A Duel

"Won't any one? We shall see."

"We shall see! I'll write you just the will you want, as Nannie did, if you'll let me add a sentence leaving me-say, five thousand pounds. It ought to be more-twenty thousand was what Dr. Twelves promised-and you can make it as much more as you like, but I'll do it if you make it that." As, when she stopped, he was silent, she again went on: "If you don't let me add such a sentence you shall make no will at all-as sure as I'm alive I swear you shan't. I'll have my bed brought in here to stop you doing it at night-you may trust me to take care you don't do it by day. As your wife I've my rights, and you're a helpless man. I mean to take advantage of my rights-to the fullest possible extent! – and of your helplessness. You ought to know by now that in such a matter I'm the sort of woman that keeps her word."

"I have a sort of notion that you might do your best in that direction-from what I've seen-and heard-of you."

"You can bet on it!"

"Let me follow you clearly. Am I to understand that you will draw up yourself a will identical in all respects with the one you have in your hand, if I allow you to add an additional clause by which you are to benefit to the extent of five thousand pounds?"

"That's what you're to understand-just that."

"And that you'll assist me to sign it in the presence of two witnesses?"

"I'll assist you all I can."

"I'll think it over. Five thousand pounds is a deal of money for what you've done, and for the sort of woman you are; but-I'll think it over. When would you do it?"

"If you say the word I'll do it right now."

There was a considerable pause, then he repeated his former observation: -

"I'll think it over." After a pause he added: "Put back that miniature underneath my pillow-this time gently, if you please. Close the panel; replace the bracket and the vase. You may take the will with you if you like, so that you may get it well into your head. I'm tired-I've talked enough. I want to be still-and think."

CHAPTER X

THE GIRL AT THE DOOR

When Isabel left Cuthbert Grahame's room her brain was in a tumult. She had so much of which to think that she found it hard to think at all. The discovery that his wealth was so altogether beyond anything of which she had dreamed as possible; the unearthing of his will-from such a hiding-place; the facts she had learned of Margaret Wallace, and which she had herself embroidered-these things were in themselves enough to occupy her mind to its full capacity for some time to come. Yet they were far from being all she had to think about. The miniature, in its jewelled setting-especially the jeweled setting! – was likely to be a subject of covetous contemplation until-well, until something had happened to it, or to her. Then there were the pillars in the fireplace. Something-she could not have told what-had filled her with the conviction that the recess behind the sliding panel was not the only hiding-place the room contained. She was possessed by a desire to examine those four rounded posts-to examine them closely-to ascertain whether in their construction there was anything peculiar.

But beyond and above all these sufficient causes for mental agitation there was still another, one far greater-the will she might have to draft, which she felt certain she would be asked to draft. The idea which she had at the back of her head, which had prompted her suggestion, was of such a character that it almost frightened her. Like Cuthbert Grahame, she wanted time and opportunity for thought. She had it in contemplation to risk everything upon the hazard of a single throw-everything, in the widest sense of that comprehensive word. To put her notion into execution needed courage of a diabolical kind. Failure involved utter and eternal ruin. Success, on the other hand, would bring in its train all the pleasures of which she had scarcely dared to dream.

On her return from her walk, having learned that Gregory Lamb had not put in the appearance she had feared, she had sent the two maids on an errand. They were raw, country wenches, ignorant, slow-witted. It seemed hardly likely that, under any circumstances, she would find them dangerous, yet she was strongly of opinion that it was advisable, if, as was possible, the deserted Gregory did call, that she should be the person to receive him. Nannie was still confined to her room, so that Isabel had but to be rid of the underlings to have practically the whole house at her mercy.

It has been said that small things make great generals, since it is the eye for trivial details which wins big battles. The little act of foresight which prompted Isabel Lamb to clear the premises of that pair of Scotch wenches not impossibly changed the whole course of her life-not because what she had foreseen happened; what actually occurred she had not even looked for.

