Set in Silver
Lionel not only justified (he hardly needed that with me, at this stage)
but haloed. I think he has behaved like a saint on a stained-glass
window, don't you?
I have interrupted my letter about places and things tremendously, to
tell you the story as it was told to me; but it seemed to come in
appropriately, and I wanted you to know it, so that you might begin to
appreciate Sir Lionel at his true worth in case you have been doubting
him a little up to now.
Everyone has gone down to dinner, I'm afraid, and I must go, too,
because of the Abbey afterward, and not keeping them waiting; but
perhaps, if I skip soup and fish, I may stop long enough to add that
after Gloucester we went to quaint old Ross, sacred to the memory of
"The Man of Ross," who was so revered that a most lovely view over the
River Wye has been named for him. We had lunch there, at a hotel where I
should love to stay, and then passed on, along a perfect road, down the
Wye, till we came to Kerne Bridge, near Goodrich Castle. There we got
out, leaving Buddha as the god in the car, and walked for half a mile
along a romantic path to the ruined castle. It was one of the first
built in England, and there are early Norman parts of it still intact,
and incredibly strong looking, as if they meant to last another thousand
years. I was so interested in it, and wish whoever it may concern would
leave the castle to me in his will. I would fix up a room or two and
bring you there, and we'd have that exquisite view always under our
eyes. As for servants, we could employ ghosts.
The Wye is even more charming as a river and as a valley than we used to
imagine when we wanted to "do" England, before it burst upon us that
most of the wherewithal was used up. Nothing could be more dreamy and
daintily pretty than landscape and waterscape, though here and there is
a bit which might be gray and grim if the beetling rocks weren't hatted
with moss and mantled with delicate green trees. Wherever there is a
boulder in the river, the bright water laughs and plays round it, as if
forbidding it to look stern.
The real way to see the Wye isn't by motor, but by boat, I am sure, even
though that may sound treacherous to Apollo and disloyal to my petrol;
but we did the best we could, and went out of our way some miles to see
Symond's Yat, a queer, delightful, white village on a part of the river
which is particularly divine. There's a splendid rock, and the Yat is
the rock, as well as the village. Also there's a cave; but I wasn't
sorry not to stop and go in, lest Mrs. Senter might seize the
opportunity of telling me some other fearsome tale, less welcome than
the last.
In old days it used to take a week by coach from London to Monmouth.
Now, with a motor, I dare say we could do it in one long, long day, if
we tried. Only it would be silly to try, because one wouldn't see
anything, and would make oneself a nuisance as a "road hog" to everybody
one met or passed. It was Monmouth we came to next, after "digressing"
to Symond's Yat, and as it was nearly evening by that time, Sir Lionel
decided to stay the night. He meant to start again in the morning; but
Monmouth Castle, towering out of the river, was so fine that it was a
pity to leave it unvisited, particularly as Henry V., a special hero of
Sir Lionel's (mine, too!) was born there. Then we took an unplanned
eight-mile run to Raglan Castle, a magnificently impressive ruin; and
that is why we arrived so late to-day at Tintern.
This letter has grown like Jack's beanstalk, until I think I'd better
post it on my way to dinner, instead of adding rhapsodies about
moonlight in the Abbey. I won't forget to put them in though, next time
I write, which will be almost immediately--if not sooner.
Your even more loving than loquacious
Audrie.
XXVIII
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
_Tintern Abbey_
My Dear Sis: He came, the moon saw, and I--didn't conquer!
You know what I mean? I'm sure you remember what I hoped to do at
Tintern Abbey by the light of the moon; and if you are the good elder
sister I think you are, I trust you prayed for my success. If you did,
don't mind too much about the prayer not being answered, but try again,
and give Sir Lionel "absent treatments," and all that sort of thing,
because, if the moon had been properly turned on, he might have been
brought to the point. For I look my best by moonlight, and have a great
gift of pathos in a white light--like heroines of melodrama who always
have themselves followed about by it on purpose--or else by a patch of
snow. But the moon was only on at half-cock, and didn't work well, and
after we had stubbed our toes on several things in dark shadows among
the ruins, I just folded up my plan of campaign, and put it into my
pocket until next time.
The pity of it!--when I had been at a lot of trouble to persuade Mrs.
Norton that it would be damp in the Abbey, and that there exists a
special kind of bat which haunts ruins and is consumed by an invincible
desire to nest in the front hair. So she stopped in the hotel; and as
for Miss Lethbridge, I knew I could trust Dick to look after her.
But--well, it can't be helped, and the moon is growing bigger and
brighter every night. I don't know whether there were any toe-stubbing
incidents in the ranks of the rear-guard; but something must have
happened, for mademoiselle has come home looking _stricken_. I'm dying
to hear what's the matter, but Dick won't tell. Perhaps she swallowed a
bat!
Yours (would that I could say Sir L.'s) ever lovingly,
Gwen.
