"But you'll forgive her, Tom?"

"Perhaps. Now leave me alone. Stop, where's _dieci otto_?"

"Ask the waiter," said Melton, coldly, and he left the room.

"He needn't have turned rusty," grumbled Tom, crossing to reach the bell: but at that moment her ladyship came in, hurriedly followed by Tryphie and Lord Barmouth.

"No, no, my dear," said Lord Barmouth, who seemed to have been strung up to resistance by some stirring news, and at a glance Tom saw that her ladyship knew as much as he.

"Silence, Barmouth. Tryphie, ring the bell. I suppose there are police of some kind in a benighted place like this. What number did he say, Tryphie, _dieci otto_?"

"Yes, aunt dear, eighteen," said Tryphie, whose face was working and eyes twinkling in a peculiarly malicious manner.

"Eighteen! That will do," cried Tom. "Here, governor, come with me."

"Tom! stop! Barmouth, I forbid--"

Her ladyship did not finish her speech, but hurried to the door, followed by her niece--the door through which her husband had pa.s.sed, followed by her son.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

LIGHT ON THE SCENE.

First floor only. _Dieci otto_--a door in a corridor whose rooms looked out upon the tranquil sea.

A lady and gentleman started from their seats as the couple rushed in; and in a moment Viscount Diphoos had seen that they were right--that he was in the presence of his sister and the man with whom she had eloped.

He saw too in the same rapid glance why they had been so long off the scent. For there was no black curly hair, no long black beard, but all was brown, and flashed as it were with gold.

This was all seen as the young man literally hurled himself upon the tall, st.u.r.dy man, who rose to meet him, and in a twinkling they had one another by the throat.

"Take her away, father, quick, quick," cried Tom; and the next moment, in choking tones--"No, stop!" as he loosed his hold, staggered back to a chair, and uttered a shriek.

Wounded? Stabbed by the treacherous Italian?

Oh, no; it was a shriek of the laughter with which his frame was convulsed, as he rolled from side to side, while Lord Barmouth stared from one to the other.

"Tom, my son--are you hurt?"

"Hurt!" shrieked Tom, in inarticulate tones. "Sold--sold--sold!"

"But what does it mean?" stammered Lord Barmouth.

"Mean!" shrieked Tom--"why, that that confounded old humbug Charley has stolen a march on us.--Charley, old fellow, G.o.d bless you--I never felt so happy in my life. Here, Maudey, give us a kiss."

Before the young man had commenced hugging his sister, Charley Melton had moved to the door, closed and locked it against the inquiring looks of waiters, and taking Maude's hand in his he then asked Lord Barmouth in a few manly words to forgive him and his wife their clandestine proceedings.

"Forgive you, Charley," cried the viscount, "of course he will--won't you, dad?"

"Well--well--yes, my boy, I think so," said his lordship feebly, as he shook his new son-in-law's hand. "I think I'm very glad, for I never liked that Sir Reginald."

"Grantley, father--Grantley Wilters," cried Tom.

"To be sure, my boy; yes, of course, Sir Grantley."

"But why the d.i.c.kens didn't you write to us, and let us know?"

"Well, we were going to write every day," said Charley, with a peculiar look at Maude; "but we could never agree as to whose duty it was. We should have written though."

"But--but--I think you ought to have written, Charley Melton. You see I've been very anxious about my darling Maude."

"It was very cruel, papa dear; but really I did mean to write, soon."

"I'm very glad of that," said Lord Barmouth; "for really, Maude, my darling, you have frightened me so. I shall have a horrible fit of the gout after this."

"Never mind, dad; stop and have it here, and Maudey and I will nurse you--won't we, old girl?" cried Tom. "For gout at home just now would be awful. Oh!" he shrieked, once more going off into convulsions, "won't the old girl be mad!"

"Yes, my dears," said Lord Barmouth, shaking away very heartily at Charley Melton's hands, "I'm afraid she'll be very cross. But do you know, I fancy I've caught a bit o' cold."

"Never mind, father, we're going to catch it hot," said Tom.

"Yes, my boy; but--but I feel a little deaf, and my head is rather thick."

"Never mind, old fellow, we've found her."

"Yes, my boy, yes, we've found her; but do you know I feel rather confused and puzzled. I--I thought our Maude had gone off with that handsome looking scoundrel who played the organ outside our house."

"Well, so she did," cried Tom; "I see it all now. Here he is, dad."

"No, no, my boy; don't be so foolish. I want to know why it's Charley Melton, and not that Italian fellow?"

"Why, governor, can't you see through it?"

"No, my boy. It's all a puzzle to me."

"Nonsense, dad, Charley made a postman of that organ-grinder. Now do you twig?"

"And--and a post-office of the organ? I think I am beginning to see."

"What was I to do?" said the young husband, appealingly. "I had been abroad, and tried to forget her, but it was of no use. I was forbidden the house, and at last I learned that this marriage was to come off. I dared not trust the servants, so I practised this ruse. But there, it's all over now. You forgive me, sir, do you not?"

"Well, yes, my boy," said Lord Barmouth, who was sitting fondling his daughter's hand. "I think you are quite right. I should have done the same, for I was a devil of a--Don't fidget, Maude, my darling. I'll talk her ladyship round."

"She'd rather it had been the organ-grinder," choked and coughed Viscount Diphoos, while his sister, blushing and happy, kept shaking her finger at his mirthful face.

"But I will talk her round," said Lord Barmouth, rather pompously, to the infinite risk of sending his son once more off into convulsions.