The World's Great Snare Read online

  “And—did you find him?”

  “I did, and I did not!” Bryan answered. “I worked with him on a gold-mine for months without recognizing him. He died there, and a bundle of letters came into my hands. They told me a little—not much—of my mother, and a little more of my father. But they only told me their Christian names. Afterwards, some other letters came into my hands which had been deposited in San Francisco, but some document which was supposed to be with them was missing. They came to me under painful circumstances, and I did not examine them at the time!”

  “Do you expect ever to get it?” Lord Wessemer asked.

  “Yes,” Bryan answered; “I do! I have an idea that some day it will come to me!”

  Then there was a long silence—broken at last by Lord Wessemer. He had risen to his feet, and was holding out his hand.

  “I thank you for your confidence, Mr. Bryan!” he said quietly. “I shall not betray it. Of course you know that Mr. Jameson was my agent?”

  “Yes,” Bryan answered. “I know that. I lived on your land, scarcely twenty miles away. You were always abroad.”

  “Yes!”

  The two men shook hands. Looking closely into his visitor’s face, Bryan was struck with its intense deathly pallor. His skin, too, seemed drawn, and there were lines under his eyes. He seemed to have the look of a much older man.

  “I am afraid that you have found this room too hot,” Bryan remarked. “You don’t look well.”

  “I have found it very comfortable, thank you,” Lord Wessemer answered. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryan. Come to Wessemer Court whenever you will! You will always be welcome.”

  His tone had a note of sincerity in it which appealed to Bryan. He shook hands with his guest, and walked with him to the hall door.

  “I shall come very soon,” he said simply. “If you don’t mind my lack of identity, I shall be glad to come.”

  He watched the carriage drive off, thoughtfully. The blinds were half drawn, and no one could see inside; no one could see the Earl of Wessemer, philosopher, diplomatist, and Epicurean, lying back in his carriage with white, stricken face, and half-closed eyes. He had received a blow!

  X. LIKE BAFFLED BREAKERS AGAINST AN IRON SHORE

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  Before Lord Wessemer’s carriage was well out of sight, Bryan had caught up his cap, and was off towards the Vicarage. He crossed the home field, a strip of the moor, and strode down the deep country lane to where the old yellow stone house lay back behind a high yew hedge. He avoided the front door, and crossing the lawn, entered softly by the garden gate, and made his way into the drawing-room.

  There was only one little rose-shaded lamp to illumine the long, low room, full of quaint recesses and shadowy corners, and at first he thought that the tall, slim figure seated by Miss Bettesford’s side was a stranger’s. But as he crossed the room towards them, he saw who it was, and his heart gave a strong, wild beat. He was thankful then for the dim light. No one could see the flush which had crept into his bronzed cheek, or the light which was flashing in his eyes.

  He shook hands with Miss Bettesford, and bowed to Lady Helen, who welcomed him graciously.

  “I had almost given you up, Bryan,” Miss Bettesford said, with an unconscious note of reproach in her tone. “Will you ring the bell and have some fresh tea made? I am afraid this is quite cold.”

  “No, thanks,” he answered. “I’m sorry, but I had a visitor, and I had to give him some tea. I should have been here an hour and a half ago, but he just came in as I was leaving. He only went ten minutes ago.”

  “Was it Lord Wessemer?” Raymond asked. “His carriage went by just now, and Lady Helen was wondering where it had been to.”

  Bryan nodded a little absently. He was watching Miss Bettesford with some concern. She was paler even than usual, to-day, and her eyes were bright and feverish. She was looking into the fire, but she appeared to be listening.

  “Yes, it was Lord Wessemer,” he said.

  Lady Helen leaned forward, with slightly arched eyebrows.

  “Really!” she exclaimed. “You ought to consider yourself very much favoured, Mr. Bryan. Lord Wessemer is not fond of paying calls.”

