Part 2

I laughed as I read the absurd signature, though my eyes were dim with something like tears. 'Boffles' was the nickname given to my friend by several of our college companions, and neither he nor I knew how it first arose. But no one except the dons ever addressed him by his proper name, which was John Carrington,--he was simply 'Boffles,' and Boffles he remained even now for all those who had been his intimates. I refolded and put by his letter and the draft for the fifty pounds, and with a passing vague wonder as to what manner of man the 'philanthropist' might be who had more money than he knew what to do with, I turned to the consideration of my other two correspondents, relieved to feel that now, whatever happened, I could settle up arrears with my landlady the next day as I had promised. Moreover I could order some supper, and have a fire lit to cheer my chilly room. Before attending to these creature comforts however, I opened the long blue envelope that looked so like a threat of legal proceedings, and unfolding the paper within, stared at it amazedly. What was it all about? The written characters danced before my eyes,--puzzled and bewildered, I found myself reading the thing over and over again without any clear comprehension of it. Presently a glimmer of meaning flashed upon me, startling my senses like an electric shock, ... no--no--!--impossible! Fortune never could be so mad as this!--never so wildly capricious and grotesque of humour! It was some senseless hoax that was being practised upon me, ... and yet, ... if it were a joke, it was a very elaborate and remarkable one! Weighted with the majesty of the law too! ... Upon my word and by all the fantastical freakish destinies that govern human affairs, the news seemed actually positive and genuine!

II

Steadying my thoughts with an effort, I read every word of the document over again deliberately, and the stupefaction of my wonder increased. Was I going mad, or sickening for a fever? Or could this startling, this stupendous piece of information be really true? Because,--if indeed it were true, ... good heavens!--I turned giddy to think of it,--and it was only by sheer force of will that I kept myself from swooning with the agitation of such sudden surprise and ecstasy. If it were true--why then the world was mine!--I was king instead of beggar;--I was everything I chose to be! The letter,--the amazing letter, bore the printed name of a noted firm of London solicitors, and stated in measured and precise terms that a distant relative of my father's, of whom I had scarcely heard, except remotely now and then during my boyhood, had died suddenly in South America, leaving me his sole heir.

"_The real and personal estate now amounting to something over Five Millions of Pounds Sterling, we should esteem it a favour if you could make it convenient to call upon us any day this week in order that we may go through the necessary formalities together. The larger bulk of the cash is lodged in the Bank of England, and a considerable amount is placed in French government securities. We should prefer going into further details with you personally rather than by letter. Trusting you will call on us without delay, we are, Sir, yours obediently...._"

Five Millions! I, the starving literary hack,--the friendless, hopeless, almost reckless haunter of low newspaper dens,--I, the possessor of "over Five Millions of Pounds Sterling"! I tried to grasp the astounding fact,--for fact it evidently was,--but could not. It seemed to me a wild delusion, born of the dizzy vagueness which lack of food engendered in my brain. I stared round the room;--the mean miserable furniture,--the fireless grate,--the dirty lamp,--the low truckle bedstead,--the evidences of penury and want on every side;--and then,--then the overwhelming contrast between the poverty that environed me and the news I had just received, struck me as the wildest, most ridiculous incongruity I had ever heard of or imagined,--and I gave vent to a shout of laughter.

"Was there ever such a caprice of mad Fortune!" I cried aloud--"Who would have imagined it! Good God! I! I, of all men in the world to be suddenly chosen out for this luck! By Heaven!--If it is all true, I'll make society spin round like a top on my hand before I am many months older!"

And I laughed loudly again; laughed just as I had previously sworn, simply by way of relief to my feelings. Some one laughed in answer,--a laugh that seemed to echo mine. I checked myself abruptly, somewhat startled, and listened. Rain poured outside, and the wind shrieked like a petulant shrew,--the violinist next door was practising a brilliant roulade up and down his instrument,--but there were no other sounds than these. Yet I could have sworn I heard a man's deep-chested laughter close behind me where I stood.

"It must have been my fancy;" I murmured, turning the flame of the lamp up higher in order to obtain more light in the room--"I am nervous I suppose,--no wonder! Poor Boffles!--good old chap!" I continued, remembering my friend's draft for fifty pounds, which had seemed such a godsend a few minutes since--"What a surprise is in store for you! You shall have your loan back as promptly as you sent it, with an extra fifty added by way of interest for your generosity. And as for the new Mæcenas you are sending to help me over my difficulties,--well, he may be a very excellent old gentleman, but he will find himself quite out of his element this time. I want neither assistance nor advice nor patronage,--I can buy them all! Titles, honours, possessions,--they are all purchaseable,--love, friendship, position,--they are all for sale in this admirably commercial age and go to the highest bidder! By my soul!--The wealthy 'philanthropist' will find it difficult to match me in power! He will scarcely have more than five millions to waste, I warrant! And now for supper,--I shall have to live on credit till I get some ready cash,--and there is no reason why I should not leave this wretched hole at once, and go to one of the best hotels and swagger it!"

