A Gamble with Life

"But I haven't any money," Madeline said, "except what my trustee allows me. But really, do you know for certain if I shall be well off when I come of age?"

"Don't you know yourself?"

"I really know nothing. Father never talked to me about money matters, and Sir Charles copies his example in that respect."

"Then you had better come and talk to my husband. If there's anything about money he doesn't know, I should like to discover it."

"I should like to see Mr. Harvey very much."

"Then come back and have lunch with us on the Skylark. There's plenty of room, and you'll be as welcome as the President of the United States."

"Oh, it would be just delightful," Madeline said, eagerly, "there's nothing I should enjoy so much."

Madeline was almost bewildered at the size and magnificence of the Skylark. Mr. Harvey, having struck a copper lode a few years previously, found himself with more money than he knew profitably how to spend, and with more time on his hands than he knew wisely how to use. He built for himself a marble mansion in New York, and purchased one of the largest steam yachts that ever ploughed the seas, and was now doing his best to earn a night's repose by sight-seeing.

Peter J. Harvey welcomed Madeline on board the Skylark with many expressions of delight. He was a typical American, tall, square-shouldered, and not over-burdened with flesh. He had straight hair, which he wore rather long, a clean-shaven face, a wide mouth, a strong, square chin, and a most refreshing American accent.

He was not exactly a vain man. At any rate, he did his best to keep his vanity under proper control, and if he boasted occasionally he believed he had something to boast of. He was still in the prime of life, being the right side of fifty by two or three years. Kitty was the eldest of six – three boys and three girls, the youngest, Bryant, having celebrated his seventh birthday two days before. Besides the family, there were numerous cousins and uncles and aunts, with others whose relationship to the Harveys was difficult to trace.

The lunch was set out in the grand saloon, and was served in the best style. The stewards wore bottle-green coats trimmed with gold braid.

Madeline, having got among old friends, talked with a freedom and an abandon that she had not known since she left her native land. The grace of reticence was a virtue the Harveys had never cultivated. It was their boast that they had nothing to hide. Hence they discussed their domestic and business affairs with a freedom that would have staggered an Englishman of the old school.

Confidence begets confidence; and so in the seclusion of the yacht's library, with only Mr. and Mrs. Harvey and Kitty present, Madeline explained as far as she dared the peculiarities of her present situation.

Peter J. rose to the situation at once.

"My dear child," he said, "I guess there ain't no difficulty at all. I don't see none. It's just as easy as falling off a stool. There ain't no occasion for you to go back to their moth-eaten ancestral abode for five minutes. You just come along with us – "

"You mean – "

"I mean what I say," continued Peter J. "There's room for you in this small frigate and to spare, and there's a welcome as long as from here to the United States and back again."

"It would be just delightful," Madeline said, with dilating eyes. "But – "

"Then let it be delightful," Mr. Harvey interrupted. "I guess we'd be as delighted as you would be. What say you, Kitty?"

"It would be just too fine for words," Kitty replied.

"It would be like a Providence," Mrs. Harvey chimed in, "so we'll consider it settled."

"But Sir Charles might object," Madeline said, with a half-frightened look in her eyes.

"You leave his lordship to me, my dear," Peter J. interposed. "I guess I know my way about, and if he cuts up nasty, I'll treat him to a chapter out of the gospel of Peter J. Harvey."

"But what excuse should I make?"

"You needn't make any excuse at all. I'll go across and see the General myself and explain things."

"But what would you say?"

"That we had fallen across you accidentally; that we were old friends; that I knew your father; that you and Kitty were chums at school; that we are cruising round this here little arm of the ocean for a week or two longer; and that we are taking you along with us just to give you a taste of sea-faring life."

"But he might not believe you."

"Then I would bring him across here and let him see for himself and hear your own wishes out of your own mouth."

"But he would not consent for me to be out of his sight for more than a day or two at the outside."

"Then to avoid trouble and hard words we will mention a day or two – wind and weather permitting."

"Oh! Mr. Harvey, if you could get me clean away from them without any unpleasantness, I should be more thankful than words can tell."

"I'll do it, my dear. And when Peter J. Harvey says he'll do a thing, why, that thing is done. Now give me the location of this Lord Tregony."

"Oh! he isn't a lord," Madeline laughed, "he's only a baronet."

"Well, it's all the same to me. He wouldn't alarm me if he were your Attorney-General."

"Don't you think I had better go back with you. I'm afraid they'll be getting alarmed at my long absence."

"I thought you tumbled across a page-boy belonging to the hotel and sent word by him that you would not be back till evening."

"I did send word that I would not be in to lunch. But those boys are so stupid that it's ten to one if he conveyed my message."

"Don't you alarm yourself on that point," Peter J. said, cheerfully. "But if you think you can explain things better yourself, why we'll go along together. But mind you, we return together, even at the risk of an earthquake."