  “He was very kind,” Bryan answered indifferently. “Let me arrange your cushions,” he went on, bending over Miss Bettesford. “There! Isn’t that better? I’m afraid you’re not quite so well to-day!”

  She leaned back in her invalid’s chair, and looked up at him gratefully out of her soft, dark eyes.

  “Thank you, Bryan,” she said. “I think I’m about the same as usual. A little tired to-day, perhaps.”

  “I wonder if I have been talking too much?” Lady Helen asked, passing her cup to Bryan. “I believe I have! I’m so sorry!”

  “Oh, no! I have enjoyed listening to you!” Miss Bettesford assured her with a faint smile. “It was very good of you to come! You never tire me! Raymond likes me to have visitors. He thinks it rouses me, and takes my attention away from myself!”

  “I’m sure of it,” Raymond remarked. “You get awfully dull if you haven’t some one to amuse you. I’m such an old stick myself!”

  “I wish we could induce you to try a complete change, and come up to the Court,” Lady Helen said. “We have a very comfortable low carriage, and some quiet ponies—you wouldn’t be jolted a bit. Don’t you think it would do her good, Mr. Bryan?”

  “I believe it would!” he answered.

  She shook her head. There was a strange, sad look in her face.

  “No. I think not!” she said, in a low tone. “It must be—twenty years since I was at Wessemer Court!”

  “Twenty years!” Lady Helen exclaimed. “Twenty years! And here you are within half a mile of our front door! It is perfectly scandalous! You really must come. Now, please make up your mind, and tell me when I may send for you. You shall come at your own time, and stay just as long as you like! Shall we say to-morrow—early in the afternoon?”

  Miss Bettesford shook her head.

  “I shall never come, Helen!” she said simply. “Don’t think me unkind! It would be impossible! That is all!”

  There was a moment’s silence; and in that silence one of those three who sat round the fire felt a strange thrill of wonder flash through his brain. It was not easy to tell what had suggested it—something, perhaps, in her manner, or, more likely still, some magnetic instinct born of the strange sympathy there was between those two. As swiftly as it had come, he cast it from him. It was impossible—utterly, wholly impossible! Yet, even while he scouted it, there came a swift, picture-like recollection of that strange meeting which he had witnessed in this very room only a few days back. The conviction settled down upon him like a thunderclap. There was some bond between these two: this frail, delicate woman, beautiful even in these her later years, and the Earl of Wessemer. A bond! No, not that perhaps, but some common knowledge of a curtained past, something which drew them together, and yet must keep them for ever apart. What was it? A dozen wild conjectures rushed through his mind before he could command his will sufficiently to set his heel down upon all those suspicions which seemed unworthy of her. Surely the very shadow of evil could never touch her. She was to him, with her pale, delicate beauty, and soft speech, the very embodiment of dainty feminine refinement, that most attractive and fascinating attribute of the women into whose world he was passing. Apart from this, apart from that curious affection which certainly had grown up between them, his very instincts revolted against these vague speculations. The thought which had found its way into his brain vanished when he looked at her, like breath from a mirror.

  There had been a short silence. Something in Miss Bettesford’s manner had forbidden any attempt at shaking her resolution. Even Lady Helen’s polite little speech of regret died away upon her lips. Soon she got up and said that she must go.

  “We have been chattering away so that I quite forgot the time!” she declared. “It is almost dark now.”

  “The boys will walk ac
ross the park with you,” Miss Bettesford said, as she shook hands with her visitor.

  “It really is not necessary!” Lady Helen protested.

  “On the contrary, I think it is very necessary!” Raymond said, smiling. “Only I am afraid that I shall have to depute Bryan to be sole escort. I have some accounts to go through with my school manager, and here he comes.”

  Bryan did not say anything, but he picked up his cap, and stood by her side. Lady Helen looked at him doubtfully.

  “I really don’t think that I need trouble you, Mr. Bryan,” she said. “I am quite sure that I know the way, and there is never anybody in the park.”

