CHAPTER XIII

MRS. WALKER'S VISIT

The meeting of the two girls who loved George seemed destined to end abruptly. On the first occasion Lesbia had broken short the interview at Henley, and on the second Maud had hastened away from Rose Cottage. Lesbia wondered that she had not remained to talk further, and was rather anxious when she remembered that Maud had left with a threat on her lips. Miss Ellis was clever and cunning and reckless, and in one way or another might work mischief. Not that Lesbia saw any chance of her doing any, since she knew too much for Maud's peace of mind. Without doubt what Canning had discovered was true, else Maud would not have surrendered so easily. Lesbia thought until she was weary about the matter, and especially how Canning could have discovered the truth so speedily. She would have asked him point-blank in spite of his prohibition, but that he was in London. And as yet he had not written to tell where he was hiding.

However, as things stood, there was no doubt that Maud would keep her promise, and that George was safe. On the day after the stockbroker's niece had paid her visit, Lesbia wrote a long letter to Walker, and detailed all that Canning had discovered and also narrated its effect on Maud Ellis. Further, she gave George to understand how she had been compelled to write the letter of dismissal, and ended up with a fond wish that her lover should come and see her at once. When this letter was posted Lesbia began to dream of Walker's speedy return, and haunted the garden in order to see his boat coming swiftly down the river.

But the boat never came, nor did any letter from George. Day after day Lesbia watched the stream: watched also the postman, but in every case she was disappointed. Walker must have received the letter, else it would have been returned through the Dead Letter Office, so it was strange, seeing how she had explained matters, that he did not appear. Or at least he might have written. The girl wearying for love grew peaked and wan, much to the distress of Tim, who could not understand. Finally, Lesbia told him the whole story, and sent him over to the cottage at Medmenham to see if Walker had received the letter. Tim returned somewhat downcast.

"Masther Garge has been in London these six days," said Tim, "and the misthress--his blissid mother, towld me she'd sint the letter to him. He's got it, me dear, but the divil knows why he doesn't write ye the scratch av a pen. Augh, me dear, nivir trouble him again. Sure there's more fish in the say nor ivir come out av that same."

"George is the only man in the world for me," said Lesbia firmly, although the tears were in her eyes, "and I'll never give him up, until I hear him say that he loves another. This is Miss Ellis's work."

"Och murder, me dear, it's a baste she is entoirely. But from what ye towld me, Miss, ye drew the teeth av her."

"She went away with a threat," sighed Lesbia dismally. "She can't force my George to marry her now; but evidently she can prevent his returning to me as I want him to. Oh Tim, what am I to do now?"

"See Masther Garge and ask him plain, Miss."

"But I have not the money to go to London, and besides, I do not know where George is stopping," protested Lesbia, wringing her hands.

"See his ould mother, the saints be good to her! for an iceberg she is," suggested Tim after a pause. "Sure she'll tell ye where he is, me dear."

"No, Tim, no. Mrs. Walker hates my father, and would rather die than see her son become my husband."

"Hates the masther, is ut?" muttered the crooked little man frowning. "And if so, me darlin' heart, why shud she come to see him?"

"Come to see him," echoed Lesbia staring, "why Mrs. Walker has never been here to see my father in her life. I understood from George that she hated my father. In that case she will never come here. If she did come," sighed Lesbia, "I might soften her heart so that she might be on my side. I am sure I could win her over."

"Well, Miss Lesbia, ye can but try, for the ould woman is coming here to-morrow afternoon to see the masther."

"But he's away, Tim."

"Sure, Miss, he sint me the scratch av a pin sayin' he was coming back this very day. I towld the ould woman, whin she axed me, so she's coming to have a talk wid him. An' the divil will make a third wid them two," muttered Tim crossing himself, "saints kape us from harm!"