I was about to leave the room on the swift impulse of excitement and joy, when a fresh and violent gust of wind roared down the chimney, bringing with it a shower of soot which fell in a black heap on my rejected manuscript where it lay forgotten on the floor, as I had despairingly thrown it. I hastily picked it up and shook it free from the noisome dirt, wondering as I did so, what would be its fate now?--now, when I could afford to publish it myself, and not only publish it but advertise it, and not only advertise it, but 'push' it, in all the crafty and cautious ways known to the inner circles of 'booming'! I smiled as I thought of the vengeance I would take on all those who had scorned and slighted me and my labour,--how they should cower before me!--how they should fawn at my feet like whipt curs, and whine their fulsome adulation! Every stiff and stubborn neck should bend before me;--this I resolved upon; for though money does not always conquer everything, it only fails when it is money apart from brains. Brains and money together can move the world,--brains can very frequently do this alone without money, of which serious and proved fact those who have no brains should beware!

Full of ambitious thought, I now and then caught wild sounds from the violin that was being played next door,--notes like sobbing cries of pain, and anon rippling runs like a careless woman's laughter,--and all at once I remembered I had not yet opened the third letter addressed to me,--the one coroneted in scarlet and gold, which had remained where it was on the table almost unnoticed till now. I took it up and turned it over with an odd sense of reluctance in my fingers, which were slow at the work of tearing the thick envelope asunder. Drawing out an equally thick small sheet of notepaper also coroneted, I read the following lines written in an admirably legible, small and picturesque hand.

Dear Sir.

I am the bearer of a letter of introduction to you from your former college companion Mr John Carrington, now of Melbourne, who has been good enough to thus give me the means of making the acquaintance of one, who, I understand, is more than exceptionally endowed with the gift of literary genius. I shall call upon you this evening between eight and nine o'clock, trusting to find you at home and disengaged. I enclose my card, and present address, and beg to remain,

Very faithfully yours Lucio Rimânez.

The card mentioned dropped on the table as I finished reading the note. It bore a small, exquisitely engraved coronet and the words

PRINCE LUCIO RIMÂNEZ.

while, scribbled lightly in pencil underneath was the address 'Grand Hotel.'

I read the brief letter through again,--it was simple enough,--expressed with clearness and civility. There was nothing remarkable about it,--nothing whatever; yet it seemed to me surcharged with meaning. Why, I could not imagine. A curious fascination kept my eyes fastened on the characteristic bold handwriting, and made me fancy I should like the man who penned it. How the wind roared!--and how that violin next door wailed like the restless spirit of some forgotten musician in torment! My brain swam and my heart ached heavily,--the drip drip of the rain outside sounded like the stealthy footfall of some secret spy upon my movements. I grew irritable and nervous,--a foreboding of evil somehow darkened the bright consciousness of my sudden good fortune. Then an impulse of shame possessed me,--shame that this foreign prince, if such he were, with limitless wealth at his back, should be coming to visit me,--_me_, now a millionaire,--in my present wretched lodging. Already, before I had touched my riches, I was tainted by the miserable vulgarity of seeking to pretend I had never been really poor, but only embarrassed by a little temporary difficulty! If I had had a sixpence about me, (which I had not) I should have sent a telegram to my approaching visitor to put him off.

"But in any case," I said aloud, addressing myself to the empty room and the storm-echoes--"I will not meet him to-night. I'll go out and leave no message,--and if he comes he will think I have not yet had his letter. I can make an appointment to see him when I am better lodged, and dressed more in keeping with my present position,--in the meantime, nothing is easier than to keep out of this would-be benefactor's way."

As I spoke, the flickering lamp gave a dismal crackle and went out, leaving me in pitch darkness. With an exclamation more strong than reverent, I groped about the room for matches, or failing them, for my hat and coat,--and I was still engaged in a fruitless and annoying search, when I caught a sound of galloping horses' hoofs coming to an abrupt stop in the street below. Surrounded by black gloom, I paused and listened. There was a slight commotion in the basement,--I heard my landlady's accents attuned to nervous civility, mingling with the mellow tones of a deep masculine voice,--then steps, firm and even, ascended the stairs to my landing.

"The devil is in it!" I muttered vexedly--"Just like my wayward luck!--here comes the very man I meant to avoid!"