  “I will come—if you don’t mind,” he said bluntly.

  She made no further objection, and he followed her out into the garden, and through the little swing-gate opposite which led into the park. Side by side they walked together across the smooth, short turf. He was silent for a few minutes, walking with his hands behind his back, and every now and then watching her covertly. Her manner had none of the implied graciousness of a few days ago; he could almost have imagined that those few minutes in the conservatory had been a dream. But he did not lose courage.

  “You see the education of the boor is in its first stage, Lady Helen,” he said.

  She looked at him, with a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

  “I should have said that it had passed the first stage,” she replied. “You have learnt a good many things even since we met at Weldon’s farm.”

  “I have had some inducement to learn,” he answered quietly.

  She frowned.

  “You did not tell me then of the alteration in your fortunes,” she said. “You must have made a good deal of money in California!”

  “I have a partner who makes it for me,” he answered.

  “He is one of the best fellows in the world—and certainly one of the most honest. Some day I should like to tell you all about him.”

  She bowed her head slightly, without evincing any particular interest.

  “You see a good deal of the Bettesfords, don’t you?” she remarked, after a brief pause.

  “Yes. Raymond Bettesford has been polishing me up,” he said. “We read together every morning. I really had some sort of an education, and it is coming back to me—slowly.”

  “You are a most mysterious being!” she declared. “I could not have believed that it was possible for any one to have altered as you have done!”

  He leant over towards her earnestly. They were passing through a little grove of pines, whose motionless branches were standing out dark and rigid, almost as though they were painted on the gray sky. There was no sound anywhere, save their own footfall upon the soft turf and fallen cones.

  “It is not wonderful to me, when I think of the incentive,” he said slowly. “I don’t know whether that is quite the right word, but I think so. I mean that there has been something in my heart—just a hope, a spark of hope, not much else—which has driven me on like the west wind is driven over the moorland. There is nothing that can stop it. Nothing ever can stop it!”

  She turned a darkened fate upon him. It was better for him, she had decided, that she should harden herself altogether.

  “I do not understand you,” she said slowly. “I do not think that you know yourself what you are talking about. The motive of your evolution is nothing to me. I am glad for your own sake that you have enough ambition to try and fit yourself for a different position in life. That is all.”

  He stopped in the middle of the path, and, quite involuntarily, she did the same. They stood for a moment face to fate: Lady Helen proud, calm, and impassive; Bryan, his strongly marked features all aglow, and his eyes bright with the fire of his purpose.

  “I do not think you mean that,” he said. “You do understand, you must understand, that desire which is as the breath of my body to me. Mind, it was not I who spoke of it to-day. It was you. I am in no hurry. I know that my time has not yet come. But I shall wait, and I shall hope.”

  She hurried along, with an angry tinge of colour in her cheeks, and a superb disdain in every movement. Bryan kept his eyes fixed upon her, and he ground his teeth. Surely she was the most beautiful of all proud women.

  “You arc talking folly,” she said scornfully. “I should be very sorry to damp any of your most laudable desires, but if you persist in these enigmatic assertions, I shall cease to regard you in any other light than as a complete stranger. Your common sense ought to tell you how ridiculous it is to talk like that to me. I consider it an unwarrantable presumption!”

  There was a light flashing for a moment in his eyes and across his face, which it was well that she could not see.

  “I will answer you out of one of the books which the men and the women of your world often quote,” he answered. “I read yesterday that the meanest man has a right to love the proudest lady, if only he does so with respect and sincerity. You may be the proudest lady, Lady Helen—I do not think that there are many prouder than you—but I am not the meanest man, and, with all possible respect—I love you!”

  She drew her skirts into her hand, and flashed an angry, scornful glance upon him. He was not in the least abashed.

  “Insolent!” she exclaimed. “I confess that you are a complete disappointment to me, Mr. Bryan. I felt some interest in you on account of your determined efforts to improve yourself and your position, and because of your kindness to my brother. I was disposed to be on friendly terms with you, and the result is that you persist in talking like a lunatic. You are hopeless. I prefer to go the rest of the way by myself, please. Kindly leave me!”

