Robert Orange
there is an incessant struggle and toil to cut one another's throat
among us average men--all striving after success. You weren't built that
way. God bless you."
In the morning his father and the near relatives arrived. The women
cried bitterly. The aged peer looked on in stony grief--drinking in his
son's scarred faced and glancing, with despair, from time to time, at
the clock.
"It isn't going, is it?" he asked.
No, it had been checked; the tick disturbed his lordship, but there was
an hour-glass on the table.
"How many hours do they think----?"
"Perhaps ten hours."
When the sand had run down at the conclusion of the first hour, no one
reversed the instrument. But Lady Margaret Sempton, the Earl's sister,
sent a whispered message to the Bishop of Hadley, who was waiting, much
altered by sorrow and anxiety, in the ante-room. Reckage had asked to
see him. He had always liked the good old man, and the rest withdrew
during their short interview.
Meanwhile carriage after carriage drove up to the door; caller after
caller appeared with cards, notes, and inquiries; name after name was
inscribed in the visitors' book; telegrams came from the Royal family,
from all parts of the country and the Continent.
"My poor boy. I didn't know he had so many friends," said his father.
"God forgive me, I used to think he wasted his time on fads."
And odd people came also. Trainers, jockeys, and horse-dealers rubbed
shoulders on the doorsteps with collectors of old furniture,
missionaries, electioneering agents, ladies of the chorus, of the
_corps de ballet_, shabby-genteel individuals of both sexes out of work,
and the like; each had his degree of regret and an anecdote.
"He was always very kind to me," said this one, that one, and the other.
Bradwyn, noting some of these unusual visitors, observed that Reckage
had a knack of pleasing the lower classes and half-educated persons
generally. He heard a Bible-reader say to the footman: "_Take ye heed,
watch and pray; for ye know not when the time is!_" and he shuddered at
this exhibition of bad taste. Lord Garrow had been unremitting in his
personal inquiries, but Sara did not come till she received the
following from Orange--
"He is conscious, and he asks to see you."
She reached the room as the Bishop of Hadley was coming out; tears were
in his eyes and he did not notice the young lady who glided past him as
lightly as a shadow. Poor Reckage recognised her step, however, and
pulled the sheet half over his face lest she should be startled at its
harsh disfigurements. She threw off her hat and veil and fell on her
knees by the side of his bed.
"Speak to me, Beauclerk, speak to me; it is I--Sara."
"I know you," he whispered; "you are the one I loved the best. But I
haven't been true to anybody. I only wish to goodness I had another
chance. I'd be different--I'd show 'em ... I never meant ..." he took
her hand, her beautiful, tapering hand loaded with sapphires ... "like
your eyes, old girl ... don't cry ... and I say, I posted that ...
letter after all ... to please you. Are you ... pleased?"
He spoke no more.
* * * * *
Action is the essence of political parties, and the members of the
League had the ink barely dry on their telegrams of condolence before
they despatched others, summoning a special meeting for the
consideration of future steps. Orange, who was regarded as a man devoid
of ambition, was unanimously elected a member of the Executive
Committee; he was a good speaker, he could mind his own business, he
never pulled wires, and it was his rule to step aside when others behind
him showed any disposition to push toward the front. On the evening of
the day on which Lord Reckage died, Aumerle and Ullweather called at
Vigo Street as a preliminary move in their new plan of campaign. But
Robert was not there. He sat all that night, a solitary watcher, in the
chamber of death. His affection for his old pupil was something stronger
than a brother's love. Whether he saw him as others saw him, or whether
he was aware of certain pleasant traits in that uncertain character
which escaped the common run of dull observers, his devotion had never
wearied in all the years of their acquaintanceship.
The old housekeeper crept into the room when the bereaved family had
retired, and she was on her way to bed.
"You and me, sir, always got on with his lordship," she said, looking
down, with Robert, at the still, marred face. "We understood him. He
wasn't all for self--as many thought. But his heart wanted touching. If
you could touch his heart, a kinder gentleman didn't live. And if it was
my last breath, I'd call him the best of the lot--in spite of his
tantrums, and his changeableness, and his haughty way sometimes. Mark my
words, the glory of Almouth dies with him. Mr. Hercy will bring us down
to rack and ruin. O, sir, I'm glad I'm old. I never want to see the
sorrow that is sure to come to Almouth."
But Orange was not thinking about the house of Almouth, or its fate. His
thoughts were with the soul of the young man who had enjoyed life so
well, and made so many plans, and cherished so many worldly hopes--of
the young man who had existed apparently to indulge his own will, spend
money, kill time, and fulfil a few rather showy responsibilities. And
yet what Robert remembered best was his laugh. He could hear it still.
CHAPTER XXV
Prince d'Alchingen had been much put out of conceit with himself by
disappointment. The small dinner which he had carefully arranged for
Orange and Castrillon took place, but Orange was not present. He had
sent word from Almouth House that he could not leave Lord Reckage. His
Excellency, therefore, was thoroughly annoyed, and Castrillon's
persiflage fell heavily upon his ears. He tried to think that this
nobleman's vivacity made him appear flippant, whereas he was, in
reality, a Don Juan of the classic type--unscrupulous, calculating, and
damnable. When he remarked that it was _grande folie de vouloir d'etre
sage avec une sagesse impossible_, the Prince's spirits rose--only to
fall again, however, at a later pronouncement from the same lips to the
effect that virtuous women always brought tears to his eyes.
