CHAPTER XI.

THE PRICE OF A KISS.

Pearl's engagement to Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was not generally announced. They both had their reasons for keeping the fact to themselves, and it was only Mrs. Nugent's immediate family, and Sir Ralph Nicholson, as so soon to form one of that family, who were initiated into the secret.

Rosina was radiant, as indeed she well might be, for, after months of feminine vacillation, were not both her beautiful charges at last satisfactorily disposed of? Naturally, perhaps, she took the credit of Pearl's engagement entirely to herself. She told her husband it would never have come off if it had not been for that necessary progging, given so judiciously to the devoted and constant, yet hesitating lover.

At this information Mr. Rawlinson growled forth the remark that she would far better have left matters alone. That people who mixed themselves up in such affairs generally ended by burning their own fingers, and that if de Güldenfeldt, at his age, didn't know his own mind, well, all that he could say was he was a far greater fool than he had given him credit for being.

He further remarked--for when once wound up Tom Rawlinson was not devoid of conversation,--that it was perfect bosh, in his opinion, this ridiculous effusion and fuss over a simple and every-day engagement of marriage. No doubt all the world gushed in the same absurd manner over Pearl's first marriage. And pray, how had that turned out? Certainly he, for one, didn't see that de Güldenfeldt was doing such a very good thing for himself. True, Pearl was a pretty woman, pleasant too, and had an uncommonly good fortune of her own. But then, look at that business with her first husband, to say nothing of that uncomfortable scandal with that fellow Martinworth, who, in his opinion, would far better have kept in England, instead of coming to Japan and getting into further mischief.

For his own part, he liked de Güldenfeldt. He was a capital chap, and he thought it was a pity he was wasting himself on a woman who, in spite of certain attractions, never succeeded in being of the same mind two days running. In fact, in his humble opinion, he was far too good for Pearl.

Thus, having reduced his wife almost to the verge of tears, Tom Rawlinson took his hat and went for a tramp across the hills.

Nevertheless, shortly after he had relieved his mind in this downright fashion, Mr. Rawlinson informed Pearl that it was his express wish that she should be married from his house. He likewise announced his intention of bearing all the expenses of the _trousseau_ and the wedding. In fact he begged that she would understand that she was to look upon herself, for that occasion at least, as a daughter of the house. Further, he requested her acceptance of a trifling cheque with which to buy herself a jewel, which, he need not add, he would feel greatly flattered by her wearing on her wedding day.

The cheque was a substantial one, representing the sum of a hundred guineas.

By this time all the party had moved up to Chuzenji. Pearl was supremely happy in her Japanese wooden house on the borders of the lake. She loved her picturesque, bright little abode, with its fresh, clean _tatami_,[13] its beautifully engrained wood, its white walls and ceilings, and its sliding paper doors and cupboards. But above all, she loved the broad, cool verandah, on which was passed the hot period of the day, and from which was visible the most extensive, the most lovely view of lake and mountains in all Chuzenji. She would rest her arms on the balustrade of this verandah, which hung completely over the water, and there she would remain, idle and happy for hours, watching the limpid, laughing lake with its frame of wooded mountains and its ever changing banks of clouds.

[13] Japanese matting.

But it was in the early morning that Pearl found Chuzenji the most seductive, that she loved it best. After the opening of the _amado_[14]--without which protection against storm and rain and thieves no Japanese house would be complete--she would lie in bed, and with her face turned towards the lake would watch with a dreamy fascination the scene before her.

[14] Outside wooden shutters.

And indeed, the picture upon which she gazed with enchanted eyes was an ideal one. The sapphire blueness of the water, on which at that hour seldom a ripple was to be seen--the chain of wooded mountains rising up large and indistinct, and garlanded by vast pearly belts of caressing, fleecy clouds,--the little village on the opposite side, with its sparkling beach and tiny wooden houses, glistening like snow in the brilliant sun--the Japanese fishing boat, with one great, white wing faintly fluttering in the soft and wavering breeze--Pearl would gaze entranced at all this bewitching beauty of the mysterious silent morn, enveloped in a hazy mantle of perfect peace and calm--and, gazing, she would thank God that she lived.