Lesbia was much astonished at this news, as Mrs. Walker had never been to Rose Cottage before, and moreover--on the word of her son--she both despised and hated Mr. Hale. The girl wondered if the visit had anything to do with the letter she had lately written to George. Perhaps Maud's threat had meant that she would enlist Mrs. Walker on her side to stop the marriage, since Maud herself, for obvious reasons, was powerless to do so. But then, in any case, Mrs. Walker disapproved of the marriage, so there was no need for Maud to interfere. Also, if the letter had been forwarded to George in London--and Lesbia saw no reason why it should not have been forwarded--he must have received the same. If so, why did he not reply, seeing that she had completely exonerated herself, and was anxious to renew the engagement which for George's own sake she had been forced to break? Poor Lesbia thought over these questions until she was weary and her head ached, but she could find no reply. The only thing to be done, was to wait until the formidable Mrs. Walker arrived: then a few minutes' conversation with her might reveal the reason of George's strange behaviour.

Mr. Hale duly returned, and seemed even angrier and more sullen than he had been before he went away. He scarcely spoke to his daughter, and several times he looked at her with positive dread in his usually cold eyes. It appeared as though he considered Lesbia as a careless child with a box of matches, who might at any moment set the house on fire. Lesbia had a feeling that he was terribly angry with her, and yet that this anger was mixed with a certain amount of dread. However, he contented himself with looking daggers, and to avoid further disturbances, she did not ask him any questions. But the house was very uncomfortable. Then at breakfast next morning, on the day when Mrs. Walker was expected, Hale surprised the girl by announcing an invitation.

"I saw Lord Charvington when I was in town," said Hale, keeping his pale eyes on his plate. "For some reason he chose to remember your existence."

Lesbia gasped, and wondered if Charvington had told her father of the money she had borrowed. In that case Hale would question her as to the use she had made of it, and then her counterplot with Canning would come to light with disastrous results. But Hale's further conversation made it plain that Charvington had said nothing about the loan.

"He asked how you were," pursued Hale softly, and still keeping his eyes on his plate, "and if you had grown up a pretty girl. He hasn't seen you for a long time, remember. Considering how badly you have behaved, Lesbia, I spoke better of you than you deserved, so Charvington--prepare yourself for a surprise--has asked you to stop at his country-house. He told me that his wife would send you the invitation."

"It is very good of him," said Lesbia faintly. "But I really do not want to go, father."

Hale looked up with a scowl. "Always opposition," he grumbled, "you _shall_ go, child. If you won't marry Sargent, there will be a chance of your making a good match when under Lady Charvington's wing. She has daughters of her own, too, so you will have a very good time."

"Why should Lord Charvington ask me?"

"I can't say. . . . He suddenly seems to have remembered your existence. Of course, as my daughter you are related to him. However, the chance of a visit at such a country house is a very good one for you, so get ready to start when the invitation comes. Do you want any frocks, or----"

"No. I have everything," said Lesbia, rising; "after all perhaps the change will do me good, and I should like to see a little of the world."

"You will see plenty of it with Charvington and his wife. They are a gay couple, and entertain largely. They are at their country seat near Maidenhead for a week; but if you play your cards well Lady Charvington may take you to London for the rest of the season."

Lesbia nodded and went into the garden. Here she sat on the bench under the chestnut, and thought over the glittering prospect which was now open to her. She loved George and was contented with the quiet life, provided he shared it with her. But as he was absent and was behaving so very strangely, she thought that it would be best to plunge into society if only to forget her aching heart. And if George would not marry her, it might be that she would meet with some other man, who would take her away from the uncomfortable life with her father. In her own heart Lesbia knew that she could love no one but George Walker. Still she could not force him to marry her, and he appeared to have accepted her letter of dismissal as final in spite of the second epistle stating why she wrote the first. The poor girl felt very sad and very lonely, and her tears rained down, salt and bitter, as she sat a solitary figure under the glorious tree. The blackbird was piping again, as he had done when George proposed; but it seemed to her ears that the song was now sad. But that probably was mere fancy.