"They tell me," said the Prince, weighing each syllable with great
deliberation (they carried on their conversation principally in French
and Spanish) "that Mrs. Parflete is an admirable actress."
Castrillon kissed the tips of his fingers to the air, and ejaculated:
"Adorable!"
"Does she resemble, in any way, I wonder, her good mother, Madame
Duboc?"
No, she had her own style--although she was coquettish enough. And
pretty? Delicious.
"This is better," thought his Excellency, "much better. And do you
think," he asked, aloud, "that she cares at all for Orange?"
Castrillon smirked and put his hand, half instinctively, to his
breast-pocket. D'Alchingen inferred, from this quick movement, that he
carried a letter or two, or a keepsake, from the lady near the region of
his heart.
"She may need the tonic of some Platonic love in order to bear the
burden of a solitary life," said the Marquis; "but, all the same, I have
no especial reason to think that M. de Hausee is her ideal."
"He is the ideal of several persons," said Alchingen; "I don't know what
to make of him."
But at this point Castrillon displayed a maddening discretion. The
Prince was glad when he took his departure, and he exhausted his stock
of malice in wishing the young coxcomb to the devil. His Excellency was
becoming more and more morose over his snuff and the last mail--which
was longer and duller than usual--with a peculiarly sharp note from his
Chief into the bargain--when Mudara was announced.
Mudara bowed to perfection, and then, going forward, presumed to put his
hand on the Ambassador's arm.
"Your Excellency," said he, "I have some important news. On the whole it
is gratifying. It may make us cynical, but it is absurd to expect human
nature to be Divine. Mrs. Parflete has been at Orange's lodgings this
afternoon."
"You don't mean it?"
"Indeed, it is too true. When he moved to Vigo Street, I was fortunate
enough to secure a room in the same house immediately under his."
"Good!"
"I was sitting at my table, with the door just ajar, when I heard, at
six o'clock, a rustle of silk skirts on the stairs. I peeped out. I saw
a tall lady, thickly veiled, following our landlord, Dunton, across the
landing. She caught sight of me, and started violently."
"Was it Mrs. Parflete?"
"I could _swear_" he answered slowly, "that it was Mrs. Parflete.... She
reached Orange's door; Dunton tapped; Orange came out; the lady and he
exchanged glances; they entered the room together, and he closed the
door. Three-quarters of an hour later they came down the stairs and left
the house."
"You followed them?"
"Alas! I couldn't. I was not alone. Parflete himself was with me. I
dared not trust him out of my sight. He, following his custom, grew
faint at the sight of Madame----"
"Then he, too, recognised her? This is excellent."
"He recognised her height and her figure. Besides, whom else could it
have been--if not Mrs. Parflete? M. de Hausee has no sister, and we know
his character. The caprice of fortune has honoured him with many faults,
but gallantry is not among them. I have that from those who knew him
when he was too young to disguise his true nature. He would not have
been an _abbe malgre lui_, and he has, on the contrary, the most
ecclesiastical soul I know. Rest assured, your Excellency, that this
_canaille_ of a woman is determined to be his ruin, for she is a
baptized serpent,--one of those creatures more dangerous to men than the
devil himself."
The Ambassador smiled agreeably, put his tongue in his cheek, and nodded
his head with a movement which might have passed equally well for a
sympathetic reproof or sorrowful acquiescence.
"What will Parflete do?" he asked.
Mudara threw up his dark, sinewy, and powerful hands in genuine despair.
"He is the vice of the situation," he exclaimed; "at the very mention of
divorce his teeth chatter, he gets a spasm of the heart, and he begins
to gabble like a sick monk about his soul and his conscience. Believe
me, we are dealing with a madman. How can any end be attained in his
present state of irresolution?"
"Happily it is not my business either to arrange or propose the means."
The sly glance of the Prince encountered the sly glance of the Agent.
"That is well understood, your Excellency," said Mudara, with the
inimitable accent of respect. "Let good be done and let evil be avoided,
is the sum total of the Government's desires. But whenever I can see
clearly, I shall know how to act. When right and truth are plain, time
and experience are the best allies. We have at least sufficient evidence
to institute divorce proceedings. If Parflete will not file a
petition----"
"You can do nothing. Unless you can be perfectly sure that he will
follow some reasonable course, he ought to be saved from himself."
"Yes, he ought to be saved from himself. Something in my nature makes me
follow a certain kind of man as hounds track game. What is now to be
done is to meet force with force."
"An armed diplomacy is good," said d'Alchingen.
"And also a scheme of alternatives," replied Mudara.
"I confess I very much prefer working through Castrillon, if possible,
than de Hausee. Disraeli has implicit faith in this de Hausee. It seems
taken for granted that he is ascetic and intellectual. He is altogether
in the clouds, whereas Castrillon is wholly in touch with--with
humanity."
"But de Hausee, like the Cardinal de Retz, fought duels when he was a
student. If I cannot work upon Parflete's jealousy, we must see what can