Monsieur de Güldenfeldt was as enthusiastic as his _fiancée_ over the varied charms of Chuzenji. They would pass together the greater part of those sweet, sunny days, either sailing or rowing on the lake, or when they wished to vary their form of exercise, taking long tramps across the mountains to the plains where the myriads of wild flowers and the great white tiger lilies grow. As Pearl became stronger, they would sometimes walk to the neighbouring village of Yumoto, most beautiful and secluded, with its forest of giant pines and maples that overhang the miniature lake. Curious and unique, too, is this lovely mountain spot, its chief characteristic being its open-air sulphur baths, among the suffocating fumes of which the lower-class Japanese of both sexes are seen disporting themselves, sometimes for hours at a time, their sole array being Nature's garb of innocent simplicity.

Meanwhile, Pearl was far from feeling that happiness and contentment of mind she certainly counted upon when she bound herself by promise to marry Monsieur de Güldenfeldt. As the days passed she knew, without analysing her feelings very deeply, that it was impossible for her to give that love that he in time would without doubt claim as his due. In spite of his many delightful qualities which called forth her sincere admiration, in spite of his more than ordinary share of intelligence and good looks, of the seductive tones and subtle charm of manner, and above all,--in spite of his great and absorbing devotion to herself, Pearl Nugent's heart did not beat one iota the faster at the sound of his voice, at the touch of his hand, or at his presence by her side.

And the day when she discovered to her dismay the fact that not only did she not care for him, but that, above all, de Güldenfeldt's great affection for herself was acting as an irritant upon her nerves, Mrs. Nugent was indeed a woman to be pitied. Before her engagement she had thoroughly appreciated the hundred little attentions with which he had surrounded her, and what is more, had almost looked upon them as her right. Now however, that she was bound to him by promise, she found her feelings undergoing an unexpected and most lamentable transformation. She made every effort to disguise this change of front from her lover, and she flattered herself that she succeeded fairly well.

Her surprise, therefore, would have been profound, and would have equalled her dismay, if she had divined that Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was, to a very great extent, aware of the constant and bitter struggle that was being fought within her heart.

De Güldenfeldt was, however, a patient man. His chief object had been gained, namely, Pearl's promise of herself. He was, therefore, content to bide his time for what he flattered himself must necessarily follow ere long--the promise of her love.

But though generally right in his calculations, on this occasion the Swedish Minister was entirely at fault. Indeed, it was not surprising that in this instance he should make a mistake. De Güldenfeldt's knowledge of the intricate workings of the female mind was unusually vague and superficial for one who so prominently and for so many years had mixed in the world. His immersion hitherto in the political and the more serious side of his profession, and the life led--as a recreation to those duties--of scientific thought and study, was the worst school for attaining a knowledge of womankind. Stanislas at this period of his existence, though he was the last to acknowledge this deficiency, was more ignorant than many a modern youth of twenty of those inexplicable feminine contradictions that contribute not only towards the frenzy and the despair, but likewise to the frequent destruction of too confiding man.

If his experience of women had been a trifle greater, de Güldenfeldt's eyes would have opened to the fact that this very indifference to his presence, this very shrinking from his words and acts of affection, which Pearl tried so vainly to disguise, was the sure and certain proof that no amount of persuasion, of patience, or of tact would succeed in securing him that love on which he relied for his future happiness. If he could but have known it, Pearl was simply incapable of again feeling a throb of passion. Her devotion for Martinworth had lasted too long--had burnt too deeply into her soul--to be capable of being rekindled, or of blazing afresh, lighted by another hand. Pearl knew it now. And as the days went on, and she was more and more in de Güldenfeldt's society, and as more and more he treated her as his own especial property, she gradually realized that of the many mistakes she had made of late, this last was the most disastrous, the most fatal of her life.

