Set in Silver
of Sir Lionel's prowess; among others of a great jump he had made from
one rock of Trifaen to the other, with only a little square of rock to
light upon, just on the edge of a sheer precipice; a record feat,
according to the old guide. And while the men and we women listened, the
wind outside raged so wildly that now and then it seemed as if a giant
fell against the house and afterward dashed pebbles against it in his
fury. Then again the wind-giant would rush by the hotel in his
hundred-horse-power motor-car, tooting his horn as he went. It was nice
sitting there in the comfortable dining-room, listening to the climbing
stories, while the wind roared and couldn't get at us, and the whole
valley was full of marching rain!
Now I am writing in my bedroom, close to a gossipy little fire, which is
a delightful companion, although August has still a day to run. Mrs.
Senter is having her beauty sleep, I suppose; and I should think Mrs.
Norton is reading Young's "Night Thoughts." I know she takes the book
about with her. The men are still in the hall downstairs, very happy, if
one can judge by the laughter that breaks out often; and I am as happy
as I can be with the thought of Dick probably appearing at Chester day
after to-morrow night. But I won't let myself think of that too much,
because it isn't certain that he will get back then, and it _is_ certain
that there will be some word from you, which may change everything. You
see what faith your girl has in you! But wouldn't she be ungrateful if
she hadn't?
There is one other thing which has been bothering me in odd moments,
though, and I wish I had asked your advice about that, too, in the
letter to be answered at Chester; but the idea hadn't occurred to me
then. It suddenly sprang into my mind last night when I was lying in
bed, not able to go to sleep.
Ought I to repeat to Ellaline what Mrs. Senter told me about the money?
I don't mean the part about the poor child's father and mother. No one
but a thorough Pig of the Universe would tell a daughter perfectly
unnecessary horrors, like those; but about her not being an heiress in
her own right, and depending on Sir Lionel for everything except two
hundred a year?
If I were really in her place, instead of pretending to be, I should
want to know, and shouldn't thank anyone for keeping the truth from me.
It would be unbearable to accept generosity from a man, thinking I might
be as extravagant as I liked, with my own money. But it is difficult to
make up my mind, on account of the _fiance_. You, being French yourself,
know how it is with French officers who fall in love with a girl who has
no _dot_, or only a small one. Most of them, if poor themselves, would
slap their foreheads and despair, but think it their duty to their
country to forget the girl.
I'm afraid the adorable Honore is rather poor; and though no normal
young man, especially a Frenchman, could help being fascinated by
Ellaline if thrown in her society, many normal young men would be more
ready to let themselves go, believing her to be an heiress. Perhaps
Honore wouldn't have proposed if he hadn't thought Ellaline a very rich
as well as a very pretty girl. Perhaps if he found out even now, at the
eleventh hour, that she depends upon a person whom she has just slighted
and deceived, he might desert her.
Wouldn't that be awful? Not that I think Ellaline would tell him, if I
wrote to her exactly what I've heard from Mrs. Senter. Fascinating as
she is, it isn't in her to be frank. I'm sure she would keep the secret
until after her lover was safely her husband; but she would be upset and
even more anxious about the future than she is.
I don't know what to do. And in the last letter I had from her she
scolded me for continually praising Sir Lionel. She is sure I am
mistaken about him, and that, if I can see any good under the dragon's
scales the evil monster must have hypnotized me. She really seemed quite
vexed. Maybe I shall hear from her at Chester. I hope so, as I'm rather
worried because she didn't write to the last address I was able to give.
Whatever message your expected letter or telegram has for me, I will
answer it at once.
Good night, dearest little Dame Wisdom, with more love than ever from
Your
Audrie.
I'm so glad we are staying here all day to-morrow and to-morrow night.
There are dozens of beautiful things to see; and besides, it is as safe
as the inmost circle of a labyrinth from Dick, who has no clue.
XXXII
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Queen's Hotel, Chester_,
_September 1st_
We've been in Chester for several hours, my Angel; and not only is there
no Dick (for which heaven be praised), but no word from you, which
worries me. Still, I shan't be really anxious unless on my second call
at the post-office (to be made by and by) I draw a blank again. At
least, I didn't draw a blank exactly when I went there before. I drew a
letter from Ellaline, with vexing news. Honore de Guesclin is in a
scrape. He could get leave now, and come to her, but he and some of his
brother officers have been amusing themselves by learning to play
bridge. Naturally, those who played best came off best, and Honore
wasn't one of them. He has borrowed of a money-lender, and is in a hole,
because the fellow won't let him have more, and is bothering for a
settlement. Also, Honore owes some of his friends, and hasn't a penny to
pay up or start on a journey. Ellaline doesn't seem to think much about
the moral aspect of her Honore's affairs (you see, she knows nothing of
what her mother must have suffered from her father's _penchant_), but
she is in a great state of nerves about the delay. She has always been
told it was bad luck to put off a wedding, and besides, she finds
Scotland _triste_, and wants to be married.
