"And if Charles don't come back? By Gad! I am very much afraid the chances are against it. Well, I suppose, if the poor lad dies, I must leave the money to Welter and his wife, if it is only for the sake of poor Ascot, who was a good fellow. I wonder if we shall ever get at the bottom of this matter about the marriage. I fancy not, unless Charles dies, in which case Ellen will be re-instated by the priest.
"I hope William will make haste back with him. Old fellows like me are apt to go off in a minute. And if he dies and I have not time to make a will, the whole goes to the Crown, which will be a bore. I would sooner Welter had it than that."
Lord Saltire stood looking out of the library window, until the river looked like a chain of crimson pools, stretching westward towards the sinking sun. The room behind him grew dark, and the marble pillars, which divided it in unequal portions, stood like ghosts in the gloom. He was hidden by the curtain, and presently he heard the door open, and a light footstep stealthily approaching over the Turkey carpet. There was a rustle of a woman's dress, and a moving of books on the centre table, by some hand which evidently feared detection. Lord Saltire stepped from behind his curtain, and confronted Mary Corby.
CHAPTER LIII.
CAPTAIN ARCHER TURNS UP.
"Do not betray me, my lord," said Mary, from out of the gloom.
"I will declare your malpractices to the four winds of heaven, Miss Corby, as soon as I know what they are. Why, why do you come rustling into the room, like a mouse in the dark? Tell me at once what this hole-and-corner work means."
"I will not, unless you promise not to betray me, Lord Saltire."
"Now just think how foolish you are. How can I possibly make myself particeps, of what is evidently a most dark and nefarious business, without knowing beforehand what benefit I am to receive? You offer me no share of booty; you offer me no advantage, direct or indirect, in exchange for my silence, except that of being put into possession of facts which it is probably dangerous to know anything about. How can you expect to buy me on such terms as these?"
"Well, then, I will throw myself on your generosity. I want _Blackwood_. If I can find _Blackwood_ now, I shall get a full hour at it to myself while you are all at dinner. Do you know where it is?"
"Yes," said Lord Saltire.
"Do tell me, please. I do so want to finish a story in it. Please to tell me where it is."
"I won't."
"Why not? How very unkind. We have been friends eight months now, and you are just beginning to be cross to me. You see how familiarity breeds contempt; you used to be so polite."
"I shan't tell you where _Blackwood_ is," said Lord Saltire, "because I don't choose. I don't want you to have it. I want you to sit here in the dark and talk to me, instead of reading it."
"I will sit and talk to you in the dark; only you must not tell ghost stories."
"I want you to sit in the dark," said Lord Saltire, "because I want to be '_vox et praeterea nihil_.' You will see why, directly. My dear Mary Corby, I want to have some very serious talk with you. Let us joke no more."
Mary settled herself at once into the arm-chair opposite Lord Saltire, and, resting her cheek on her hand, turned her face towards the empty fireplace. "Now, my dear Lord Saltire," she said, "go on. I think I can anticipate what you are going to say."
"You mean about Charles."
"Yes."
"Ah, that is only a part of what I have to say. I want to consult you there, certainly; but that is but a small part of the business."
"Then I am curious."
"Do you know, then, I am between eighty and ninety years old?"
"I have heard so, my lord."
"Well then, I think that the voice to which you are now listening will soon be silent for ever; and do not take offence; consider it as a dead man's voice, if you will."
"I will listen to it as the voice of a kind living friend," said Mary.
"A friend who has always treated me as a reasonable being and an equal."
"That is true, Mary; you are so gentle and so clever, that is no wonder.
See here, you have no private fortune."
"I have my profession," said Mary, laughing.
"Yes, but your profession is one in which it is difficult to rise,"
said Lord Saltire, "and so I have thought it necessary to provide for you in my will. For I must make a new one."
Poor Mary gave a start. The announcement was so utterly unexpected. She did not know what to say or what to think. She had had long night thoughts about poverty, old age, a life in a garret as a needlewoman, and so on; and had many a good cry over them, and had never found any remedy for them except saying her prayers, which she always found a perfect specific. And here, all of a sudden, was the question solved!
She would have liked to thank Lord Saltire. She would have liked to kiss his hand; but words were rather deficient. She tried to keep her tears back, and she in a way succeeded; then in the honesty of her soul she spoke.
"I will thank you more heartily, my lord, than if I went down on my knees and kissed your feet. All my present has been darkened by a great cloud of old age and poverty in the distance. You have swept that cloud away. Can I say more?"
"On your life, not another word. I could have over-burdened you with wealth, but I have chosen not to do so. Twenty thousand pounds will enable you to live as you have been brought up. Believe an old man when he says that more would be a plague to you."
"Twenty thousand pounds!"
"Yes. That will bring you in, you will find, about six hundred a year.
Take my word for it, it is quite enough. You will be able to keep your brougham, and all that sort of thing. Believe me, you would not be happy with more."
"More!" said Mary, quietly. "My lord, look here, and see what you have done. When the children are going to sleep, I sit, and sew, and sing, and, when they are gone to sleep, I still sit, and sew, and think. Then I build my Spanish castles; but the highest tower of my castle has risen to this--that in my old age I should have ten shillings a week left me by some one, and be able to keep a canary bird, and have some old woman as pensioner. And now--now--now. Oh! I'll be quiet in a moment. Don't speak to me for a moment. God is very good."
I hope Lord Saltire enjoyed his snuff. I think that, if he did not, he deserved to. After a pause Mary began again.
"Have I left on you the impression that I am selfish? I am almost afraid I have. Is it not so? I have one favour to ask of you. Will you grant it?"
"Certainly I will."
"On your honour, my lord."
"On my honour."
"Reduce the sum you have mentioned to one-fourth. I have bound you by your honour. Oh, don't make me a great heiress; I am not fit for it."
Lord Saltire said, "Pish! If you say another word I will leave you ten thousand more. To the deuce with my honour; don't talk nonsense."
"You said you were going to be quiet in a moment," he resumed presently.
"Are you quiet now?"
"Yes, my lord, quiet and happy."
"Are you glad I spoke to you in the dark?"