The dining-room had a large bay window which commanded the path leading to the front door. As she stood there, with her brain in a state of almost chaotic confusion, something caught her eye-a figure on the carriage drive. It was still at some distance; it disappeared nearly as soon as she saw it. She kept her glance fixed on its vanishing point. As for some moments nothing was visible, she was beginning to suppose that she must have been mistaken, when she saw it again. It was still to a great extent hidden by the trees and brushwood, but it certainly was there. Isabel instinctively drew back, although in any case she must have been entirely invisible. Instantly her brain became clear. The perception of approaching danger, which had on her the effect of bracing her up, restored to her at once the full use of her faculties.

"Is it Gregory?" she asked herself.

If it had been he would have had a warm reception. But it was not, as was immediately made clear. The figure was that of a woman-reaching a point where the ground was clearer, she could be plainly seen. She was walking very fast, with long, even strides.

"Who is it?" the woman at the window asked herself. "It can't be one of the girls-they won't be back for a couple of hours or more. I know them! Besides, they don't move like that. Nothing feminine's been near the place since I've been in it. So far as I know, there's nothing feminine hereabouts to come. As for callers, we don't have them. What's likely to attract a woman to a house like this? Why, I do believe it's a lady-that dress was never made in this parish. And-she's young! Where on earth have I seen her before? I have seen her, but where? My stars! – the miniature! It's Margaret Wallace! – come to see the man she jilted! Here's a nice to-do!"

The approaching figure had come clear of the carriage drive, and was now in full sight. As Isabel had acknowledged to herself, it was unmistakably that of a lady. The dress might be proof itself to another woman's keen perception, but there was other evidence as well. The way in which the stranger bore herself-her carriage, the easy grace which marked her movements, at least suggested breeding. As the face became visible all doubt was at an end. This was certainly a lady who, as it seemed, was coming to call.

Was the purport of her presence here merely to pay a passing call? Did she simply wish to make a few inquiries, and then return from whence she came? Would she be content with a few more or less civil words being spoken to her at the partly open door, or would she insist on entering and being allowed to visit Cuthbert Grahame in his room? In that case Isabel's domination would be at an end. The chances were that those two had but to exchange half-a-dozen words, and the castle which she had already in imagination builded would resolve itself into an edifice even less substantial than a house of cards. The wild scheme of which she had conceived the embryo would never move from that condition. The situation out of which she had determined to wrest a great opportunity would be there and then at an end if Margaret Wallace won her way past that front door.

But would she win it? The fates were on Isabel's side. Nannie upstairs helpless in her bed; Cuthbert Grahame still more helpless in his; the two girls out-Margaret Wallace would have to reckon with her. Isabel overrated herself if, in such a contest as was likely to ensue, she did not prove the better of the pair.

A sudden thought occurring to her she hurried into the hall. By some fortunate chance the front door was closed, so that she remained unseen by the approaching visitor. She remembered that she had closed it when she herself had come in; as a rule it stood wide open. If it had been then it would have been impossible for her to perform the part she proposed to play. As soon as she reached it she turned the key-only just in time. Within thirty seconds the handle was tried by some one on the other side.

"That settles it," observed Isabel to herself. "I didn't look at the face in the miniature so closely as all that, it was the setting which occupied me. I might have mistaken the likeness, and it mightn't have been Margaret Wallace after all. But the style in which she turned that handle gives her away. She's come in and out of this house too often not to be aware that, even if the door does happen to be shut, you've only got to turn the handle to come in. When she found that it wouldn't open, I'll bet that she had a bit of a shock. Holloa! it seems that she can't believe it now. I daresay it's the first time in all her life that she's found that door closed against her."

Something of the kind did seem possible. The person on the other side was giving the handle various twists and turns, as if unable to credit that the door was actually locked. It was only after continued efforts that the fact was realised. There was an interval, as if the person without was considering the position.

"Now what'll she do?" wondered Isabel. "Go round to the back, and see if she can't get in that way? She won't think it a possible thing that both doors can be locked. The odds are that she's come in one way as often as the other. She won't come in that way this time, and so I'll show her."