III

The door opened,--and from the dense obscurity enshrouding me I could just perceive a tall shadowy figure standing on the threshold. I remember well the curious impression the mere outline of this scarcely discerned Form made upon me even then,--suggesting at the first glance such a stately majesty of height and bearing as at once riveted my attention,--so much so indeed that I scarcely heard my landlady's introductory words "A gentleman to see you sir,"--words that were quickly interrupted by a murmur of dismay at finding the room in total darkness. "Well to be sure! The lamp must have gone out!" she exclaimed,--then addressing the personage she had ushered thus far, she added--"I'm afraid Mr Tempest isn't in after all, sir, though I certainly saw him about half-an-hour ago. If you don't mind waiting here a minute I'll fetch a light and see if he has left any message on his table."

She hurried away, and though I knew that of course I ought to speak, a singular and quite inexplicable perversity of humour kept me silent and unwilling to declare my presence. Meanwhile the tall stranger advanced a pace or two, and a rich voice with a ring of ironical amusement in it called me by my name--

"Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?"

Why could I not answer? The strangest and most unnatural obstinacy stiffened my tongue,--and, concealed in the gloom of my forlorn literary den I still held my peace. The majestic figure drew nearer, till in height and breadth it seemed to suddenly overshadow me; and once again the voice called--

"Geoffrey Tempest, are you there?"

For very shame's sake I could hold out no longer,--and with a determined effort I broke the extraordinary dumb spell that had held me like a coward in silent hiding, and came forward boldly to confront my visitor.

"Yes I _am_ here," I said--"And being here I am ashamed to give you such a welcome as this. You are Prince Rimânez of course;--I have just read your note which prepared me for your visit, but I was hoping that my landlady, finding the room in darkness, would conclude I was out, and show you downstairs again. You see I am perfectly frank!"

"You are indeed!" returned the stranger, his deep tones still vibrating with the silvery clang of veiled satire--"So frank that I cannot fail to understand you. Briefly, and without courtesy, you resent my visit this evening and wish I had not come!"

This open declaration of my mood sounded so brusque that I made haste to deny it, though I knew it to be true. Truth, even in trifles, always seems unpleasant!

"Pray do not think me so churlish,"--I said--"The fact is, I only opened your letter a few minutes ago, and before I could make any arrangements to receive you, the lamp went out, with the awkward result that I am forced to greet you in this unsociable darkness, which is almost too dense to shake hands in."

"Shall we try?" my visitor enquired, with a sudden softening of accent that gave his words a singular charm; "Here is my hand,--if yours has any friendly instinct in it the twain will meet,--quite blindly and without guidance!"

I at once extended my hand, and it was instantly clasped in a warm and somewhat masterful manner. At that moment a light flashed on the scene,--my landlady entered, bearing what she called 'her best lamp' alit, and set it on the table. I believe she uttered some exclamation of surprise at seeing me,--she may have said anything or nothing,--I did not hear or heed, so entirely was I amazed and fascinated by the appearance of the man whose long slender hand still held mine. I am myself an average good height, but he was fully half a head taller than I, if not more than that,--and as I looked straightly at him, I thought I had never seen so much beauty and intellectuality combined in the outward personality of any human being. The finely shaped head denoted both power and wisdom, and was nobly poised on such shoulders as might have befitted a Hercules,--the countenance was a pure oval, and singularly pale, this complexion intensifying the almost fiery brilliancy of the full dark eyes, which had in them a curious and wonderfully attractive look of mingled mirth and misery. The mouth was perhaps the most telling feature in this remarkable face,--set in the perfect curve of beauty, it was yet firm, determined, and not too small, thus escaping effeminacy,--and I noted that in repose it expressed bitterness, disdain and even cruelty. But with the light of a smile upon it, it signified, or seemed to signify, something more subtle than any passion to which we can give a name, and already with the rapidity of a lightning flash, I caught myself wondering what that mystic undeclared something might be. At a glance I comprehended these primary details of my new acquaintance's eminently prepossessing appearance, and when my hand dropped from his close grasp I felt as if I had known him all my life! And now face to face with him in the bright lamp-light, I remembered my actual surroundings,--the bare cold room, the lack of fire, the black soot that sprinkled the nearly carpetless floor,--my own shabby clothes and deplorable aspect, as compared with this regal-looking individual, who carried the visible evidence of wealth upon him in the superb Russian sables that lined and bordered his long overcoat which he now partially unfastened and threw open with a carelessly imperial air, the while he regarded me, smiling.

"I know I have come at an awkward moment," he said--"I always do! It is my peculiar misfortune. Well-bred people never intrude where they are not wanted,--and in this particular I'm afraid my manners leave much to be desired. Try to forgive me if you can, for the sake of this,"--and he held out a letter addressed to me in my friend Carrington's familiar handwriting. "And permit me to sit down while you read my credentials."

