CHAPTER XIV

AT BAY

Vane faithfully delivered both messages, and Gwen was as pleased with the churchyard appointment as Mrs. Perage was annoyed by Hench's folly. That he should walk for miles on a weak ankle proved what a fool he was, and she said as much to her nephew next morning at breakfast.

"You men are all babies, Jim, silly, obstinate and weak."

"Not me," retorted the barrister. "I haven't been fooling with my ankle."

"You know quite well what I mean," fumed Mrs. Perage, who was in her work-a-day attire, and who looked particularly fierce. "It's not only his ankle, it's his masquerading." She rubbed her nose irritably. "I tell you there will be the deuce to pay. Gwen is Welsh."

"Well, what does her nationality matter?"

"It matters everything. The Welsh are a particularly fiery nation, and have the pride of Old Nick. As a poor man Gwen loves her cousin--he is the fairy prince who has come into her life. But when she learns the truth----"

"She'll forgive him if she loves him."

Mrs. Perage shook her head and scowled. "You don't know woman, Jim. Her very love may make her resent his not having treated her quite honestly."

"Aren't you taking the matter too seriously, Aunt Emma?" expostulated Vane with a shrug. "After all, Miss Evans must see that Owain could only give himself a fair chance by masquerading as he has done. If he had turned up _in propria persona_, she would have disliked him on the spot."

"Hum!" boomed Mrs. Perage doubtfully. "Perhaps. But not if he had saved her life. That act would have excused everything had it been done as Owain Evans."

"What do you mean by excusing everything?"

"I mean as regards the reputation of Owain Evans. Of course Madoc was always a liar, as I know, and Gwen didn't get on over-well with him. As a _deus ex machina_, Gwen would have disbelieved her father's stories of her cousin's wickedness."

"But the poor chap isn't wicked at all. He's the whitest man I know."

"Madoc's lies would have smirched the whiteness of an angel," retorted the old lady sharply. "But Gwen would have either forgiven or would have disbelieved had Hench come as her cousin. As it is she may throw him over if he tells her who he really is."

"Oh, he intends to tell her right enough, and this very day, somewhere about three o'clock," said Vane coolly. "She may cut up rough for the minute, but when Owain gets into trouble she'll find out that she loves him all right."

"Trouble!" Mrs. Perage looked up suddenly. "What trouble?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, Aunt Emma. Owain intends to tell you himself. But there's a big trouble coming along."

"Hum! Can't it be averted?"

"So far as I can see, it can't."

"Well, Jim,"--the old dame rose from the breakfast table and brushed the crumbs from her apron,--"I'll wait to hear the young man's explanation. But I am quite sure that he is honest and kind and a well-bred gentleman. Nothing will ever make me change my opinion of him."

"Wait till you hear what the trouble is."

"Do you know all about it?" demanded Mrs. Perage imperatively.

"Yes, I do."

"And you still can call Hench your friend?"

"I can. He's a rattling good chap."

"Then why the dickens should I change my opinion when I learn the truth?" said Mrs. Perage vigorously. "It can't be anything dishonourable or you would not champion Hench. Do you think you are talking to a fool, Jim Vane?"

"Oh Lord, Aunt Emma, don't get on to me. My nerves are weak."

"Your head is," retorted Aunt Emma smartly. "I wish you hadn't hinted at this trouble, Jim. I'm horribly inquisitive, and will be on tenterhooks until I know what it's all about."

"I don't expect you'll have to wait long," said Vane gloomily. "There will be the devil to pay if----"

Mrs. Perage closed her ears and hurried to the door. "Not another word. You are only making me more and more curious. But I tell you what, Jim, I am going to stand Hench's friend in any case."

"You're a brick, Aunt Emma."

"I'm an old fool," snapped Mrs. Perage, who was more upset by the implied mystery than she chose to admit. "My wisest plan would be to wash my hands of the whole business, known and unknown. But instead of doing so I am just going to strengthen Gwen's love for Owain, so that it may not fail her when he makes his revelation."