At one o'clock Lesbia returned to the cottage, wondering why all these troubles had come upon her. It really seemed as though Tim's idea about the bad luck of the cross was true, for ever since she had bestowed it on her lover there had been nothing but sorrow and mystery. Even George had not escaped misfortune, since he had been assaulted and robbed, and had lost his situation through being accused unjustly of a crime he had never committed. But Lesbia was a reader of fairy tales, and remembered that the prince and princess always have much grief before peace and joy arrive, so she hoped that in some way--she could not see how--the bad luck which was upon her and George would pass away leaving them married and rich and happy. But, at present, it must be confessed that there did not appear to be much chance of such good fortune.

"The ould woman has come this very minit," whispered Tim, meeting the girl at the back door. "I've put her in the parlour, but the masther is out."

"My father is certain to come into luncheon," said Lesbia hurriedly.

"Av coorse he is," muttered Tim, "a mighty dainty man he is fur the inside av him. But she's axing for you, Miss, and----"

"I'll go to her," interrupted Lesbia, "meanwhile, Tim, lay another place at the table. I daresay Mrs. Walker is hungry."

With these instructions Lesbia sought the small parlour, and entered to find it occupied by a modern Lady Macbeth. Mrs. Walker clothed in rich but funereal-looking garments of the deepest black was seated majestically on the sofa. Without rising she raised a pair of piercing eyes to look at the girl, and a brief expression of surprise flitted across her impassive face. She had scarcely expected to find the girl so beautiful, as she had always taken her son's enthusiastic descriptions with a grain of salt. However, she privately admitted that George was right for once and she greeted the girl with stiff kindness. And indeed it was hard even for a lady of Mrs. Walker's hard nature to be angry with Lesbia, who looked such a child, and who behaved so sweetly.

"I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Walker, looking anxiously into the girl's delicate face. "You remind me of someone who--no, I can't recall of whom you remind me. Still--" she searched anxiously--"you are very like someone I knew."

"Perhaps my mother," Lesbia ventured to remark. "My late nurse, Bridget Burke, told me I closely resembled my mother."

"I never met your mother," said Mrs. Walker, dropping Lesbia's hand quickly and becoming stiffer than ever. "Your father and I were never friends, my dear. I should not be here to-day, save that I have come to ask him about some business connected with money I expect to inherit. Also," added Mrs. Walker unexpectedly, "I wanted to see you. George had talked much of you, my child, and seems to have loved you greatly. I can't blame him, and the wonder is that he should give you up."

Lesbia clasped her small hands and sank into a chair, her face white and her eyes widely open. "George has never given me up," she said faintly. "I wrote and told him why I was forced to send him the first letter, and----"

"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Walker waved a beautifully-gloved hand. "I was in London the other day--in fact I took your letter to George. He showed it to me and told me everything."

"And what did you say?"

Mrs. Walker's deep, black brows drew together. "Of course the whole thing is rubbish," she said harshly, "and only a love-sick girl like Maud Ellis would act in that way. I suppose much must be forgiven her, as she really loves my son. But after her behaviour, I shall never consent to her marrying him. No! no! That would never do. Especially, now that we know her uncle is such a rogue. I wanted George to tell the police, but he refused."

Lesbia cared very little for the fate of Tait. What she much desired to know was her own. "You said that George has ceased to care for me," she remarked with a pale smile. "I don't understand."

Mrs. Walker gave her a pitying look. "Nor do I, now that I have seen you, my dear. I don't like your father--I never did, and I would rather have died than have seen George marrying his daughter. Your looks and nature have made me change my mind. There is nothing of your father about you. Had I seen you before----" Mrs. Walker broke off and shook her stately head, "but it is too late. George will not renew the engagement."

"Oh, I can't believe that," cried the girl weeping and trembling.

"Strange," muttered the elder woman, "you have been quite a heroine in clearing George's character, for which I am greatly obliged to you. Yet here you are crying like a schoolgirl."

"I love him so much: I love him so deeply."