It was about this time that Mrs. Nugent received an answer to her letter to Mr. Hall. Enclosed with the letter was a copy of her will drawn up from the rough draft she had sent her lawyer, and which only required to be signed and witnessed to make it legal. Pearl put the private letter aside to be perused at leisure, and witnessed by Count Carlitti and Tom Rawlinson, she signed the document, with the intention of despatching it by the mail that was leaving the same day.

Mr. Rawlinson was nothing if not business-like. And whereas Carlitti had signed the will in a blissful state of ignorance as to its purport or contents, and at the sight of a favourite lady-friend sweeping past Pearl's door had immediately hurried in pursuit,--the former, before venturing to put his name to paper, had ponderously read and weighed every clause of the document.

"You will excuse me, Pearl," he said, as after a very firm and upright 'Thomas Rawlinson,' he deposited the parchment on the table, and leaning against the frail wood-work of the Japanese _shoji_[15] he lit a cigar, "you will excuse me if I venture, as a member of the family, to make a remark. In my opinion this is an uncommonly rum sort of will of yours. Deuced pleasant for Amy Mendovy, I allow, and it is nice of you to have remembered Rosina so extremely handsomely. But may I be allowed to inquire where your future husband, de Güldenfeldt, has a look in? It seems to me that you have ignored his existence altogether."

[15] Sliding window.

Pearl flushed. "I am not yet married to Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she murmured, "and as his _fiancée_ I have certainly never for a moment thought of leaving him my money. He does not need it. He has plenty of his own."

"Doubtless," and Pearl blushed a deeper crimson under the scrutiny of the keen eyes, "but you will, I suppose, in the natural course of events, be married to him before many months have passed. It is, I should have thought, hardly seemly to cut him out entirely. Don't you agree with me?"

"The date of our marriage is not yet fixed. I am not married to him yet," she repeated, rather helplessly. "When--when we are married--nothing will be easier, I suppose, than to make a new will. In fact the old will does not hold good in those circumstances. Besides, there will be the settlements. I am perfectly aware that you mean well, Tom. But don't distress yourself. I know what I am about."

"Well, then, I'm blest if I do, and that's flat!" exclaimed Rawlinson. "No shilly shallying, I hope, my fair cousin. Let me tell you, once for all, de Güldenfeldt is not the sort of fellow to stand any confounded feminine nonsense. Pay attention to what I say, my dear, and don't for heaven's sake, behave like a fool."

Pearl drew herself up, and her eyes flashed ominously.

"Really, Tom," she said, "I think you--you--go a little too far. You presume somewhat on our relationship. I do not wish to believe that you have any real intention of being rude or disagreeable, but--well--to begin with, I never asked you to read my will. And I don't believe for a moment that it is usual for a witness to read through a will before signing it."

"Don't you, indeed! Well! I tell you it is usual for Tom Rawlinson to do so. You needn't have done me the honour of asking me to witness it if you didn't like the habit. But," he added, seeing she still looked angry, "don't let us wrangle about such a trifle. You mustn't be vexed at my plain speaking, Pearl. Remember, I stand _in loco parentis_ to you, and if that position doesn't give me the right to offer advice and to speak my mind, I don't know what should. But when, I should like to know, did a woman ever take advice? Nevertheless, I repeat I am puzzled with regard to your treatment of de Güldenfeldt. He is a first-rate chap, Pearl."

"Oh! you dear old Tom, as if I didn't know that. Am I likely to forget it, when the fact is being everlastingly dinned into my poor ears? How often have I not been told by you, and Rosina, and Amy, that I am the luckiest woman on the face of the earth to have succeeded in securing such a treasure? It is not necessary to impress this information so often, so very often, upon me, I assure you, Tom. I am perfectly aware of my good luck, and you may rest satisfied that I have no intention whatsoever of forfeiting such a prize. Nevertheless, in spite of your objections, and of anything that you may consider it your duty to say, my money, certainly for the present, goes to Amy, and not to Stanislas. Why! it was chiefly for that purpose and for the pleasure of being able to leave it to her, that I decided to accept that horrid fortune."

