'Very impertinent; yes, indeed, Stanley, and so I shall continue to be until----'

'Pray how does it concern you? I say it is no business on earth of yours.'

Stanley Lake was growing angry.

'Yes, Stanley, it _does_ concern me.'

'That is false.'

'True, _true_, Sir. Oh, Stanley, it is a load upon my conscience--a mountain--a mountain between me and my hopes. I can't endure the misery to which you would consign me; you _shall_ do it--immediately, too' (she stamped wildly as she said it), 'and if you hesitate, Stanley, I shall be compelled to speak, though the thought of it makes me almost mad with terror.'

'What is he to do, Rachel?' said Dorcas, standing near the door.

It was a very awkward pause. The splendid young bride was the only person on the stage who looked very much as usual. Stanley turned his pale glare of fury from Rachel to Dorcas, and Dorcas said again,

'What is it, Rachel, darling?'

Rachel, with a bright blush on her cheeks, stepped quickly up to her, put her arms about her neck and kissed her, and over her shoulder she cried to her brother--

'Tell her, Stanley.'

And so she quickly left the room and was gone.

'Well, Dorkie, love, what's the matter?' said Stanley sharply, at last breaking the silence.

'I really don't know--you, perhaps, can tell,' answered she coldly.

'You have frightened Rachel out of the room, for one thing,' answered he with a sneer.

'I simply asked her what she urged you to do--I think I have a claim to know. It is strange so reasonable a question from a wife should scare your sister from the room.'

'I don't quite see that--for my part, I don't think _anything_ strange in a woman. Rachel has been talking the rankest nonsense, in the most unreasonable temper conceivable; and because she can't persuade me to accept her views of what is Christian and sensible, she threatens to go mad--I think that is her phrase.'

'I don't think Rachel is a fool,' said Dorcas, quietly, her eye still upon Stanley.

'Neither do I--when she pleases to exert her good sense--but she can, when she pleases, both talk and act like a fool.'

'And pray, what does she want you to do, Stanley?'

'The merest nonsense.'

'But what is it?'

'I really can hardly undertake to say I very well understand it myself, and I have half-a-dozen letters to write; and really if I were to stay here and try to explain, I very much doubt whether I could. Why don't you ask _her_? If she has any clear ideas on the subject I don't see why she should not tell you. For my part, I doubt if she understands herself--_I_ certainly don't.'

Dorcas smiled bitterly.

'Mystery already--mystery from the first. _I_ am to know nothing of your secrets. You confer and consult in my house--you debate and decide upon matters most nearly concerning, for aught I know, my interests and my happiness--certainly deeply affecting you, and therefore which I have a _right_ to know; and my entering the room is the signal for silence--a guilty silence--for departure and for equivocation. Stanley, you are isolating me. Beware--I may entrench myself in that isolation. You are choosing your confidant, and excluding me; rest a.s.sured you shall have no confidence of mine while you do so.'

Stanley Lake looked at her with a gaze at once peevish and inquisitive.

'You take a wonderfully serious view of Rachel's nonsense.'

'I do.'

'Certainly, you women have a marvellous talent for making mountains of molehills--you and Radie are adepts in the art. Never was a poor devil so lectured about nothing as I between you. Come now, Dorkie, be a good girl--you must not look so vexed.'

'I'm not vexed.'

'What then?'

'I'm only _thinking_.'

She said this with the same bitter smile. Stanley Lake looked for a moment disposed to break into one of his furies, but instead he only laughed his unpleasant laugh.

'Well, I'm thinking too, and I find it quite possible to be vexed at the same time. I a.s.sure you, Dorcas, I really am busy; and it is too bad to have one's time wasted in solemn lectures about stuff and nonsense. Do make Rachel explain herself, if she can--_I_ have no objection, I a.s.sure you; but I must be permitted to decline undertaking to interpret that oracle.' And so saying, Stanley Lake glided into the library and shut the door with an angry clap.

Dorcas did not deign to look after him. She had heard his farewell address, looking from the window at the towering and sombre clumps of her ancestral trees--pale, proud, with perhaps a peculiar gleam of resentment--or malignity--in her exquisite features.

So she stood, looking forth on her n.o.ble possessions--on terraces--'long rows of urns'--n.o.ble timber--all seen in slanting sunlight and long shadows--and seeing nothing but the great word FOOL! in letters of flame in the air before her.

CHAPTER XLVII.

A THREATENING NOTICE.

Stanley Lake was not a man to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet when an object was to be gained. It was with a sure prescience that Mark Wylder's letter had inferred that Stanley Lake would aspire to the representation either of the county or of the borough of Dollington. His mind was already full of these projects.

Electioneering schemes are conducted, particularly at their initiation, like conspiracies--in fact, they _are_ conspiracies, and therefore there was nothing remarkable in the intense caution with which Stanley Lake set about his. He was not yet 'feeling his way.' He was only preparing to feel his way.

All the data, except the muster-roll of electors, were _in nubibus_--who would retire--who would step forward, as yet altogether in the region of conjecture. There are men to whom the business of elections--a life of secrecy, excitement, speculation, and combat--has all but irresistible charms; and Tom Wealdon, the Town Clerk, was such a spirit.

A bold, frank, good-humoured fellow--he played at elections as he would at cricket. Every faculty of eye, hand, and thought--his whole heart and soul in the game. But no ill-will--no malevolence in victory--no sourness in defeat. A successful _coup_ made Tom Wealdon split with laughing. A ridiculous failure amused him nearly as much. He celebrated his last great defeat with a pic-nic in the romantic scenery of Nolton, where he and his comrades in disaster had a roaring evening, and no end of 'chaff'

When he and Jos. Larkin carried the last close contest at Dollington, by a majority of two, he kicked the crown out of the grave attorney's chimney-pot, and flung his own wide-awake into the river. He did not show much; his official station precluded prominence. He kept in the background, and did his spiriting gently. But Tom Wealdon, it was known--as things _are_ known without evidence--was at the bottom of all the clever dodges, and long-headed manoeuvres. When, therefore, Mr.

Larkin heard from the portly and veracious Mr. Larcom, who was on very happy relations with the proprietor of the Lodge, that Tom Wealdon had been twice quietly to Brandon to lunch, and had talked an hour alone with the captain in the library each time; and that they seemed very 'hernest like, and stopped of talking directly he (Mr. Larcom) entered the room with the post-bag'--the attorney knew very well what was in the wind.

Now, it was not quite clear what was right--by which the good attorney meant prudent--under the circ.u.mstances. He was in confidential--which meant lucrative--relations with Mark Wylder. Ditto, ditto with Captain Lake, of Brandon. He did not wish to lose either. Was it possible to hold to both, or must he cleave only to one and despise the other?

Wylder might return any day, and Tom Wealdon would probably be one of the first men whom he would see. He must 'hang out the signal' in 'Galignani.' Lake could never suspect its meaning, even were he to see it. There was but one risk in it, which was in the coa.r.s.e perfidy of Mark Welder himself, who would desire no better fun, in some of his moods, than boasting to Lake of the whole arrangement in Jos. Larkin's presence.

However, on the whole, it was best to obey Mark Wylder's orders, and accordingly 'Galignani' said: '_Mr. Smith will take notice that the other party is desirous to purchase, and becoming very pressing._'

In the meantime Lake was pushing his popularity among the gentry with remarkable industry, and with tolerable success. Wealdon's two little visits explained perfectly the active urbanities of Captain Stanley Lake.

About three weeks after the appearance of the advertis.e.m.e.nt in 'Galignani,' one of Mark Wylder's letters reached Larkin. It was dated from Geneva(!) and said:--