CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF IT ALL

THE villa owned by Lord Charvington at Nice was beautifully situated, beautifully furnished, and beautifully built. Endless money had been spent upon it to make it as perfect as any human habitation could be. Lady Charvington was particularly fond of it, and her extravagance was evident both in the house and in the lovely gardens. Great was her rage when she heard that her husband had invited George and his young wife and her arch-enemy Mrs. Walker to stay there with him. But she was even more angry when she learned that Charvington had made a free gift of the villa to his daughter.

"His conduct has always been atrocious," said Lady Charvington to Jabez, who was the sole person to whom she could speak of such things, since for her own sake she was forced to hold her tongue to the world at large, "but this is the worst thing he has ever done. How dare he give my villa to that horrid girl?"

"He has every right to," said Jabez drily, "as the villa is Lord Charvington's own property. And I beg leave to state that I do not consider young Mrs. Walker a horrid girl. She is very sweet, and is bearing her good fortune as modestly as she bore her bad luck bravely."

"I hate her," said Lady Charvington fervently.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Because I hated her mother. I always loved Charvington, and she took him from me."

"But you got him in the end," Jabez reminded her.

"Got him. Yes, I got the rags and tatters of the passion he had for that detestable Kate Morse. I never forgave her while she lived, and I certainly shall not forgive her now she is dead."

"Very good; but you needn't hate her daughter," expostulated Jabez earnestly; "consider how unhappy the poor girl has been, and through no fault of her own. Even now--in deference to her own wish, I admit--she is not acknowledged by her father, publicly at least."

"I don't care," cried Lady Charvington, with all the venom of an angry woman. "I hate the girl, and I shall always hate her. But I didn't come here to listen to your views, Mr. Jabez. What I wish to know is if I can insist that my villa shall be given back to me."

"No," said Jabez, and very glad he was to be able to reply in the negative, "the villa was never settled on you, and Lord Charvington has a perfect right to deal as he pleases with his own property."

"It is my property, and Charvington's a brute. I wonder that I ever loved him--indeed I do," cried the lady vehemently, "and to think of that horrid girl getting the husband she wanted and the fifty thousand pounds, and my villa, and--oh!" she stamped, "it makes one doubt if there is a Providence."

"I fear," said Jabez gravely, as she rose to depart, "that some day, if you bear such ill-will towards one who has never injured you, that you will find there _is_ a Providence."

"Pooh! pooh! That's all goody-goody talk," said Lady Charvington contemptuously, "but that I have to think of Agatha and Lena I should get a separation from my husband. As it is, I shall spend as much money as I can, and enjoy myself in my own way. I don't want to see him."

"I fancy you'll see very little of him," said Jabez drily, as he accompanied her to the door. "Lord Charvington is fond of a quiet life. All you have to do is to enjoy your position and the ample income which he allows you, and hold your tongue about these family troubles."

"Oh, of course you are on his side," cried Lady Charvington in a rage. "I really believe that you suggested he should give that nasty girl my villa."

"Pardon me," said the solicitor, skilfully dodging the question, "it never was your villa."

"It was, and she has stolen it. I only hope she'll be as thoroughly unhappy as she well can be, with the fool she's married and her disagreeable mother-in-law. Judith was always horrid."

"I fear you will be disappointed. Young Mrs. Walker adores her mother-in-law, and is adored in turn. They are, as you know, all at the villa with Lord Charvington and, as I gather, perfectly happy."

"How disgusting," cried Lady Charvington vindictively, "but I shall wait for the interference of an overruling Providence. Some day the sins of the lot of them will come home to them, and they will be thoroughly miserable."

"And your ladyship's sins?" inquired Jabez very gravely.

"Sins," she stared, "I have none." After which speech, which completely silenced the lawyer, so taken aback was he by its amazing impudence, she took her departure. All the same she also took his advice and said nothing of what had happened in connection with the affairs of the amethyst cross. And in time--as she could not keep up a hostile attitude for ever--she found it politic to smooth over things with her worried husband. But she never forgave Lesbia to her dying day.

Not that Lesbia cared. She was absolutely happy with her husband and mother-in-law and father at the villa. The income derived from her mother yielded over two thousand a year, and this had been supplemented by Lord Charvington, anxious to make amends. What with a large income and a lovely villa, and a handsome, affectionate husband, Lesbia was very fortunate indeed, and felt quite glad that she had gone through so much trouble, to get to such a goal. Something of this sort she said to her father one evening after dinner.

The party were seated on the terrace which overlooked the deeply blue waters of the Mediterranean. At the moment, these were dyed with rosy hues from the setting sun. Mrs. Walker, looking much less stern and much more composed, was seated in a deep arm-chair near Lesbia, whom she could scarcely bear out of her sight. Lord Charvington, now looking wonderfully hale and hearty--for it was six months since his attack of apoplexy--sat near a small round table upon which stood coffee and liqueurs. George lounged about with a cigar, casting looks of affection on Lesbia. The quartette, arrayed in evening dress amidst beautiful surroundings, looked thoroughly happy and well-to-do. After the storm had come the calm, and when recalling the storm, as sometimes she could not help doing, Lesbia always spoke cheerfully.

"The trouble was worth going through, to come to this," she said, smiling in a happy manner.