"Indeed! Well, I suppose you know your own wishes best. She's a lucky girl. Not that she is ever likely to get it. Your life is as good as hers, any day," with which farewell shaft Tom Rawlinson took his departure.

"A queer woman, that Pearl," he remarked to his wife that evening over his second glass of port. "Hysterical, and nervous and uncertain. I wouldn't be in that poor fellow de Güldenfeldt's shoes for all I'm worth. Not that she'll ever marry him, that's one blessing."

"What?" shrieked Rosina and Amy in chorus. "Oh, Tom, what do you mean?" added his wife tremulously.

"I mean what I say. At the last moment--she'll wait till then, of course--but at the last moment, Pearl Nugent will throw de Güldenfeldt over. I warn you she has not the slightest intention of marrying him. She finds it very convenient to have a devoted idiot eternally dangling after her. But she'll never come up to the scratch. She's as shifty and as vacillating as you make 'em. A most untrustworthy woman, I call her, in spite of her prettiness, her money, and all the rest of it."

"You've disliked Pearl from the commencement, Tom," replied Rosina as she rose from the table, "and of course nothing I may say will be likely to change your opinion. But I really think, before making these rash assertions, you should have some grounds to go upon."

"I by no means dislike your Pearl. In fact I rather like her. But with regard to her heart affairs, she--as a weak, vacillating member of your sex,--in my opinion, takes the cake. Mark my words, Rosina, my fair and fascinating cousin Pearl will never be the wife of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt."

"As he gets older your poor uncle's habit of constantly repeating himself increases," remarked Rosina, as she and Amy settled themselves in the little rowing boat. "He really is a most tiresome man. This engagement of Pearl's is so very satisfactory in every way. I was so enchanted about it. And now he makes me wretched with those horrid prognostications of his. I wonder what can have induced him to take such an annoying idea into his head. So shortly after everything has all been comfortably settled, too. You don't think that there is any ground for his fears, do you, Amy?"

Amy was silent, while her eyes grew thoughtful. "Yes," she said after a minute, "I think that perhaps uncle is right. I am sure Pearl is not happy, auntie. She tries her utmost to like Stanislas, but nothing she can do will ever succeed in making her really care for him. He has got on her nerves. I can see that."

"And he's such a dear, charming fellow, and so absolutely devoted to her."

"Whereas, if he were a worthless but fascinating scoundrel, who merely desired to marry her for her money, she would probably adore him, and be grovelling at his feet for a kind word. We women are made like that," replied Amy, with a worldly wisdom beyond her years.

"Well, at any rate, your affairs and Ralph's are all right. That's one comfort."

"I'm not so sure of that. I've discovered lately that Ralph is by no means perfection, and as life is far too short to devote time to the correction of settled bad habits, I'm not at all certain, auntie, but that in the end I may be reduced to the unpleasant necessity of throwing him over," and Amy's eyes gleamed with mischief as she glanced up at her aunt and gave an extra strong pull at the sculls.

Mrs. Rawlinson's face for the space of a moment was indicative of the deepest despair. But bitter experience had taught her wisdom, and she made no reply. She had long ago given up attempting to fathom the intricate traits of her young niece's character, or of trying to decide in her own mind those moments when Amy meant seriously or the reverse. Thus on the present occasion she held her peace, and with a sigh of resignation placidly folded her plump hands upon her lap. Trusting that a merciful Providence would take the matter up, she offered a secret prayer that in spite of the perversity of a troublesome niece, all might ultimately come right in the end.

The Martinworths had taken possession of their rooms in the hotel. Circumstances, however, had so far arranged themselves that the inevitable meeting between Pearl and Lord Martinworth had not so far taken place. Pearl had on the contrary been constantly thrown in contact with his wife, the latter having contracted the habit of running in and out of Mrs. Nugent's house whenever an opportunity occurred. Pearl found her looking both unhappy and ill, but though she more than half divined the cause, Lady Martinworth volunteered no information, rarely indeed mentioning her husband's name. It was purely incidentally that, in the course of conversation one day, Pearl learnt that Lord Martinworth's health was, in his wife's opinion by no means satisfactory, and consequently, the cause of considerable anxiety.