Mrs. Perage held to this determination, and twice or thrice during the morning she exchanged words with Miss Evans on the subject of Hench. The girl for the time being had lost sight of her mission of clearing her name by discovering the name of the assassin, and was wholly taken up with love dreams. She was passionately devoted to the young man, as his attitude tended to increase her belief in the nobility of his nature. He had saved her life as it was, and now, in the face of the rumours which credited her with the death of her father, he was willing to marry her. No man but the noblest who ever breathed would act in so gloriously honourable a fashion. She said this and much more to Mrs. Perage in the seclusion of her bedroom, when she was putting on her prettiest frock and hat to keep the appointment. And all the time Mrs. Perage was rubbing her beaky nose irritably.

"Don't build the pedestal too high, Gwen," she advised dryly. "Your idol may have feet of clay and come toppling over."

"No," said the girl firmly. "Nothing will ever make me believe that Mr. Hench is not the best of men. What is his Christian name, Mrs. Perage? It is strange that he did not tell me yesterday."

Mrs. Perage was much too wary to give the name, lest it should lead to uncomfortable questions and forestall Owain's explanations. "How the deuce should I know the man's name?" she asked crossly and evasively. "I never met him until you introduced him to me as your hero."

"And he is a hero, isn't he?"

"Hum! I suppose so! The rescue was rather flamboyant--a kind of playing to the gallery."

"How unjust," cried Gwen, flaming up, which was exactly what Mrs. Perage wanted her to do. "As if he could help the way in which my rescue took place. I am quite sure that he is the most modest of men."

"Pooh! No man is modest; they are all as conceited as pigs."

"I never knew that pigs were considered vain, Mrs. Perage," said Gwen coldly. "And I don't see why you should compare Mr. Hench to one."

"I spoke generally. Don't be silly."

"Ah, you call me silly because I'm in love."

"Are you really and truly in love?" asked the old lady doubtfully. "Mind you, I don't mean that easy romantic passion which seems everything and means nothing. But real love, true love, staunch love, the sort which will hold to its object in the face of all detraction."

"I wouldn't believe a word against Mr. Hench, if that is what you mean. But I don't know why you should use the word detraction."

"I don't know myself," said Mrs. Perage grimly. "Unless it is that I find most men are broken cisterns. There, there, child, go away and meet your Prince. I don't wish to be your Jeremiah and prophesy woe."

"I wouldn't believe you if you did," said the girl very decidedly. "All my woe was undergone with the death of my father and the loss of my old home. I am sure that there is nothing but sunshine ahead."

Mrs. Perage sniffed and thought anxiously about Vane's hints. But it was not her business to give chapter and verse for her forebodings. And, at all events, she had somewhat strengthened Gwen's love for the young man by depreciating him in a hinting kind of way. When the girl, flushed with love, and looking as pretty as a picture, set forth to keep the appointment, Mrs. Perage stood at the window and breathed a prayer that all would be well. It was a bright warm day, but clouds were drifting across the sky. Even as the old dame prayed a cloud concealed the brightness of the sun and Mrs. Perage shuddered. It was an omen of ill, she thought; but when a few moments later the cloud passed and the glow of the sunshine reasserted itself, she cheered up. It seemed to her that trouble was coming, but would pass without being of any great duration. She fervently hoped so, and went about her daily business calling herself hard names for being so superstitious.

Meantime, Gwen, with a smiling face and a light heart, was walking swiftly towards the place of meeting. Every moment spent away from Hench, now that he had declared himself, seemed to be wasted, and she promised herself three or four golden hours with her lover. They would talk in the churchyard for a time, and then would take a long walk, in any direction, for whatever path they chose would lead to the Elysian Fields. Then he would tell her how much he loved her, and she would respond coyly to his caresses, until earth and sea and sky would be transfigured, and they would be blessed above all lovers who ever were or who ever would be. Afterwards would come marriage, and they would enter into the kingdom of heaven to remain there for ever and ever. Gwen rather blushed at the extravagance of her thoughts when she entered the churchyard, and blushed still more when she came suddenly upon the ancient Saxon Cross, against which the man of men was leaning. She thought for a single nervous moment that he looked rather pinched and worried, but had no cause to complain of the warmth of his greeting. Once she was in his arms with only the jackdaws for spectators, it seemed as though he would never let her go. All the poetry of Romeo and Juliet was in his embrace. And those lovers met in a vault at the last which was even more weird than meeting in a churchyard.