"I think so too, dear," observed George, who was always hovering in her vicinity. "And I think we have learned the lesson which those very troubles were sent to teach."

"What lesson?" asked Lord Charvington lazily.

"To trust in God."

"Yes," said Mrs. Walker, who was knitting, "you and Lesbia have learned that, and I have learned a lesson also. I have learned to be more sympathetic and more liberal-minded. We are all mortal, and no one has any right to judge another person not knowing that person's temptations."

"Do you allude to Walter?" asked Charvington.

"Yes. He behaved badly, I allow; but then his will was not strong enough to struggle against the evil that was in him. And after all," Mrs. Walker laid down her knitting, "he was terribly punished. He was snatched out of life unprepared. I hope he has found mercy. But the evil that he did lived after him. Alas! Alas!"

"I think Tait and his gang found that was so," said George grimly. "From what was said at the trial, it seemed that Hale was the soul of the gang, even though Tait posed as the head. Canning, of course, escaped because he turned king's evidence and is now in Italy; but Tait got a long sentence."

"Mrs. Petty and the rest of the gang also," observed Charvington, "but Maud Ellis and Alfred Sargent escaped."

"They were very lucky," said George reflectively. "The police, advised by Tim, were on their track almost at once, but they never caught them. As they were not disguised I wonder that they ever escaped."

"Hale was not disguised either, I heard you say," remarked Charvington. "It seems to me that audacity favoured the lot of them. Hale would have escaped also, I doubt not, had he not been shot by that wretched woman."

"Why do you shudder, George?" asked Mrs. Walker, at this point.

"I am thinking how easily she could have shot Lesbia," said George reluctantly. "She had two or three shots left after she polished off Hale. But she flung the revolver ashore and made a sentimental speech wishing myself and Lesbia good luck. I should have thought--but there," George sighed, "no man can understand a woman."

"No woman can understand a man," said Lesbia, laughing. "But I am glad Maud did not shoot me. Where is she now?"

Charvington removed his cigar. "I have reason to believe, from some facts which came to Jabez's ears, that she has married Alfred Sargent and is engaged in making trouble in a South American Republic."

"Sargent is not strong enough to do much," objected George.

Mrs. Walker shook her head. "I believe Alfred Sargent was a much cleverer man than his appearance warranted," she said sharply. "He looked like a fool, but he acted like a wise man. Not only did he escape, but he managed to carry off his thievish earnings. Then look how cleverly he behaved in society in never being suspected. Yet he stole--as we learned at the trial of Tait and the rest--at balls, at weddings, from private houses, and blackmailed any number of people. A dangerously clever man, I call him."

"Well, don't let us talk any more about him," said Charvington impatiently, "Maud is clever if you like, and probably will end in imposing him on some second-rate republic, as its President, even though he is a foreigner. I believe that there is no end to that woman's ambition. But he and she are both out of our lives. Also Hale is dead, and as Lesbia has now changed her name, she will not be connected with the sordid past in any way. Let us talk of something more agreeable."

"The amethyst cross for instance," said Lesbia pointedly.

Charvington wriggled. "Why? That belongs to the disagreeable past."

"It taught George and me a lesson," said Lesbia seriously, "and I am sorry that it has been lost sight of."

"It has not been lost sight of," said Charvington, after a pause. "Jabez got it from Hale and restored it to me. But I did not show it to you, Lesbia child, because I thought that the sight of it would be painful."

"Not now, that I have learned its lesson. Where is it, father?"

"Call Tim."

Lesbia rang a silver bell which was on the table and shortly Tim, looking more grotesque and more like a gnome than ever, appeared. He was with the young couple as the majordomo of their small household, and enjoyed himself hugely. "Tim," ordered Lord Charvington, giving him a key, "go to my study and open my dispatch box. Bring me the morocco case you will find in it. A red morocco case."

"Yes, yer lardship," said the majordomo gravely, as he departed.

"Are you sure you want the cross, Lesbia?" asked Mrs. Walker seriously.

"Yes. Whenever I forget to be kind and thoughtful, whenever I am inclined to judge others harshly, the cross will remind me of my own shortcomings."

"You have none, dear," said George fondly.

"George," Mrs. Walker smiled, "you are spoiling her."

"I know someone else who spoils me more," whispered Lesbia roguishly, and Mrs. Walker smoothed the girl's hair.

At this moment Tim returned with the case. Lord Charvington opened it and took out the ornament which glittered in the rosy hues of sunset.

"Presarve us!" whispered Tim crossing himself. "The unlucky crass!"

"Lucky now, Tim," said Charvington, slipping a slender watch-chain he wore from his waistcoat. "It found me my daughter. Here, Lesbia," he threaded the loop at the top of the cross, "you can wear it now."

Lesbia bent her head and her father threw the chain on her neck. The amethyst cross gleamed with purple fire on her white bosom, a symbol of all that had passed and a symbol also of a brighter future. "I shall always wear it," said Lesbia with serious lovely eyes.

"'Refuse and lose,'" said George meditatively, "well we have not refused the cross although I daresay had it been in our powers to do so we should have shirked the burden."

"Thank Heaven you were not allowed to, for the bearing of the burden has taught you much," said Mrs. Walker devoutly.

"It has earned me the crown of perfect love," said George, drawing Lesbia to his breast.

"And that is worth everything," Lesbia replied, kissing him.

THE END

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