He took a chair and seated himself. I observed his handsome face and easy attitude with renewed admiration.

"No credentials are necessary," I said with all the cordiality I now really felt--"I have already had a letter from Carrington in which he speaks of you in the highest and most grateful terms. But the fact is----well!--really, prince, you must excuse me if I seem confused or astonished ... I had expected to see quite an old man ..."

And I broke off, somewhat embarrassed by the keen glance of the brilliant eyes that met mine so fixedly.

"No one is old, my dear sir, nowadays!" he declared lightly--"even the grandmothers and grandfathers are friskier at fifty than they were at fifteen. One does not talk of age at all now in polite society,--it is ill-bred, even coarse. Indecent things are unmentionable--age has become an indecent thing. It is therefore avoided in conversation. You expected to see an old man you say? Well, you are not disappointed--I _am_ old. In fact you have no idea how very old I am!"

I laughed at this piece of absurdity.

"Why, you are younger than I,"--I said--"or if not, you look it."

"Ah, my looks belie me!" he returned gaily--"I am like several of the most noted fashionable beauties,--much riper than I seem. But come, read the introductory missive I have brought you,--I shall not be satisfied till you do."

Thus requested, and wishing to prove myself as courteous as I had hitherto been brusque, I at once opened my friend's note and read as follows,--

Dear Geoffrey.

The bearer of this, Prince Rimânez, is a very distinguished scholar and gentleman, allied by descent to one of the oldest families in Europe, or for that matter, in the world. You, as a student and lover of ancient history, will be interested to know that his ancestors were originally princes of Chaldea, who afterwards settled in Tyre,--from thence they went to Etruria and there continued through many centuries, the last scion of the house being the very gifted and genial personage who, as my good friend, I have the pleasure of commending to your kindest regard. Certain troublous and overpowering circumstances have forced him into exile from his native province, and deprived him of a great part of his possessions, so that he is, to a considerable extent a wanderer on the face of the earth, and has travelled far and seen much, and has a wide experience of men and things. He is a poet and musician of great skill, and though he occupies himself with the arts solely for his own amusement, I think you will find his practical knowledge of literary matters eminently useful to you in your difficult career. I must not forget to add that in all matters scientific he is an absolute master. Wishing you both a cordial friendship, I am, dear Geoffrey,

Yours sincerely John Carrington.

The signature of 'Boffles' had evidently been deemed out of place this time and somehow I was foolishly vexed at its omission. There seemed to be something formal and stiff in the letter, almost as if it had been written to dictation, and under pressure. What gave me this idea I know not. I glanced furtively at my silent companion,--he caught my stray look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. Fearing lest my momentary vague distrust of him had been reflected in my eyes I made haste to speak--

"This letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that I should have greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. No apology can condone my rudeness,--but you cannot imagine how mortified I felt and still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den,--it is not at all the sort of place in which I should have liked to welcome you...." And I broke off with a renewed sense of irritation, remembering how actually rich I now was, and that in spite of this, I was obliged to seem poor. Meanwhile the prince waived aside my remarks with a light gesture of his hand.

"Why be mortified?" he demanded. "Rather be proud that you can dispense with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. Genius thrives in a garret and dies in a palace,--is not that the generally accepted theory?"

"Rather a worn-out and mistaken one I consider,"--I replied; "Genius might like to try the effect of a palace for once,--it usually dies of starvation."

"True!--but in thus dying, think how many fools it afterwards fattens! There is an all-wise Providence in this, my dear sir! Schubert perished of want,--but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! It is a most beautiful dispensation of nature,--that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!"

He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise. His remark touched so near my own opinions that I wondered whether he were in jest or earnest.

"You speak sarcastically of course?" I said--"You do not really believe what you say?"

"Oh, do I not!" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes that was almost lightning-like in its intensity--"If I could not believe the teaching of my own experience, what would be left to me? I always realize the '_needs must_' of things--how does the old maxim go--'needs must when the devil drives.' There is really no possible contradiction to offer to the accuracy of that statement. The devil drives the world, whip in hand,--and oddly enough, (considering that some belated folk still fancy there is a God somewhere) succeeds in managing his team with extraordinary ease!" His brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened,--anon he laughed again lightly and continued--"But let us not moralize,--morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it,--every sensible man hates to be told what he _could_ be and what he _won't_ be. I am here to make friends with you if you permit,--and to put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where I have ordered supper?"

By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice,--the satirical turn of his humour suited mine,--I felt we should get on well together,--and my first annoyance at being discovered by him in such poverty-stricken circumstances somewhat abated.