XXIX
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Tintern Abbey_,
_Same night_
After all, I'm writing again, darling mother. I do think that Dick is an
unmitigated cad. I told him so, and he said it was only because I was so
unkind to him, and he was determined I shouldn't "chuck" him. He is
hateful! It's too horrid to be obliged to obey Dick Burden's orders,
just for Ellaline's sake, when if it weren't for her I could not only
tell him what I think of him, but have him sent away in disgrace. Sir
Lionel would thrash him, I believe, if he knew--but it's useless to talk
about that. And as Dick gracefully reminds me, the pot can't call the
kettle black. I am the pot. Oh!
I was in such a happy mood when we went into the Abbey, and so delighted
that we were able to be there by moonlight, dreaming as little of what
would happen as Red Riding Hood did before she met the wolf.
Sir Lionel and I started together, somehow, but the minute we were in
the ruins Mrs. Senter called him to ask a question about the tombs that
break the soft green carpet of grass in the long aisles. Instantly Dick
pounced on me, just as his aunt did in the cave the other day, and I
could only have got away from him by showing that I'd rather be with Sir
Lionel--which, of course, I wouldn't do.
Dick began at once accusing me of avoiding him, and keeping out of his
way on purpose when he tried to speak with me alone, ever since he came
back from Scotland; and I retorted flippantly: "Oh, have you only
noticed that since then?"
But in a minute I wished I hadn't defied him. He said, if I wanted him
to be considerate, making him angry wasn't the right way to set about
it; and that, if I had been in his power before, I was a good deal
deeper in now.
Still, I wasn't so very frightened, because I'm used to his threats, and
I thought he was only "bluffing"; so I bluffed back, and laughed, saying
that it didn't suit his style to be melodramatic.
"You make me want to shake you," he said, crossly.
"I know that," said I. And then he burst like a thunder-cloud--at least,
his news did; the news he had been wanting to tell me since Bideford.
When he was in Scotland, _he saw Ellaline_. She had arrived with those
McNamarras I told you about, and their place must be near the one where
Dick's mother is visiting. He recognized her from that photograph of the
school garden-party (where he saw my picture, too, you know, and was
able to find out my name, and where we live in Versailles). That is, he
thought he couldn't be mistaken, but made sure by inquiring, until he
hit upon someone who could tell him that a Mademoiselle de Nesville had
come to stay with Mrs. and Miss McNamarra. Of course, he couldn't have
known that Ellaline had taken the name of de Nesville, but as he had
heard that de Nesville was her mother's maiden name, it wasn't difficult
for a budding Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together.
You see how much worse the position is now, both for Ellaline and me,
and that the little wretch didn't exaggerate when he boasted that I'm
more "in his power" than ever. What a misfortune that Ellaline should
have come to Scotland--so near where we shall be, too, if we go to the
Roman Wall! He has only to tell the whole thing to Sir Lionel, and say:
"If you don't believe it, run up to such and such a place, and there you
will see the real Ellaline Lethbridge, whom perhaps you may recognize
from her likeness to your cousin, her dead French mother."
If only Ellaline were safely married! But she can't be yet, for days and
days, I'm afraid. She was to have written or telegraphed me at
Gloucester, if there were any chance of her soldier lover getting away
sooner than last expected; but I had no word from her at all, at the
Poste Restante there.
All that sounds bad enough for me, doesn't it? But there's worse to
come. The wretch swears he will (as he calls it), "give the show away"
to Sir Lionel to-morrow if I don't tell Sir L. myself that I have fallen
in love with Dick.
I said that Sir Lionel wouldn't believe me if I did, because I'd told
him at Torquay I wasn't in love with Dick. That admission slipped out,
and Sherlock Holmes caught at it. "Ah, I thought you'd done something to
put him off the scent!" he flashed out. "I call that downright
treacherous of you; and all the more I'll hold you down to your bargain
this time. I said I'd speak to-morrow unless you did what I told you to
do, but now I say I'll speak this minute, if you don't promise by all
that's sacred to ask him for his consent to-morrow. I'll shout to him
now. One--two--three!"
"Yes, yes, I will!" I cried--because Dick had worked himself up to such
a fury that I saw that he meant what he said.
"I shall know fast enough whether you keep your word or not," he
growled. "And if you don't, you understand just what you have to
expect."
If I hadn't given in to Ellaline! I ought to have known that nothing but
trouble could come of it. Yet no--I won't wish it undone. I can't! No
matter what happens, I shall never really regret what gave me the chance
of meeting a man like Sir Lionel. I don't think there is another in the
world. And to-morrow I am to have the honour of informing him that I'm
in love with that little worm, Dick Burden. Having seen the sun, I love
a flicker of phosphorus on a sulphur match.
Do write me the minute you get this, won't you? No, telegraph if you can
think of anything consoling to say. Poste Restante, Chester.
Your frightened and loving
Audrie.
XXX
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Aberystwith_,
_August 29th_
Brightest and Best: I have a short reprieve, because Dick has
had to go away again; not to his mother, this time, but to London. A
telegram was forwarded to him from Gloucester, where he had left
sending-on instructions; and he knocked at my door early yesterday
morning (at Tintern) to say he must leave immediately by the first
train. He was excited, because the telegram came from the head of a firm
of well-known private detectives with whom he had been in correspondence
for some time, trying to buy a junior partnership for a few hundreds
left him by his grandmother. There's a chance now that he may get the