On stealthy feet Isabel, stealing to the back of the house, both locked and bolted the door which gave ingress to the house on that side. As she was ramming the top bolt home a bell clanged through the house followed by the rat-tat-tat of a knocker.

"So she's concluded not to give herself the trouble of trying the back door, at least for the present. Now what'll I do? One thing's sure, I'm not going to be in any haste to answer either her ringing or her knocking. Possibly if no one does answer she'll be tricked into thinking the house is empty." The bell and knocker were audible again.

"She's pretty impatient; she doesn't give a person over-much time to answer, even if one wanted to. What a row that bell does make-sounds as if it were rusty. I daresay it isn't rung more than once a year. It'll startle those two upstairs-it's a time since they heard it. There she is again. She'll hurt that bell if she isn't careful. I'd like to hurt her-if she doesn't watch out I will before she's finished. That's right, my dear, give another pull at it! Pretty rough on Grahame. If he only knew who was ringing what wouldn't he give to get at her-especially if he understood that this is the only chance he'll ever have; and to have to lie there like a log, and let it slip between his fingers! As for Nannie-that old woman's got the nose of a bloodhound-I shouldn't be surprised if she smells who's at the door. If she does I shouldn't wonder if, broken leg or no broken leg, she tumbles out of bed and tries to get down somehow to open it. She hadn't better. She'll break it again if she does-if I have to help her do it! No one's going to interfere with that door but me! I'm not going to have her hammering and clanging till those two girls come back, that won't suit my book at all. And as she looks like doing it the sooner I get rid of her the better."

The upper panels of the front door were of coloured glass, the panes, which were of different hues, shapes and sizes, being set in leaden frames. While it was possible for whoever was within to obtain a vague impression of some one without, it was impossible for whoever was without to see anything of the person within. It was of this fact that the quick-witted Isabel proposed to take advantage. Among the various accomplishments which fitted her, in her opinion, to shine in the halls was that of mimicry. Drawing close up to the glass panels she exclaimed, in tones which were intended to represent the broken-legged Nannie's-

"Who's that as wants to break the bell of a decent body's house?"

That the assumption was not entirely unsuccessful was shown by the response which came instantly from the other side of the door.

"Is that you, Nannie? You silly old thing! Where have you been? What have you been doing? And why have you locked this door? – open it at once!"

"And to whom will I open it, please?"

There came a peal of girlish laughter as a prelude to this reply.

"Nannie, you are an old stupid! Do you mean to say that you don't recognise my voice as well as I do yours? Why, I'm Meg come back to see you again! – open the door at once, you goose!"

"I'll no open the door this day."

"Nannie!"

"Margaret Wallace, I tell you I'll no open the door for you this day, so back you go from where you came."

"Nannie! how can you speak to me like that! How dare you!"

"I'm but obeying Mr. Cuthbert's orders, and it's not fear of you that'll stay me from doing that."

"Do you mean to tell me that Cuthbert Grahame forbade you to let me into the house?"

"He did a great deal more. He said that if you ever came near it he'd bring half-a-dozen dogs to set them at you. So take yourself off, and be quick about it."

"But, Nannie, I don't understand."

"None of your lies! It's plain enough! So be off to where you're wanted-if it's anywhere."

"But, Nannie, what have I done that you should speak to me like this? You always used to take my part."

"It's no part of yours I'll ever take again. Are you going?"

"I only want to talk to you. If you'll only open the door I promise you I won't try to get in if you don't want me to."

"I can have all the talk I want with you as we are. Will you be off?"

"Won't you let me have one look at you, Nannie, and give you just one kiss?"

"I'll have none of your kisses, and I never want to look at you again till you're lying in your coffin."

"Nannie! there's something about the way you talk which I don't understand. It's not you to speak to me like this. I insist upon your opening the door. I don't believe Cuthbert Grahame ever told you not to-I know him too well to think that's possible. I shall keep on ringing and knocking till you do open, and so I tell you."

"Then you'll keep on some time, I promise you that. I know what Mr. Cuthbert's orders are better than you. If I was to empty his gun at you I'd only do what he'd wish me to."

