CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

REPARATION.

When Sylvester got back to his rooms and sat down to smoke, and to reflect in solitude, his feelings were in utter confusion.

He accepted Una's statement without a doubt, and, as was inevitable, it filled him with self-reproach, and the confession of his devotion had seemed but the poorest amends. But what good could devotion or reparation do her now? Then it struck him that this imaginary fact had been of infinitely more importance to Lucian than to himself, and that the first duty was to undeceive him.--To undeceive him when it was too late, for he had no idea where Lucian was; he could not telegraph vaguely to the Rocky Mountains, it was impossible to say when a letter would reach him, a letter that would tell him that he had been under a delusion when he flung Amethyst aside, and that would bring him back, to find her Lady Grattan. But she had not given Sir Richard her promise yet. If words had any meaning, Sylvester was sure that he had learned thus much. She was shrinking from the inevitable, her heart was not in the brilliant prospect before her. What then--what then? _He_ could not save her from it, she was caught in the toils. Perhaps she did not wish to be rescued? Sylvester was not incapable of comprehending the complexities of another nature, and, curiously enough, now that he had heard what might restore Amethyst to the ideal heights of her girlhood, he realised more clearly that she was no ideal, but a struggling human creature, that his Iris needed help as well as worship.

He did not spend much of the short summer night in sleep, and when he came down the next morning he found on his table a letter, in Lucian's writing, and with an English stamp, sent on from Oxbridge. He tore it open and read--

"Royal Hotel, Liverpool. _June 19th_.

"Dear Syl,--

"This letter will surprise you. We never got to the Rockies, nor saw a bear. Just as we were well out of reach of the post and every other comfort, Jackson had a nasty fall and hurt his back. There was an end of everything for him. Rochdale joined another party, and went on, but I thought I might have another chance, so I stayed to look after him, and it was soon plain that he must come home. So here we are, and his brother came to meet us, and will see to him. It was a great sell for him. Now I'm looking at a yacht here, and think of going round the north of Scotland and perhaps on to Norway. Will you come? I suppose you are free now. My mothers abroad with the girls. How is the book?

"Yours ever,--

"Lucian Leigh."

Sylvester put down the letter, and felt that the hand of Fate was upon him. He despatched a telegram in haste--

"Coming. Don't settle about the yacht till you have seen me."

Then he got himself ready, and took the first train to Liverpool.

He arrived there in the afternoon, and found Lucian just come back from seeing off his sick friend. He looked for once a little worn and tired, and owned to having had much fatigue and anxiety.

"And now," he said, "will you have something to eat, and then come and see the _Albatross_? She's a nice little cutter, and you look as if you'd written too much poetry, and wanted sea air."

"Not at all," said Sylvester, with a nervous laugh. "But I've something to tell you. Where can we find a quiet place?"

"Up-stairs, come along. We had to have a place where poor Jackson could lie down. What's the matter? All right at home?--What's up, then?"

Sylvester followed him up-stairs into the hotel sitting-room, and stood in the window, looking vaguely out at the street.

"Lucy," he said, getting quite cold with the effort, "I don't know if you care to hear, but last night I met the Miss Haredales at a ball. Una spoke to me, and, from what she said, I now feel absolutely certain that your mother and I made a mistake. We saw Una Haredale with Major Fowler, and, for the rest, there was some trumpery mystery as to borrowing money for Lady Haredale. Amethyst was bound to secrecy, hence all that seemed suspicious."

"Say that again," said Lucian, hoarsely. "It was really the other girl you saw in the conservatory with Fowler?"

"Yes, no question of it."

"Then, what a thundering fool you were to mistake them!" cried Lucian violently.

"I was," said Sylvester, with dejection. "But I was not the only person, as you know. And I told you to trust her through thick and thin. I told you she was an angel of purity and innocence, no matter what I was fool enough to think I saw."

"It was so, or it wasn't," said Lucian.

"You saw her, _you_ questioned her," said Sylvester. "She denied it. Una told the truth, then, and you did not believe either of them! I don't excuse myself. I'd give my right hand not to have done her--and you--such a wrong."

Lucian went over to the table and sat down. He trembled, and for some moments did not speak. At last he said--

"There's no one to blame but me. If I did not know her, who should? I thought I was right, and all the time I was wrong. There's only one thing to be done now, to go back and renew my offer at once and unconditionally, and to let every one know that I have done so."