"Though I'm not sure if I like it," murmured Gwen following the course of her thoughts, as they sat down on a flat tombstone.

"Like what?" inquired Hench fatuously; "me?"

"I wasn't thinking of you at the moment."

"Oh, Gwen!" This was breathed with an air of reproach.

"I deserve that, I deserve that," she cried penitently. "But really I was thinking that a churchyard is rather a dismal place to meet in."

"Any place is Paradise where you are," Hench assured her. "But we can go away for a walk in a few minutes."

"Into Parley Wood?"

Hench shivered. "No. I don't like Parley Wood--on your account," he added in a hasty manner. "For there----"

"Yes, I know." Gwen stopped him and shivered also. "I didn't think of what I was saying. But we can't stay here amongst the tombs."

"Why not? Have you any sad recollections about these tombs? Your father is not buried here, I know."

"He is buried at Rhaiadr, in Wales, where his ancestors lie," said the girl in an altered tone. "But I wish you would not speak of my father. He was so cruel to me that I wish to forget all about him for the time being. We will have to talk of him later, when it is necessary to learn who killed him. Meantime, let us have our golden hour. But no"--she made a gesture of despair--"we have lost that as it is."

"Why so?"

"Because you have called up the spectre of my father," said Gwen sadly. "You have reminded me that I am looked at askance by the villagers."

"Dear, you are quite wrong about that. Mrs. Bell speaks of you in the highest terms of respect. I think you are making a mistake."

"No, I am not," said Gwen decisively. "I don't say that any one has openly declared that I have anything to do with the--the crime"--her breath came and went quickly--"but people look and people talk secretly."

"What does it matter so long as they don't talk openly?" said Hench, soothing her gently.

"I wish they would," she cried vehemently. "For then I could meet the rumours better. As it is I am fighting in the dark--and all alone, too."

"No! No!" Hench gathered her into his strong arms. "You have me to fight for you now. Be calm, dearest; everything will be put right now."

"Eh, my faith, but that is most true," said a voice immediately behind them, and the lovers jumped up in dismay to find that they were observed.

The speaker had suddenly emerged from behind a tall tombstone near at hand, and stood staring hard at them--a dumpy little woman with a swarthy face and big black eyes now filled with anger. It did not require the orange-spotted dress, the shabby bead-trimmed mantle and the picture hat to inform either of the young people who the spy was. Hench recognized Madame Alpenny at once, and Gwen beheld the unknown visitor who had called at the Grange. To a woman the dress was sufficient to fix the identity.

"You are the woman who came to see my father," said Gwen, turning white, for the sight of this visitor revived her recollections of the painful days before Squire Evans was murdered.

"Yes, I am the woman. Very clever of you, Mademoiselle, to remember me."

"I remember your dress. Who are you?"

Madame Alpenny nodded suavely towards the silent Hench. "Ask him."

Gwen turned round and looked hard at her lover's colourless face. "Who is this woman?" she asked almost inaudibly. "Do you know her?"

"None better," snapped the Hungarian lady. "Come, Mr. Hench, say who I am, and then I shall tell Mademoiselle who you are."

"Tell him who he is; tell me who he is," stuttered Gwen incoherently. "What do you mean?"

"Ask him," said Madame Alpenny once more. "Mr. Hench----"

"Ah"--the Hungarian lady broke into a hard laugh--"then he has not told you his Christian name."

"I will tell her now," said Hench, taking Gwen's cold hand, and speaking with an effort. "This lady is Madame Alpenny, who lived in the same boarding-house as I did in Bethnal Green."

"But what had she to do with my father, and what has she to do with you?"

"I think your Christian name will explain all in one word," remarked Madame Alpenny, looking up at the blue sky.