"Nannie! But, Nannie, I've come all the way from London. It's a very long way, and costs a deal of money, and nowadays I haven't much money, as you know. You're not going to send me back like this."

"Is it the fare back to London that you're wanting? If it's to beg you've come, I'll give you the fare out of my own pocket, so that Mr. Cuthbert may be rid of you in peace."

This time in the girlish voice there was a ring of unmistakable indignation.

"Nannie! you're a wicked old woman! I believe that you've some wicked scheme in your head of which Cuthbert Grahame knows nothing. You sound as if you were capable of anything. If you don't let me in this moment I'll get in without your help."

"How are you going to do that, pray?"

"Do you think I can't? I'll soon show you! If you think I'm still a foolish girl to be tyrannised over by you, you're very much mistaken. I won't believe that Cuthbert Grahame doesn't wish to see me till he tells me so with his own lips."

CHAPTER XI

HOT WATER

A hand was raised on the other side of the door and brought smartly against the glass. The whole panel shivered; the blow would only have to be repeated two or three times to destroy it altogether. Whipping the key out of the lock, Isabel hurried up the staircase, slipping it into her pocket as she went. Although she had no fear of an entry being made, she was very far from desirous of being seen. That would involve the discovery of the fraud she had been practising. If Miss Wallace learned that it was not Nannie who had been addressing her in such uncompromising terms, it was scarcely likely, even if driven by force from the house, that she would leave the neighbourhood without effecting her purpose of seeing Cuthbert Grahame. So Isabel, determined that that should not happen, resolved to adopt extreme measures.

When she gained the top of the stairs she could already hear the glass shivering in the door below. Rushing into the bath-room, snatching up a couple of pails which the not too tidy maids had left there, and filling them at the tap, she strode with them to the landing-window which overlooked the entrance. She had filled them at the hot-water tap, and the steam came against her hand.

"It isn't very hot," she told herself. "There's just enough sting in it to make her a little warmer than she is already."

The window was wide open. She peeped out to see that the girl was immediately below. Balancing both pails on the sill she turned them over together. That the contents had reached the mark was immediately made plain by the cries which ascended from below.

"Nannie! Nannie! you've scalded me! you've scalded me!"

Isabel replied, still taking care not to allow so much as the tip of her nose to be seen through the window-

"I'll scald you again in half a minute-you'll find the water's boiling next time, I promise you. What's more, I'll take Mr. Cuthbert's gun to you, as he bade me. You shameless hussy! to go breaking his windows because he won't have you set your foot inside the house that you've disgraced!"

This diatribe from the supposititious Nannie was followed by silence below. Isabel, who found the suspense a little trying, was half disposed to venture on a glance to learn what was taking place. Unmistakable sounds, however, arose just as she had made up her mind to run the risk. Margaret Wallace was crying. Presently she exclaimed, in tones which were broken by her sobs-

"I'm going, Nannie. You needn't trouble to get Mr. Cuthbert's gun, nor to wait till the water's boiling. Whatever Mr. Cuthbert's orders may have been-and I know I've used him badly, and deserve anything from him-I never thought you'd have treated me like this. I've never done you any harm, and you've always pretended that you loved me. I hope you'll never regret driving me away like this from the house that has always been a home to me! Oh, Nannie! Nannie!"

The girl uttered the last two words in such poignant tones that Isabel thought it extremely possible that they penetrated to the woman to whom they were actually addressed. After a moment's interval footsteps were audible below. Then, as Isabel drew back behind the curtain, she could see through the loophole that Margaret Wallace was returning whence she came. She moved with a very different step to that which had marked her approach. Her feet seemed to lag, her head hung down, and she kept putting her hand up to her eyes to relieve them of blinding tears. Her attitude was significant of the most extreme despondency. Apparently some remnants of her pride still lingered. It was probably those fragments of her self-respect which prevented her from once looking round to glance at the house from whose precincts she was being so contemptuously dismissed.

Isabel watched the defeated mien which characterised the girl's whole bearing in the moment of her humiliation with a smile of triumph.

