Run to Earth - Mary Elizabeth Braddon (classic reads .TXT) 📗

more than a father to him, he confronted evil fortune calmly and bravely. He cut the link between himself and extravagant companions. He disappeared from the circles in which he had been admired and courted; and the only grief which preyed upon his generous heart sprang from the knowledge that he had forfeited his uncle's affection."

Sir Oswald sighed. For the first time he began to think that it was just possible he had treated his nephew with injustice.

"You are right, Mr. Carrington," he said, after a pause; "it was a hard trial for any man; and I am proud to think that Reginald passed unscathed through so severe an ordeal. But the resolution at which I arrived a year and a half ago is one that I cannot alter now. I have formed new ties; I have new hopes for the future. My nephew must pay the penalty of his past errors, and must look to his own exertions for wealth and honour. If I die without a direct heir, he will succeed to the baronetcy, and I hope he will try his uttermost to win a fortune by which he may maintain his title."

There was very little promise in this; but Victor Carrington was, nevertheless, tolerably well satisfied with the result of the conversation. He had sown the seeds of doubt and uncertainty in the baronet's breast. Time only could bring the harvest. The surgeon was accustomed to work underground, and knew that all such work must be slow and laborious.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VII.


"O BEWARE, MY LORD, OF JEALOUSY."

The castle was gay with the presence of many guests. The baronet was proud to gather old friends and acquaintances round him, in order that he might show them the fair young wife he had chosen to be the solace of his declining years. A man of fifty who marries a girl of nineteen is always subject to the ridicule of scandalous lips, the ironical jests of pitiless tongues. Sir Oswald Eversleigh knew this, and he wanted to show the world that he was happy--supremely happy--in the choice that he had made.

Amongst those who came to Raynham Castle this autumn was one trusted friend of Sir Oswald, a gruff old soldier, Captain Copplestone, a man who had never won advancement in the service; but who was known to have nobly earned the promotion which had never been awarded him.

This man was on brotherly terms with Sir Oswald, and was about the only creature who had ever dared to utter disagreeable truths to the baronet. He was very poor; but had never accepted the smallest favour from the hands of his wealthy friend. Sir Oswald was devoutly attached to him, and would have gladly opened his purse to him as to a brother; but he dared not offend the stern old soldier's pride by even hinting at such a desire.

Captain Copplestone came to Raynham prepared to remonstrate with his friend on the folly of his marriage. He arrived when the reception-room was crowded with other visitors, and be stood by, looking on in grim disdain, while the newly arrived guests were pressing their felicitations on Sir Oswald.

By and bye the guests departed to their rooms, and the friends were left alone.

"Well, old friend," cried the baronet, stretching out both his hands to grasp those of the captain in a warmer salutation than that of his first welcome, "am I to have no word of congratulation from you?"

"What word do you want?" growled Copplestone. "If I tell you the truth, you won't like it; and if I were to try to tell you a lie, egad! I think the syllables would choke me. It has been hard enough for me to keep patience while all those idiots have been babbling their unmeaning compliments; and now that they've gone away to laugh at you behind your back, you'd better let me follow their example, and not risk the chance of a quarrel with an old friend by speaking my mind."

"You think me a fool, then, Copplestone?"

"Why, what else can I think of you? If a man of fifty must needs go and marry a girl of nineteen, he can't expect to be thought a Solon."

"Ah, Copplestone, when you have seen my wife, you will think differently."

"Not a bit of it. The prettier she is, the more fool I shall think you; for there'll be so much the more certainty that she'll make your life miserable."

"Here she comes!" said the baronet; "look at her before you judge her too severely, old friend, and let her face answer for her truth."

The room in which the two men were standing opened into another and larger apartment, and through the open folding-doors Captain Copplestone saw Lady Eversleigh approaching. She was dressed in white-- that pure, transparent muslin in which her husband loved best to see her--and one large natural rose was fastened amidst her dark hair. As she drew nearer to the baronet and his friend, the bluff old soldier's face softened.

The introduction was made by Sir Oswald, and Honoria held out her hand with her brightest and most bewitching smile.

"My husband has spoken of you very often, Captain Copplestone," she said; "and I feel as if we were old friends rather than strangers. I have pleasure in bidding welcome to all Sir Oswald's guests; but not such pleasure as I feel in welcoming you."