With that vague fear and dismay felt by Pearl whenever she now thought or spoke of Martinworth, she nevertheless nerved herself, on receiving this intimation, to make one or two necessary and polite inquiries.

"I hope," she said rather formally, "that you are not seriously uneasy as to Lord Martinworth's health? If so, this is the last place to bring him to. We have no doctor up here, you know."

"Life is too short to fuss over people who decline to be fussed over," replied Lady Martinworth philosophically. "Dick bites off my head if I suggest he is out of sorts. So now I hold my tongue. But the fact remains, his nerves are completely unstrung, and he's jumpy to a degree. His temper, too, has been unbearable ever since he returned from that trip. I think it must be the Japanese food that disagreed with him. He lived on it for two months. And we all know the digestion acts to a great extent on the temper and the nerves."

Pearl smiled. "I should say it is much more likely to be the climate than the food. Nervous people always come to grief in Japan. I should get him away if I were you."

Lady Martinworth glanced sharply at Mrs. Nugent.

"That is most excellent advice, my dear," she said dryly, "and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to follow it. But unfortunately Martinworth possesses a will before which--from my experience--everything and everybody give way in the end."

Pearl changed colour, and turned the conversation.

It was some days after the above remarks that Mrs. Nugent and de Güldenfeldt decided to row half way down the lake to Shogonohama. They beached their boat, wandering under the shade of the maples, till they found themselves in the little hut overlooking the waterfall. The rain had poured in torrents for the whole of the day and night before. The cascade, always beautiful, was that day simply magnificent, and the sheets of water crowned with their wreaths of snowy foam, were tearing over the smooth surface of the rocks, and across the fallen trunks of trees, in unbridled and uncontrollable fury. The sight was a glorious one, if somewhat appalling, and the noise was deafening. Pearl and de Güldenfeldt sat close to each other, silent and impressed, he half supporting her with his arm, for the barrier against which they leant--a frail and rotten bamboo--was their only protection from sure and summary destruction.

The sight of rushing, roaring waters invariably worked upon Pearl's emotions. The present moment, with its many lovely accessories, a brilliant blue sky, massive, fern-grown rocks, and surrounding woods of every shade of green--stirred her greatly, and combined in awakening feelings that had long lain dormant in her heart.

With unusual demonstrativeness she turned towards Stanislas, her lips parted, and her eyes shining like stars, and taking his hand between her own, she laid it gently against her cheek. Since their engagement, Pearl had volunteered but few proofs of tenderness, and the present action on her part was so spontaneous, so unexpected, that Stanislas felt the blood surging up into his head, and his heart throbbing, as in reply he leant forward, and pressing her to him, he kissed her passionately on the lips.

A moment later they both instinctively knew--for they could hear nothing owing to the deafening roar of the waters,--that someone was watching them from behind. They turned simultaneously, their eyes meeting those of Lord Martinworth fixed upon them--while Amy Mendovy--apparently extremely wretched and uncomfortable--was standing by his side.

Arriving from an opposite direction and at that unfortunate moment sharply turning a corner, Martinworth and Amy had fallen thus upon the unconscious pair, necessarily witnessing the whole tender and silently acted scene.

At such a sacred moment, the last thing one would ask is to be disturbed, and however true and deep and absorbing may be a man's feelings at the time, it is hardly a pleasant sentiment to know that to the ordinary outside and amused observer one must necessarily be looking somewhat like a fool.

And yet, to his intense annoyance, it was in this undignified and unusual position that de Güldenfeldt now found himself. Perhaps it was only human nature that, being the sole person at fault, his rage should straightway centre itself upon one who so far had proved himself, except by his uncalled-for and unfortunate arrival, entirely inoffensive.