"That's one to me. It's on the cards that it's the one that's going to win the game. I guess she's feeling pretty bad. It can't be nice, if your pockets aren't too well lined, to come all the way from London just for this. I daresay she meant to do the conscience-stricken act-tell him how sorry she was, ask his forgiveness, have an affecting reconciliation, and all that kind of thing. I expect she was drawing pictures of how it all was going to be as she came along in the train. I rather fancy those pictures won't get beyond the outline. She'll be trying her hand at sketches of another kind as she goes back again. I wonder how she'd feel if she knew how she's been bluffed by an insolent adventuress, and that Nannie hadn't had a hand in the game at all. She'd feel pretty mad! I wonder how Nannie feels if she so much as guesses at what's been going on. I'll give the old lady a call; and I'll call on Mr. Cuthbert Grahame. But before I do that I think I'll write a few lines on a sheet of paper-on a couple of sheets."

Before she quitted her post of observation the unhappy girl had vanished from sight. Isabel waited for some minutes after she had disappeared lest something should transpire which might cause her to change her mind and return. As time passed and nothing more was seen of her, Isabel decided that she had gone for good. Descending to the dining-room, seating herself at a writing-table, Isabel drew from a drawer two large sheets of paper, similar to the one contained in the envelope which Cuthbert Grahame had instructed her to take from behind the sliding panel. On one of these sheets she wrote, in her large, bold, round hand, a facsimile of the will which marriage had rendered invalid.

"I give and bequeath all the property of which I die possessed, both in real and personal estate, to Margaret Wallace, absolutely, for her sole use and benefit." When she had finished she surveyed what she had written, then added-"With the exception of five thousand pounds in cash, which I give and bequeath to Isabel Burney, and which it is my wish shall be paid to her, free of legacy duty, within seven days of my being buried".

"That only needs his signature and the signatures of the witnesses. Shall I date it, or leave the date open? I think I'll be safe in dating it to-morrow. Now for another document very much like it, but not quite, though as far as appearance goes it must be as exactly like it as it can be conveniently made."

She then wrote on the second sheet what was, with some slight, but important, differences, an exact reproduction of the words she had written on the other.

"I give and bequeath all the property of which I die possessed, both in real and personal estate, to Isabel Burney" – she hesitated, then wrote-"whom I have acknowledged to be my wife, in the presence of Dr. Twelves and Nannie Foreshaw, absolutely, for her sole use and benefit" – she hesitated again, and this time added-"with the exception of five farthings in cash, which I give and bequeath to Margaret Wallace, and which it is my wish shall be paid to her, free of legacy duty, within seven days of my being buried."

"That also needs but the signatures and-a little ingenuity." She had made them, in all respects, so much alike, fitting into the same space the extra words on the second sheet that at a little distance it was easy to mistake one for the other. "Now we'll tear up that old thing, which my appearance on the scene was so unfortunate as to spoil, and we'll put the new will in its place-with its brother."

She did as she said, folding up the two sheets in precisely the same creases, putting them into the one envelope. Then she went upstairs to see Nannie.

The old lady's leg bade fair to be a long time healing, nor was a cure likely to be hastened by her impatience and general unwillingness to take things easily. So soon as Isabel put her head inside the room, Nannie, sitting up in bed, aimed at her a volley of questions.

"Why haven't you been here before? What's all the clatter been about-like as if the house was coming down? Such ringing and hammering I never heard the likes of. What's been the meaning of it all? Where's them two girls? Why didn't one of you open the door, like as if it was a Christian house? Why did you suffer such a hubbub-enough to disturb the countryside? Who's been talking in a voice like a cracked tin trumpet?"

It occurred to Isabel that the last analogy was unfortunate, since a "cracked tin trumpet" was a not inadequate description of the screech in which Nannie herself was even then indulging. The old lady presented a peculiar spectacle-in a huge, ancient nightcap, tied in a big bow beneath her chin; a vivid tartan shawl about her shoulders. The visitor replied to the whole of the inquiries with an unhesitating lie.