table, Frank said to his wife,—
“There, Katie, I want to talk to Fred, so go upstairs like a good girl, and make tea for us.” Then, when he was with his cousin, he went on, “Now, Fred, I want to talk to you. I have had a most extraordinary letter from my uncle, accusing me of unheard-of wickedness, and breaking-off all acquaintance and connection with me. There it is, read it through, and tell me what it means.”
Fred Bingham read Captain Bradshaw's letter through.
[244]
“Extraordinary,” he said; “but I am really hardly surprised. He has spoken to me in a rambling36, excited way about you, and I really am afraid that he is going a little out of his mind.”
Frank looked at the table gloomily.
“I have written to him to demand an explanation, and he has returned the letter unopened.” His cousin looked grieved rather than surprised. “It is abominable,” Frank went on, warmly; “the only possible reason I can see is that I refused to marry Alice Heathcote, when he had set his mind upon it.”
Fred Bingham had long suspected that such had been Captain Bradshaw's wish, and he now took advantage of the knowledge.
“Yes,” he said, “absurd as it is, Frank, from a few words he let drop when he was in one of his passions the other day, I supposed it was that. He said something about all his plans thwarted—infamous scoundrel—break Alice's heart—have nothing to do with him.”
“Yes,” Frank said, “I can quite fancy him. But he must be mad, Fred. It was all his own hatching up. Alice and I never cared a scrap27 [245] for each other. Sisterly, and so on, but nothing else.”
Fred Bingham was silent.
“Don't you believe me, Fred?” Frank asked, warmly.
“Well, Frank, I don't question what you say about your own feelings, and I am sure that you are the last fellow to intend to trifle with any girl's affections; but, if you frankly37 wish my opinion, I tell you honestly I have no question that Alice Heathcote did love you.”
“Nonsense, man!” Frank said, very angrily, “Alice never cared a scrap for me; she told me so herself.”
“No, I did not,” Frank said, still more indignant; “have I not told you I never thought of such a thing. Uncle and I were having a row. He was insisting on my marrying her, I was saying I would not, because I did not love her—well, she was in the next room and heard it all, and came in and told her uncle that it was out of the question, for that I did not love her and she did not love me.”
[246]
Fred looked up almost contemptuously. How stupid this big strong man was to be sure.
“And what do you suppose she could have said, Frank? She had just heard you say you did not love her, and would not marry her; and do you think that a girl like Alice Heathcote could have done anything else under the circumstances? Do you think she could have burst out crying and told you she loved you and prayed you to marry her?”
Frank sat down in his chair in sheer dismay.
“How long was this ago, Frank? Six months?”
Frank nodded.
“Just as I thought—just the time Alice got ill and low-spirited. I saw it all along. I was certain that she loved you, and I thought you loved her. I always looked upon it as a settled thing; and, indeed, it is hardly likely your uncle would have gone so far as he did, if he had not been sure Alice's happiness was concerned.”
“And upon your soul and honour, Fred, do you believe she loved me?”
[247]
“Upon my soul and honour I do, Frank.”
“Poor Alice! poor Alice! and I never dreamt of it, never once. This is worse than the other. To think of my having made her unhappy. No wonder my uncle is so angry, and that it has worked on his brain. What is to be done? I can't write to her and explain matters.”
“I should think not,” Fred Bingham said dryly. “In the first place your letter would be returned, for I know that uncle has made her promise not to communicate with you in any way, and not even to speak if she meets you accidentally. And in the next place Alice Heathcote is hardly the sort of girl to accept condolences from a man who has slighted her affection.”
Frank looked furiously at the speaker, but he felt that the remark was true.
“Well,” he said, at last, “this is a nice thing to meet a man on his return from his honeymoon—the girl he cared for most in the world, next to his wife, made unhappy—my uncle [248] altogether estranged41, and in fact carrying the matter to a point of lunacy; and nothing possible to be done.”
“I dare say matters will right themselves in time, Frank. Our uncle talks about travelling, and the change will, no doubt, do him good, and set Alice up; and, seeing that, he will get over his great hallucination.”
“And if he does not,” Frank said, rather bitterly, “I suppose I may wish you joy of being sole inheritor of Wyvern Park?”
“Frank, that is not like you,” Fred said, reproachfully. “I should have thought you would have known me better than to suppose me capable of taking advantage of it, even if Captain Bradshaw did, in his present state, pass you over in his will. No, Frank.”
“I beg your pardon, Fred,” Frank broke in; “upon my word, I beg your pardon. I did not mean what I said for a moment. I know you are the best-hearted fellow in the world, and have always said so. No, no, old man, I have no jealousy42 of you, I give you my word.” And he shook Fred Bingham's hand warmly. “And now, Fred, I won't ask you to go upstairs [249] to-night. I am really upset, and I must tell Katie about this miserable43 business, and I suppose she can hardly be expected to see it quite in the right light. Good-night, old fellow! Come again soon.”
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1
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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2
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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3
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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4
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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5
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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6
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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7
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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8
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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9
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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10
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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11
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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12
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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13
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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14
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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15
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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16
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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17
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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23
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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28
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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29
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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30
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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31
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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32
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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35
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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36
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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37
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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40
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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41
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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42
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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