"If your feelings remain the same--"

"My feelings? It's my duty."

"But," said Sylvester, breathlessly, "if--if you no longer loved her.--I don't think--"

"Love her? Why, you know I do. I always did," said Lucian.

"Then, Lucy," said Sylvester, "I'm afraid that there's a good deal of disappointment in store for you. If she is not engaged to Grattan, she is on the point of it, and there are scores of other men after her. She has had a great success, and all London raves about her. I doubt her father's consent, and her pretensions are so great--"

"I can't help that," said Lucian. "It is my place to let every one about her know that I wish to marry her, and that, if she refuses me, it is her own doing. I'll go up through the night, and see her to-morrow."

He got up, and opening a travelling writing-case, took from it a little parcel, containing a photograph in a leather frame. He looked at it for a minute, then laid it before his friend.

It was the girl Amethyst, in a little country-made dress, with her hat in her hand, and her eyes looking happily out, in pleased expectation of the next thing that was coming, whatever it might be.

A deep blush coloured Sylvester's face. He felt for his own pocket-book, and, taking from it a photograph wrapped in silver paper, he opened it, and laid it beside Lucian's.

It was a half-length of the beautiful Miss Haredale in evening dress, the amethysts round her slender throat, her white neck and her long round arms uncovered, her face smiling and a little self-conscious; Amethyst in society. Lucian gave a slight start.

"Is she as handsome as that?" he said slowly. "It's not like her."

"She does not always look like it; but never like the other, now," said Sylvester with a sigh.

"How did you get it?"

"I bought it at a bazaar where she was selling. The Princesses sold theirs there--and actresses and other celebrities--I thought you might like to see it. That is why I have it here."

Lucian made no comment. He looked hard at the picture. It evidently made more impression on him than anything that Sylvester could say. At last he took up the two photographs together.

"Thank you for bringing it to me," he said, and put it in his breast-pocket. Sylvester barely checked himself in his impulse to seize it, and his annoyance at Lucian's calm conviction that it must be meant for him, gave some sharpness to his tone, as he said--

"How do you propose to act, and to get to see her?"

Lucian did not answer for some minutes, then he said slowly--

"I did not consider. There are difficulties. Perhaps she would not receive me, and through her mother I will not act. Besides, if I was asked why I had come forward, it would not be easy to explain, as it would hardly do to mention Una. And I haven't got any clothes, so I can't go anywhere to meet her."

Lucian stated these various difficulties, with exactly the same tone of voice for all.

"Will you write?" said Sylvester.

"I don't think that that's quite the right thing. If I--insulted her, face to face--face to face I must ask her pardon. No, you know them. I suppose you can go and call, and ask her when I may come."

"I suppose I could," said poor Sylvester, with a pang. "Yes--I will."

"Thank you. But understand that it is my object to make known that I put myself at her disposal. It is not a case for concealing a refusal. Every one must know that I make the offer."

Sylvester gave a nervous laugh. Lucian's sense of his own importance to Amethyst seemed ludicrously out of proportion to the reality. He thought of Sir Richard Grattan, and Prince Pontresina, and Lord Broadstairs, and of the various other men, who would have felt flattered by having it supposed that they had approached near enough to the beauty to propose to her.

"She has many offers," he said, rather dryly; "I think you must be prepared for such a possibility."

"Yes," said Lucian. "But it won't be worse than it has been. And if--"

He did not finish the sentence, but over the beautiful face which some people called statuesque, and others wooden, came, for once, a flush and a change, and Sylvester thought that Sir Richard might suffer in comparison.

"What's this Grattan like?" said Lucian, presently turning away.

"Oh--he's a commonplace beast," said the finespun Sylvester, "an `oiled and curled Assyrian bull' sort of fellow. Sir Gorgius Midas--No, that's a libel. I don't know that he's a bad sort. He's all straight, and not bad-looking, and I shouldn't call him a cad exactly. He has as many millions as a man can want and two big estates, and a good moral character, and goes to church; and he's safe to be made a peer some day, and--it's blasphemy to couple him with--_her_!"

Lucian was not an observant person, and, while he was sadly considering, that though he was himself a moral character and a church-goer, and not bad-looking, he would never be made a peer, and had hardly as many thousands as Amethyst might want, he did not notice that Sylvester stopped short, then hurried on.