"I intended to tell you myself, Gwen, this very morning," cried Hench, striving to preserve his calmness, which was sorely shaken.

"Tell me what?" said Gwen, who was very white and unstrung.

"That my Christian name is--Owain."

"Owain----?"

"Owain Evans," said Madame Alpenny sharply. "Let there be an end to his deceit, Mademoiselle. He is your cousin, the same who has robbed you of your heritage, the same who has----"

"Hold your tongue!" interrupted Hench fiercely. "It is for Miss Evans to speak and not you."

"_Miss_ Evans," sneered the woman, with sparkling eyes. "Why so, when you called her by her Christian name lately, as she can now call you by yours? Oh, it is very well, very well indeed, this bal masque of lies and wickedness."

By this time, Gwen, who had been staring silently at Hench, spoke in a low tone, but in so absolutely unemotional a manner that he could not tell what her feelings were. "Are you really my cousin?"

"Yes! I knew that you were prejudiced against me owing to the false stories told to you by your father, therefore I wished to make your acquaintance under the name my father took when he was sent away from home. Until a few weeks ago I believed it was my true name. Don't blame me over-much, Gwen," he implored. "After all, I wouldn't have had a fair chance had I come as your cousin."

"Perhaps not," she said softly, and a touch of colour came into her face. "And after all, you saved my life."

"No! No! Let us put all obligation out of the question!" cried Hench resolutely. "I wish to be judged on my merits."

"That will be difficult, seeing what a hero you are," said Madame Alpenny in a hatefully smooth voice.

"Hold your tongue!" cried Gwen, turning on her just as Hench had done. "You came down here to make mischief this time, as you came before to make mischief. How you succeeded before you best know yourself, although I truly believe that your last visit had something to do with my father's death."

"It is a lie!" said Madame Alpenny fiercely, and stepped forward.

Gwen did the same, and the two were face to face, very close indeed to one another. "I believe that it is the truth. But of that we can talk later. As to making mischief this time, you shan't succeed. I quite understand why my cousin wished to give himself a chance of being judged fairly. And, after all, he came under the name his father used for many years."

"Oh, Gwen"--Hench caught her hand--"do you forgive me?"

"You silly fellow, there is nothing to forgive," she replied gently. "You were right, as I was greatly prejudiced against you by my father. But now----"

"Now?" he asked, looking at her anxiously.

"I believe you to be honourable and honest, and----"

"Ah"--Madame Alpenny broke in with a snarl, since things were not going as she desired--"honourable, honest. Oh, it is very fine; most excellent, I call it. Do not be sure, Mademoiselle, that he is what you call him."

"I _am_ sure"--Gwen stamped--"and to prove the truth of my belief, I am ready to marry him, as my cousin, Owain Evans. There!"

"Oh, Gwen! Oh, Gwen!" said Hench, scarcely believing his ears.

"Ah, it is so," taunted the marplot. "Do you marry him for the heritage you have lost by his coming?"

"I marry him because I love him, as he loves me," said Gwen quietly, and placing her hand in that of her lover, she faced Madame Alpenny steadily.

"What a comparison"--the woman threw up her hands--"when he loves you not in the least little bit."

"I love her with all my heart and soul!" cried the young man furiously.

"Ah, and so did you speak to my daughter, Zara."

Gwen pulled her hand away from that of Owain, and looked from him to the scoffing woman. "My daughter, Zara," she repeated. "And who is she?"

"Do I not speak English?" questioned Madame Alpenny mockingly. "Ah, then I do pray your forgiveness, as I am what you call--yes--an alien."

"It is nonsense you are talking," said Hench angrily. "Your daughter----"

Then she turned on him furiously, letting her temper flame out for the first time during the interview. "Yes, my daughter. You dare to stand there and declare that you do not love her. She is heart-broken, poor girl, because you have deserted her. I came here bearing a message, and when I visited where you are staying, your landlady told me you had gone to this place. I followed quietly and hid myself there"--she flung out an arm towards the tall tombstone--"to hear what?--you making love with another girl. But it shall not be so, I tell you. Zara, my daughter, you shall marry, and not this--this----"

"Stop!" cried Hench, finally managing to stay this torrent of words. "If you begin to call names you will be sorry for it. I do not love your daughter--I never loved your daughter. It is true that I admired her, but she told me how she desired to marry Bracken."