You can guess to what all this is leading up! I must get money, somehow,
anyhow, but a great deal, and immediately. I must send her at least four
thousand francs by return of post; five thousand, if possible; but if
"Monsieur le Dragon is too stingy to give more, at all events nothing
less will be of the least use."
It's easy for her to dictate terms. She hasn't got to face the very
upright and honourable gentleman whom, she calls the Dragon, whereas I
have; and I've already shamed myself by asking for large sums at short
intervals. I simply can't go to him here and "hold him up" for four
thousand francs. It would be monstrous, and if he asked what I wanted to
do with it (as it seems to me it would be only his duty to ask the young
schoolgirl he thinks me) I should be able to find no decent excuse, as I
have no expenses beyond those he pays. However, I shall have to do
something desperate, I don't know yet what. He has given me some pretty
things, and though I hate the thought of parting with them in such a
way, as they're Ellaline's by rights, it's no more than fair she should
benefit by them in the hour of her need. Poor girl! Of course there's
nothing for it but she must marry the young man now, yet it seems a poor
outlook, doesn't it?
She explains in a P. S. that she was too upset to write me to the last
place, as she hadn't heard from Honore when she expected; but now, if
the money is forthcoming all right he will start for Scotland as soon as
possible after receiving it from her, and settling up. I have
calculated times as well as I could, and fancy that if I can in any way
send her a post-office order from Chester to-morrow, she and Honore may
be able to marry in a week. Once I shouldn't have believed I could be
sorry to have my "principal" arrive and take back her own part; but now,
if it weren't for Dick Burden, it would actually be a temptation to me
to delay Ellaline's appearance on the scene. Of course, I wouldn't be
such a wicked wretch as to yield to the temptation, but I should feel
it.
Ellaline promises to telegraph the moment Honore arrives, and again when
they're safely married, so as to give the understudy plenty of time to
scuttle off the stage, before the guardian is informed that his charge
has been taken off his hands. She doesn't want to see Sir Lionel, she
says, but she and Honore will write him unless, when Honore has
consulted a Scottish solicitor (if that's what they're called), it's
considered wiser for the lawyer himself to write. So you see, this makes
it harder for me to know what to do about repeating Mrs. Senter's story.
If Ellaline understood her position she would, perhaps, think it better
to come with her bridegroom and throw herself at her injured guardian's
feet.
What a nice world this would be if your affairs didn't get so hopelessly
tangled up with other people's that you can hardly call your conscience
your own! And never have I realized the niceness of the world more fully
than in the last few days.
Yesterday I had a little easy climb with Sir Lionel and the old guide,
and saw the glory of Llanberis Pass. To-day, on the wings of Apollo, we
have flown through amazingly interesting country. It really did seem
like flying, because the road surface was so like velvet stretched over
elastic steel that eyesight alone told us we touched earth.
Miles aren't tyrants any more, but slaves to the mastery of good
motor-cars; and any motoring Monte Cristo can fairly exclaim, "The world
is mine!" (N. B. This isn't original. Sir Lionel said it at lunch.) From
North Wales to Cheshire looks a long run on the map, but motors are made
to live down maps; and we arrived in this astonishingly perfect old town
early in the afternoon, coming by way of Capel Curig (whence we saw
Snowdon crowned with a double rainbow), sweet Bettws-y-coed, or "station
in the wood," and so down the river valley in a bird swoop, to noble
Conway, with its castle that was once a famous Welsh fortress. Now, in
piping days of peace, its towers and turrets still dominate bridge and
river, and the great pile is as fine, in its way, as Carcassone. Don't
you remember, it was from Conway Castle that Richard the Second started
out to meet Bolingbroke?
We stopped to take photographs and buy a few small pearls from the
"pearl-breeding river"; and while we gazed our fill at the mighty
monument, we learned from a guardian that in old days a certain Lady
Erskine hired the castle for six shillings and eightpence a year, in
addition to a "dish of fish for the Queen," when her majesty chanced to
pass!
At Colwyn Bay we lunched early, at a charming hotel in a garden above a
sea of Mediterranean blue; and the red-roofed town along the shore
reminded me of Dinard. After that, coming by Abergele and Rhuddlan to
Chester, the way was no longer through a region of romance and untouched
beauty. There were quarries, which politely though firmly announced
their hours of blasting, and road users accommodated themselves to the
rules as best they might. But there were castles on the heights, as well
as quarries in the depths; and though Sir Lionel says that inhabitants
of Wales never think of turning to look at such a "common object of the
seashore" as a mere castle, I haven't come to that state of mind yet.
Near Rhuddlan there was a tremendous battle at the end of the seventh
century, out of which so many fine songs have been made that the Welsh
princes and nobles who were slain have never lost their glory. There's a
castle, too (of course), but the best thing that happened for us was a
gloriously straight road like a road of France, and as nobody was on it
save ourselves at that moment, we did about six miles before the next
moment, when others might claim a share. I believe the Holyhead road is
very celebrated.
Soon we had to turn our backs upon a mystic mountain-land that ringed us