"Let Kitty come as well," Madeline said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"All right, my dear. The more the merrier. I'll take the skipper and the crew if you think it might impress his lordship and make the way easier."

"No, I think the three of us will be sufficient," Madeline said, with a laugh. "But no hint must be given that I'm to be absent more than two or three days. Sir Charles had made all arrangements to leave for Paris on Monday."

"You leave that to P. J. H., my dear. If I'm not quite a full-blown diplomat it's only for want of opportunity. Now let us be off. If Lord Charles What's-his-other-name don't yield without a murmur, I shall be surprised."

Half-an-hour later they were walking up the steps of the hotel. Sir Charles was in the lounge, with a cigar in his mouth and his eyes towards the door. He was feeling much more anxious than he cared to admit. Gervase had gone by an early train to Monte Carlo and had not returned. Lady Tregony and Beryl were in their bedrooms.

Sir Charles sprang to his feet and heaved a big sigh of relief when the swing door was pushed open, and Madeline entered, radiant and smiling, followed by Kitty Harvey and her father.

"My dear Madeline," he said, reproachfully, "you have given us a fright. We have been looking for you everywhere."

"Oh! I am sorry," she answered. "But I told one of the page-boys I met outside to tell you I was going to lunch with some friends."

"No such message was brought to me," he answered, severely. "It would have been better if you had left word at the office."

"I am sorry if I have caused you any anxiety," she answered, quietly. "But I met some American friends on the promenade, and have been with them on their yacht to lunch."

At the word yacht Sir Charles pricked up his ears, and a somewhat mollified expression stole over his face.

"Allow me to introduce my friend Miss Kitty Harvey," Madeline said, in her most engaging manner, "and this is her father, Mr. P. J. Harvey, of New York City, and a friend of my father's."

Sir Charles bowed very pompously, and muttered something under his breath about being delighted to meet them.

Peter J. had said nothing up to this point, but stood in the background – as a modest man should – chewing the end of a cigar.

"I can assure you, Colonel, the pleasure is reciprocated," he said, in his slowest manner, and with a twinkle in the corner of his eye. "The truth is my daughter and I have come along as a sort of deputation."

"Indeed! Will you not be seated?"

"Well, thank you. As it's as cheap to sit as to stand, and talking comes easier as a rule when you are sitting down, I guess I'll fall in with the suggestion."

Sir Charles waited for Mr. Harvey to proceed. Madeline and Kitty sat on a lounge side by side, the former feeling very uncomfortable. She saw in a moment that Sir Charles did not like the American's free and easy ways, and Mr. Harvey was dimly conscious of the same truth.

"Not to waste words over the business," Peter J. went on, "we want to take Miss Grover just for a little run on our steamer, and we came across to ask your consent. These formalities are considered proper I believe, and we fall in with them. Though as a citizen of the United States I presume the lady can just do as she likes."

"Well, no!" Sir Charles replied, pompously. "Miss Grover is my ward till she comes of age. At any rate, it amounts to that – "

"Of course I am, Sir Charles," Madeline interposed. "But we are not going to talk law or gospel, are we? Mr. Harvey has asked me to go for a little run on his yacht, and I really want to go ever so much!"

"But we leave here for Paris on Monday, Madeline. I fear there is no time."

Peter J. puckered his face into a knowing smile. "According to my calculations," he said, "Monday is five days off. We could almost circumnavigate this little arm of the ocean in that time. But we are talking of a run of a couple of days more or less."

"It seems hardly worth the trouble, does it, Madeline?" Sir Charles questioned, in a bored tone.

"Oh! quite worth it, Sir Charles. Think how lovely the sea is, and how beautifully calm, and then you know Mr. Harvey's yacht is as big as an ocean steamer. In a couple of days we could go to Naples and back, and wouldn't it be lovely to see Naples!"

"Naples is an interesting place, no doubt. But the weather is getting warm – hot, I may say."

"But we need not land unless we like," Mr. Harvey interposed.

"Of course – " Sir Charles began, hesitatingly.

"Then that is settled, my dears," Peter J. interrupted. "I knew his lordship would not deprive you of a pleasure if you desired it very much. Now, you girls, run away and put a few things in a bonnet-box, sufficient for a forty-eight hours' trip. Perhaps, when we return, your excellency will so far honour us as to come on board and dine with us."

"Thank you, it is very kind of you."

"Not at all. I believe in showing hospitality when it is in my power to do so. Would you mind trying one of my cigars? I think you will find the flavour excellent."

Sir Charles hesitated for a moment, then took the proffered weed and proceeded to cut the end off with a penknife.

Meanwhile Madeline and Kitty had rushed off to Madeline's room and began packing boxes with all possible speed.

"Rather large bonnet boxes, eh, Madeline?" Kitty questioned, with a laugh.