"You false one!" raged Madame Alpenny. "Zara told me you did ask her hand in marriage."

"That is true," acknowledged Hench boldly. "But I----" he paused, for a low cry of pain broke on his ear. He turned impetuously to reassure Gwen of his devotion, only to see her gliding up the path towards the gate with surprising swiftness. Evidently his foolish admission had given her to understand that Madame Alpenny's accusation was true, and without waiting to hear any explanation, she had slipped away in despair. "Gwen! Gwen!" cried the young man in hoarse tones, and hastening after the girl. "Wait; wait; it is not what you think, my dear; it is----" his voice broke, as Gwen, without turning her head, reached the gate and ran along the road.

"Ah, but no. You shall not go after," hissed a bitter voice at his elbow, and Madame Alpenny grasped his arm firmly. "Here you stay to speak with me."

"You old fiend!" cried Hench, turning on her furiously, for he saw that it was useless to follow Gwen and explain at the present moment.

"As you please," retorted the Hungarian lady, releasing him. "Names do not do harm, my friend. I can afford to laugh, and I do."

While she was laughing, Hench suddenly became quite cool. He saw that he was in both a dangerous and uncomfortable position, as the woman had chosen her time excellently to complicate matters. Gwen had pardoned his masquerade, but she was far too feminine, as he believed, to pardon his proposing to another woman. In a moment Hench determined to settle Madame Alpenny and then go at once to enlist Mrs. Perage on his side. "Well," he said calmly to the marplot, "you have found me and you have done your worst. What now?"

"Don't say that much, Monsieur," said Madame Alpenny shrilly. "Done my worst, do you declare? Ah, but no. Not yet have I said what I came to say."

"I know what you have come to say," retorted Hench, taking the bull by the horns, which was the best thing to do. "You mean to accuse me of murdering my uncle."

Madame Alpenny looked rather taken aback by this cool defiance, but accepted the situation with a vicious pluck. "And is it not so?"

"It isn't worth my while to reply to so ridiculous a question," said Hench, shrugging his square shoulders. "You accuse me. On what grounds, pray?"

"Plenty of grounds, Monsieur; plenty of grounds. You obeyed that advertisement and met your uncle to murder him and get the property."

"When I didn't know that he was my uncle, or that I would inherit any property in the event of his death?"

"You did know that he was your uncle," said the woman furiously. "Those papers at your lawyers'----"

"I did not see them until nine days later," interrupted the young man.

"_You_ say so," she sneered, "How can you prove that?"

"My lawyers can prove it."

"Ah, what folly!" Madame Alpenny brushed away this defence with a gesture. "It was Mr. Evans who told you in that wood how he was your uncle----"

"He did not. I never met him while he was alive."

"_You_ say so----" began Madame, again, only to be cut short.

"Hold your tongue and listen," said Hench in a peremptory tone. "You are very clever and cunning, Madame, and have trapped me by means of that advertisement in the hopes that you can force me to marry your daughter. I absolutely decline to do so."

"Then I tell the policemen that you are a murderer," she retorted quickly. Hench laughed. "Oh no, you won't. You would have done that long ago, but that you wished to blackmail me. But I refuse to be blackmailed also. And you, Madame, will have to explain why you came down here to request my uncle to insert that advertisement, instead of writing to me openly. Stop"--Hench waved his hand, as she was about to speak--"I have no time to enter into details now. On another occasion we can speak."

Madame Alpenny looked at him sullenly, as she was unprepared for this defiance and saw the need of gaining time. "I will wait for one week and then come to you again," she said savagely. "But you marry Zara, or you hang!"

"I shall do neither," said Hench calmly, and turned on his heel with contempt.

"One week," called out the woman furiously; "in one week I come again!"