"That old scoundrel Broadstairs being out of the question, the Roman prince would be more in keeping. He _is_ a gentleman."

"But I suppose he's a foreigner, and a Roman Catholic. And a foreign prince doesn't go for much," said Lucian anxiously.

"Depends on the breed," said Sylvester. "But Grattan is the man."

"I would rather not talk about her any more," said Lucian, and, strange to say, he did not talk about her, but went with Sylvester to make a provisional arrangement with the owner of the _Albatross_, and then talked about his travels, and his sick friend, to whom he seemed to have become much attached. Then they went back to the hotel and had dinner, and came up to London by the night train, as Lucian had proposed.

Sylvester was tired with the two journeys, and with the strain on his mind, and went to bed for some hours. When he appeared again, Lucian, who had been to visit his tailor, and otherwise render himself fit for fashionable life, was sitting in the window reading "Iris."

"I've telegraphed to Ashfield. Some of my things are there," he said, "and I've got what I could. I should like to know if Iris was a real young woman. Because, if not, I don't see why he made such a fuss about her."

"Don't you see," said Sylvester, rather mistily, "she is the symbol of all that he felt to be the best--what he desired most. Perhaps at one time he desired a living Iris, but--but perhaps he had to content himself with knowing of her perfection."

"And did he?" said Lucian.

"I suppose every Amelot must answer that question for himself," said Sylvester.

"He never did, if there was a chance of getting the girl herself," said Lucian. "Syl, when are you going to the Haredales'?"

"Well, I must ask after Una, in common politeness, and I'll get in if I can. It's twelve o'clock. I can go now. What will you do?"

"Wait." He paused a moment, then said, rather piteously, "I don't know why it should seem so hard, when yesterday I never thought I should see her again."

"Poor old boy, did you think about her yesterday, before I came?"

"I always thought about her, except when I was thinking of something else," said Lucian. "But now there's nothing else to think of."

"Well, I won't leave you long in suspense, if I can help it," said Syl, taking his hat, and going off. He was himself intensely eager to see Amethyst; must she not know, now, the confession that he had made to Una? She would know at what cost he brought Lucian's message. Why it should seem harder to give her back to his friend, than to see her marry a man whom he detested, he could not tell, except that every day, every hour, increased his restless misery. He would be loyal to Lucian, and then he felt that he did not know what would become of him. There was never much difficulty in getting into Lady Haredale's house, and he was at once admitted, and told that some of the ladies were at home.

As he came into the drawing-room he saw that, with better fortune than he could credit, Amethyst was there alone. She was sitting in a low chair with her hat on, and a parcel or two on the table near, as if she had just come in from doing some little errands. There was something dejected in her attitude, and, when she heard Sylvester's name, she blushed intensely, while he was very pale.

"My sister has been doing too much, she is overtired, and will have to rest now," she said, in answer to his stammering inquiry for Una.

"Miss Haredale," said Sylvester, standing up before her, "I dare say your sister has told you of her kindness the other night. I do not dare even to apologise for the mistake which I made. My eyes were deceived, but my mind--never! It was of course my first duty to undeceive my friend, whom I so cruelly injured. By a strange chance, Lucian came back from America two days ago. He is in London, and he begs to be allowed to ask your pardon in person. It was not his fault."

There was a dead silence. Amethyst's deep blush slowly faded. Either she could not speak or did not know what to say. Then, after what seemed minutes, she spoke.

"That is all a very old story, Mr Riddell. As you may have seen, we do not wish to look back on it in a tragical manner. If Mr Leigh _wishes_ to call here, I am sure my mother will be quite willing to receive him. Why not? As you say, he made a mistake. It was a natural one."

She spoke with a kind of hauteur, mingling with the smiling coolness of Lady Haredale's manner. Sylvester's heart sank within him. Then she did not care what either of them thought of her.

"You would be at home--when?" he stammered.

"Let me see. This afternoon we go to a _matinee_. We expect a few friends to-night, we shall be at home after dinner. Will you come then--and Mr Leigh, if he wishes."

Sylvester murmured thanks and acceptance, and having gained his point went away miserable.

When he got back, he did his best to make Lucian as unhappy as himself; so that it was perhaps as well that the latter went off by the next train to Cleverley to fetch the dress-clothes, which he had left behind him there.