"Do you know, I feel like a burglar," Madeline answered.

"I never was a burglar," was the reply, "so I don't know what it feels like to be one."

"Everything will be terribly crushed," Madeline went on, "but I can't help it. Will you ring for the porter, Kitty?"

"All right, my dear, and I will drive off with the baggage while you and father are paying your adieux to the Baronet. If he were to see you going off with all these boxes he might scent mischief."

"How clever you are, Kitty," Madeline said, with a laugh. "That idea is just lovely. But will you lock these boxes, my hands are shaking so I can hardly hold the keys."

"Why, we might be escaping from a robbers' castle. What is the use of getting so excited?"

"I can't help it, Kitty. I've been looking round for weeks and weeks for some way of getting out of a most uncomfortable position, and you cannot imagine how helpless I have felt. And now I feel – oh, I can't tell you what I feel – but here's the porter."

Madeline went down to the office and explained matters, and saw Kitty drive away with her luggage. Then she returned to the lounge, where Sir Charles, looking very bored, was listening to a long account of how Peter J. Harvey made his pile in copper.

On catching sight of Madeline, Peter J. brought his story to an abrupt conclusion and rose slowly to his feet.

"Need I disturb Lady Tregony and Beryl, do you think?" Madeline inquired, innocently, looking Sir Charles straight in the eyes.

"As you think best, Madeline," Sir Charles replied, blandly. "I sent up word to them that you had returned safe and sound."

"Then very likely they will be taking their afternoon nap now?"

"That is very probable."

"Should I awake them, do you think?"

"If you were going away for a week I should say yes, certainly. But if you like I will explain your absence till Friday."

"That will be best, I think." Then, turning to Mr. Harvey, she said: "Now I am ready. Kitty has gone on ahead, and has taken my few things along with her."

"I guess Kitty has some shopping to do on the way. That child is never happy unless she is spending money," and Mr. Harvey smiled, innocently.

"You will explain to Gervase, won't you, Sir Charles?" Madeline said, with one of her sweetest smiles. "It is unfortunate he did not come home to lunch. I am sure he would have liked to have seen over Mr. Harvey's yacht."

"We shall probably accept Mr. Harvey's invitation to dinner on your return," Sir Charles said, pompously.

"Of course you will, Colonel, of course you will," Peter J. said, with a drawl. "I never take a refusal from my friends without a very good reason."

"It is good of you to let me go, Sir Charles," Madeline said, reaching out her hand to say good-bye. "But I am sure I shall enjoy myself immensely. You see, I have known Mr. and Mrs. Harvey and Kitty nearly ever since I can remember, and then, I'm tremendously fond of the sea."

Sir Charles came with them to the door of the hotel and saw them into a carriage, then returned to the lounge and to his cigar.

Madeline could almost have screamed with delight when she found herself once more on the Skylark.

"At last I am free," she said to herself, "and when Sir Charles sees me again I shall be my own mistress."

Half-an-hour later the Skylark weighed anchor and put out to sea.

CHAPTER XXXII

FACING THE INEVITABLE

When Saturday morning arrived and the Skylark had not been sighted, Sir Charles began to grow suspicious. An hour or two later his worst fears were confirmed. A letter was handed to him in Madeline's handwriting. The postmark, he noticed, was Genoa. He could hardly keep his hand steady while he tore open the envelope, and when he began to read his face grew ashen.

The letter was brief and quite explicit. She had no intention, she said, of returning again to Nice or to Cornwall. She was going back to America with the Harveys. For many things she was sorry she ever left it. She had been unhappy for months past – ever since the return of Gervase, in fact. To become his wife was simply impossible. She expressed her regret for any pain or annoyance she had caused, and her thanks for all kindnesses she had received. She regarded the appearance of the Harveys on the scene as an interposition of Providence, and her escape from an intolerable position as a direct answer to prayer.

Sir Charles had not got over the anger and disgust produced by this frank epistle when Gervase came hurriedly into the room, with blanched cheeks and a wild light in his eyes.

"Do you know that Madeline has given us the slip?" he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Have you heard from her also?"

"Then you know?" he questioned, with a gasp. "What has she said to you? Let me see her letter."

Sir Charles handed him Madeline's letter without a word. Gervase read it carefully, and then handed it back with a little sigh of relief. She had not told his father what she had told him, and for that mercy he was supremely grateful.

For several moments the two men looked at each other in silence. Neither had the courage to blame the other, and yet neither was disposed to take the blame himself. Gervase was convinced that his father played the game badly at the beginning, but he had played it worse at the end. Hence it was bad policy to fling stones while he lived in a glass-house himself. A similar train of thought wound its way slowly through Sir Charles's brain. From his point of view Gervase had played the fool again and again, though he saw now that the waiting policy he had advocated was a huge mistake. So while he was inclined to throw the principal share of blame on to Gervase's shoulders, he was bound to take a share himself.