"My poor child, it is the fate of women to have their hearts broken. I do not know why George still refuses to renew the engagement in the face of your letter, but he does. Here," Mrs. Walker took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to the shaking girl, "you can read his decision in his own handwriting. He asked me to give you this."

With great delicacy she turned away her head, while Lesbia tore open the envelope with shaking hands. There were only a few lines, but these intimated plainly that George had accepted his dismissal, and would not seek to renew the engagement. "I love you still, my dearest," wrote Walker in conclusion, "but Fate wills that we must part for ever." Then there were a few tender words, and the epistle ended abruptly, as though the writer could not trust his emotions. Lesbia read the lines, folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope which she put into her pocket. Her eyes were dry now, and her white face was flushed with colour. With a deep sigh she touched the elder woman on the shoulder, "I understand," she said calmly.

Mrs. Walker, whose sympathies--remarkably in so cold a woman--were now entirely with Lesbia, grew snappy to conceal her emotion. "I don't," she said acidly, "and when George returns to Medmenham I shall have an explanation with him. He's a fool."

"No," said Lesbia, her face growing even a deeper red. "Can't you see that George is only acting in this way to save me?"

"To save you from what?" asked Mrs. Walker shortly.

"I don't know. I can't say," Lesbia spoke more to herself than to her visitor. "But I feel sure that George wrote this letter as I wrote my first one to him. I wrote to save him, and now he refuses to renew our engagement to save me. I don't understand, still--oh I am sure that everything will come right. I trust in God."

"You do well to do so," said Mrs. Walker gravely, "for only He can help you, my child. I am thoroughly puzzled, and know not what to say."

"Say nothing: do nothing," cried Lesbia eagerly. "Things will work out to a happy end in their due time."

"You are sure of that?"

"I am certain."

"Then," said Mrs. Walker grimly, "you must have a sixth sense which I do not possess. However, I am glad that you have not given way to hysteria. You are a brave girl, and I would rather have you for my daughter-in-law than I would any one else, in spite of your father. There," Mrs. Walker bent forward and actually kissed the girl's lips. "That shows I mean what I say."

"Oh!" Lesbia returned the kiss, blushing divinely, "George said that you hated me, and----"

"How could I hate a girl I had never seen?" snapped Mrs. Walker, ashamed of her momentary humanity. "I hate your father, and--well there, say no more about the matter. I hope with all my heart that things will turn out well for you and George, as you appear to think they will. Meanwhile while we are waiting for your father, tell me about the amethyst cross."

Lesbia started to her feet in astonishment. "The cross," she echoed. "I have lost it. You know that I gave it to----"

"Yes! Yes!" Mrs. Walker waved her hand impatiently. "I know about the robbery and how no one can find the cross. It must be found, nevertheless. But I wish to learn exactly how it came into your possession. George told me something about the matter, but like a man he told it very badly. For this reason I have come to see you, as well as Mr. Hale, whom I detest," added Mrs. Walker severely. "Where did you get the cross?"

"From my mother. That is, the cross belonged to her. She left it to my nurse Bridget Burke----"

"Where is she?"

"Dead. She died some time ago."

"Unlucky," muttered Mrs. Walker with a dark look. "Well?"

"My mother told Bridget to give it to me, and to tell me that I was never to part with it save to the man I loved. Then you know"--Lesbia blushed again--"I gave it to George."

"Yes. I know of that and of the loss. I said so before. But how did the cross come into your mother's possession?"

Lesbia shook her head. "I really cannot tell you."

Mrs. Walker frowned again, and turned her steely eyes towards the door. Her quick ears had caught a soft foot-fall, and her quick eyes had seen the half-open door move. "Come in, Mr. Hale," she said loudly, "we are saying nothing which you cannot hear."

Hale, who apparently had been listening, entered, looking perfectly cool and composed. "The cross did not belong to Lesbia's mother," he said quietly, but the look in his eyes as they rested on Mrs. Walker was not pleasant.