The soldier extended his bronzed hand, and grasped the soft white fingers in a pressure that was something like that of an iron vice. He looked at Lady Eversleigh with a serio-comic expression of bewilderment, and looked from her to the baronet.

"Well?" asked Sir Oswald, presently, when Honoria had left them.

"Well, Oswald, if the truth must be told, I think you had some excuse for your folly. She is a beautiful creature; and if there is any faith to be put in the human countenance, she is as good as she is beautiful."

The baronet grasped his friend's hand with a pressure that was more eloquent than words. He believed implicitly in the captain's powers of penetration, and this favourable judgment of the wife he adored filled him with gratitude. It was not that the faintest shadow of doubt obscured his own mind. He trusted her fully and unreservedly; but he wanted others to trust her also.

* * * * *


While Sir Oswald and his friend were enjoying a brief interval of confidential intercourse, Reginald Eversleigh and Victor Carrington lounged in a pleasant little sitting-room, smoking their cigars, and leaning on the stone sill of the wide Gothic window.

They were talking, and talking very earnestly.

"You are a very clever fellow, I know, my dear Carrington," said Reginald; "but it is slow work, very slow work, and I don't see my way through it."

"Because you are as impatient as a child who has set his heart on a new toy," answered the surgeon, disdainfully. "You complain that the game is slow, and yet you see one move after another made upon the board-- and made successfully. A month ago you did not believe in the possibility of a reconciliation between your uncle and yourself; and yet that reconciliation has come about. A fortnight ago you would have laughed at the idea of my being here at Raynham, an invited guest; and yet here I am. Do you think there has been no patient thought necessary to work out this much of our scheme? Do you suppose that I was on Thorpe Hill by accident that afternoon?"

"And you hope that something may come of your visit here?"

"I hope that much may come of it. I have already dared to drop hints at injustice done to you. That idea of injustice will rankle in your uncle's mind. I have my plans, Reginald, and you have only to be patient, and to trust in me."

"But why should you refuse to tell me the nature of your plans?"

"Because my plans are as yet but half formed. I may soon be able to speak more plainly. Do you see those two figures yonder, walking in the _pleasaunce_?"

"Yes, I see them--my uncle and his wife," answered Reginald, with a gesture of impatience.

"They are very happy--are they not? It is quite an Arcadian picture. I beg you to contemplate it earnestly."

"What a fool you are, Carrington!" cried the young man, flinging away his cigar. "If my uncle chooses to make an idiot of himself, that is no reason why I should watch the evidence of his folly!"

"But there is another reason," answered Victor, with a sinister look in his glittering black eyes. "Look at the picture while you may, Reginald, for you will not have the chance of seeing it very often."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the day is near at hand when Lady Eversleigh will fall from her high estate. I mean that an elevation as sudden as hers is often the forerunner of a sudden disgrace. The hour will come when Sir Oswald will mourn his fatal marriage as the one irrevocable mistake of his life; and when, in his despair, he will restore you, the disgraced nephew, to your place, as his acknowledged heir; because you will at least seem to him more worthy than his disgraced wife."

"And who is to bring this about?" asked Reginald, gazing at his friend in complete bewilderment.

"I am," answered the surgeon; "but before I do so I must have some understanding as to the price of my services. If the cat who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for the benefit of the monkey had made an agreement beforehand as to how much of the plunder he was to receive for his pains, the name of the animal would not have become a bye-word with posterity. When I have worked to win your fortune, I must have my reward, my dear Reginald."

"Do you suppose I should be ungrateful?"

"Of course not. But, you see, I don't ask for your gratitude--I want a good round sum down on the nail--hard cash. Your uncle's fortune, if you get two-thirds of it, will be worth thirty thousand a year; and for such a fortune you can very well afford to pay me twenty thousand in ready money within two years of your accession to the inheritance."

"Twenty thousand!"

"Yes; if you think the sum too much, we will say no more about it. The business is a very difficult one, and I scarcely care to engage in it."

"My dear Victor, you bewilder me. I cannot bring myself to believe that you can bring about my restoration to my old place in my uncle's will; but if you do, the twenty thousand shall be yours."

"Good!" answered the surgeon, in his coolest and most business-like manner; "I must have it in black and white. You will give me two promissory notes; one for ten thousand, to fall due a