  “At that gate,” he answered, pointing a little further on. “I promise not to speak another word until we get there.”

  She hesitated, but he had evidently not the slightest intention of leaving her. She could see that in his set face and firmly-drawn lips. So she yielded, a little annoyed with herself for doing so.

  He kept his compact, and walked by her side in silence to the gate. As he held it open their eyes met. His strong face showed no signs of despair, or even disappointment. On the contrary, his eyes met hers frankly, and he smiled as he raised his cap. For a moment her heart failed her. His calm doggedness, the air of conscious and innate strength which seemed typified in his iron lips and vigorous face, almost frightened her. He had gained so much, so vigorously, and so powerfully. The ragged poacher, the vagabond and pest of the village stood before her, the owner of a beautiful home, well dressed, possessed of at least an average share of savoir faire, calm and confident. In her heart she knew quite well that all unwittingly the seed had been of her own sowing, and for the first time she felt a certain fear, almost dislike, of him. The will which had accomplished all these things must soon be at war with hers. There could be but one ending possible, and yet she shrank from the contest.

  XI. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GULF

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  A county which had the reputation of ultra exclusiveness, determined, with a unanimity which was really remarkable, to waive all its prejudices in favour of Mr. Bryan Bryan, of the Old Hall. It was odd how it all came about. With the women the fact that Bryan was a bachelor, a man of striking appearance, and had the reputation of marvellous wealth, no doubt had something to do with it. With the men, the Earl of Wessemer’s friendship, and his own qualities, stood him in more need. Bryan, in all that he said or did, was perfectly natural, good-natured, and yet strikingly self-reliant; added to which he was a deadly shot, a magnificent rider, and a good all-round sportsman. The resources of the Old Hall were speedily added to, and he soon found himself, when it was required (and that was not seldom), able to give his men callers an excellent luncheon and some capital wine. Sir George Brankhurst, the M.F.H., acting upon a hint from Lord Wessemer, called a few days after the luncheon party at Wessemer Court, and a week or two later the hounds met at the Old Hall. Bryan’s hospitality was unlimited, and for the first time he saw Lady Helen, with a curiously deep thril
l, beneath his roof. From that day there was no longer any question as to his position, but there remained a large share of curiosity. His antecedents were completely mythical. Nobody seemed to know anything whatever about them.

  His sudden plunge into a society to which he was altogether unaccustomed did not affect Bryan in the slightest. He soon became on pleasant terms with the men with whom he was brought into contact, but so far as possible he remained aloof from, if he did not actually avoid, the women. Some time during the day he always spent with Raymond Bettesford, and it was very seldom indeed that he was missing from the Vicarage drawing-room at dusk.

  It was half-past four, and, after many glances at the tiny clock, Miss Bettesford had rung for tea, and sent to his study for Raymond. But the tray was scarcely moved up to her side, and the lamp lit, when the little lane outside seemed to be shaken with the clattering hoofs of a galloping horse. They heard a familiar voice giving a few orders to a groom, and in a moment or two Bryan, splashed with mud from head to foot, stood in the low doorway.

  “May I come in?” he asked in his deep bass voice. “I am a very pillar of mud!”

  Miss Bettesford looked up smiling. She always smiled when Bryan came.

  “Of course you may,” she answered. “Do you want to wash?”

  “Not a bit of good,” he answered, undoing the cord from his tall hat, all ruffled and scratched, and setting it down upon a table. “The wind has dried it all on. I’ll wait till I get home and can have a bath.”

  He let himself carefully down into one of the low wicker chairs, and looked distrustfully at the teapot. Miss Bettesford followed his eyes, and laughed outright.

  “I had given you up, and ordered the small one,” she explained. “Jane, make some more tea, and tell cook to cut some sandwiches.”