He took two steps forward in Lord Martinworth's direction, and was about to pour forth a flow of angry words and enquiries, when his eloquence was abruptly nipped in the bud by the expression on his would-be victim's face.

And, indeed, the transformation visible on that countenance, which de Güldenfeldt had known so well in former days, was enough not only to astonish, but to paralyze the bravest man. For the face was no longer human. It was almost that of a fiend.

Lord Martinworth was looking straight at Pearl. His blue eyes, which she had always known so soft and tender, so gentle and so kind, gleamed wildly, seeming to be charged with lightning under the contracting eyebrows. His mouth was slightly open, and through the sneering lips shone the white teeth, while the nostrils of the delicate nose were quivering with excitement and with rage. Features so transformed were sufficient in themselves to terrify the most courageous. But an expression of bitter, overwhelming hate and fury, resting like a veil upon the livid face, completed the appalling picture.

He did not say a word. He hardly seemed to breathe. But he stood--for what seemed to the spectators an endless period--staring at Pearl Nugent with those frenzied eyes. With one hand half-lifted before her, as if to shut off the sight, and with the other clutching de Güldenfeldt's arm, she looked back, white and trembling with fear, yet as if half-hypnotised, into Martinworth's face.

At last the tension proving more than she could bear, Pearl gave one little piteous moan, and sank unconscious upon the earthern floor of the shed.

This alarming occurrence roused all from the spell that had hitherto held them silent and inactive. Martinworth, casting one last look of infinite hatred and contempt at the inanimate form, turned and left the hut, while de Güldenfeldt and Amy, bending over Pearl, and engrossed in their attempts to restore her back to consciousness, hardly noticed that he was gone.

For long their efforts seemed unavailing. But at last Pearl slowly opened her grey eyes, smiling sweetly at de Güldenfeldt as he leant over her. Then consciousness and memory returning, the terrified expression shadowed once more the pale face.

"Where is he?" she whispered, starting up. "Has he gone?"

"Yes, my darling, he has gone away," replied Amy, taking the still trembling form in her arms. "You have nothing to fear, Pearl."

"He is gone! And you did not kill him!" exclaimed Pearl, tearing herself from Amy's arms, and facing de Güldenfeldt. "Oh God! you let him go? You did not kill him? And you call yourself a man?"

Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's first expression of surprise changed to one of sorrow. At the moment it seemed to him that this most uncalled-for and unexpected attack was a return of Pearl's illness and delirium.

"Hush! dear, hush!" he said soothingly, "Why should I kill Martinworth? He did nothing."

"You say he did nothing?" she cried excitedly. "You saw the horrible way in which he looked at me, and you say he did nothing? Oh, coward!--coward!"

The blood flew into de Güldenfeldt's cheeks, and he bit his lips.

"Don't excite yourself, Pearl," he replied quietly. "Of course, if you think Martinworth has insulted you, he shall answer to me for it. Now come home, for you are ill, dear, and it is getting late."

Pearl said no more, suffering herself to be led between Amy and Stanislas, though she was still trembling like a leaf when they placed her in the boat. From the moment that she was seated in the stern, Mrs. Nugent lapsed into gloomy silence. Her former excitement, greatly to the relief of both, appeared to have passed as quickly as it had risen. She sat with her hands clasped on her knees, staring out before her, but taking no notice of passing objects.

The silent row home against a high wind seemed endless. But at length they arrived at Mrs. Nugent's house, and Amy, as a matter of course, followed her cousin within its shelter.

Stanislas knew that with Miss Mendovy Pearl was in safe and tender hands. But he looked very white and drawn, and he heaved a deep sigh as turning back into the boat he sculled himself home.

From the moment that he and Amy had half lifted her into the boat Pearl had completely ignored his presence, nor had she answered, or taken any notice whatsoever, of her lover's farewell salutation.

Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had indeed paid dearly for that one moment's happiness of the touch of Pearl's soft hand upon his cheek!