"I suppose we may conclude," Gervase said, at length, in a lugubrious tone, "that the game is up."

"I'm afraid it is," Sir Charles answered, with suppressed emotion.

"It's a beastly shame, for I've been counting on her fortune for years past."

"It's an awful miss. Her fortune would have set the Tregonys on their feet."

"It's no use trying to get her back, I suppose?"

"Do you think you could yet persuade her to marry you?"

Gervase blushed, and walked to the window and looked out into the courtyard.

"Girls are such curious things," he muttered, evasively. "You never know when you have them."

"I can't help thinking you played your cards badly, Gervase. She seemed to idolise you when she came to Trewinion, and looked forward so eagerly to your return."

"The mistake was in not marrying her right off when we met at Washington. She would have said 'yes' like a shot, for she was awfully gone on me. She adored soldiers at that time, and regarded me as a hero."

Sir Charles heaved a sigh and remained silent for several moments.

"Would you mind letting me see her letter to you?" he questioned, at length.

"Sorry, father, but – but – I've destroyed it," he blurted out, awkwardly. This was not the truth, but he wouldn't for the world that his father should read what she said to him.

"Destroyed it? What did you do that for?" Sir Charles asked, suspiciously.

"I was just mad and hardly knew what I was doing. It seemed the only way I could give vent to my anger. I tore it into millions of bits."

"What reasons did she give for her outrageous conduct?"

"Well, in some respects it was an awfully nice letter she wrote. She said she admired me as a friend immensely. But she didn't love me as she felt she ought to do, which made her unhappy, and so she thought it best to go away without any fuss, and all that, don't you know."

"And do you believe she still admires you?"

"Why, of course I do. She said so, in fact. I wish I hadn't destroyed her letter. There were some awfully nice sentiments in it, I can assure you."

"Then why were you so angry?"

"Why, because I saw I was up a tree. When a girl you want to marry talks about being a sister to you, and all that, don't you know, it makes one angrier than anything."

"Well, yes, I suppose it does. I'm terribly disappointed, Madeline was a chance in a lifetime."

"But rather smacked of trade, don't you think? You know very well if she'd been an English girl, you wouldn't have considered her for a moment."

"That may be. But since even dukes marry tradesmen's daughters – provided, of course, they hail from across the water – there was no reason why we should turn up our noses."

"I'm too poverty-stricken to turn up my nose at anything. I'd marry a barmaid if she only had sufficient of the needful."

"Don't talk nonsense, Gervase, I thought you were really fond of Madeline, apart from her money."

"So I am. She's awfully pretty, there's no denying that. But I'm too old to break my heart over any woman. It's the tin – or the lack of it – that is troubling me."

"You'll have to curtail your expenses, Gervase; there's nothing else for it. I cannot possibly increase your allowance. The fact is, we shall have to economise all round."

"I'm always economising," was the angry retort. "It's been pinch and grind ever since I was born."

"That's not my fault, my boy. I'm getting the biggest rents I can possibly squeeze out of the tenants as it is, and there's no chance of things mending unless we can get Protection."

"And that we may whistle for."

"Why so?"

"Because the people have got educated. An awful mistake, I say, to educate the working classes. An ignorant proletariat you may hoodwink and bamboozle to your heart's content; but no enlightened community is going to consent to have its bread taxed for the benefit of the landowners."

"The people will have to be shown it's for their benefit. That's the game to play."

"No doubt. But it will take a mighty clever man to prove even to a public-house loafer that the dearer things are made, the better off he will be."

"But you must not forget that there are some very clever men at work."

"They are not clever enough for that."

"You don't know. They have undertaken more difficult tasks and succeeded. Think of South Africa!"

"I'd rather not. It won't bear thinking about."

"Nevertheless, it shows what can be done. The masses of the people are more easily persuaded than you think. Education, you must remember, is not sense. Hit upon a popular cry, and the rest is easy."

"But no country can be gulled twice in so short a period. No, dad, our fortunes are not to be mended along those lines."

"I am not so sure. A good stirring appeal to patriotism will work wonders still. 'England for the English – '"

"England for the English landlords, you mean, for that's what it comes to in the end."

"No doubt it does. But while a few people own the land it is well that the masses should think that England belongs to them."

"But do they think that England belongs to them?"

"Of course they do. There isn't a man-jack among them that will not talk big about defending his country and dying for his country, when he doesn't possess a foot of it, and hasn't money enough to buy a grave to be buried in."

"Well, dad, I sincerely trust that your hopes will be realised, and that England will consent to be gulled again for the benefit of a few. Good heavens! if I'd only been an army contractor instead of a soldier, I should have made my fortune."

"Your only hope of a fortune, Gervase, is by marrying one," and Sir Charles put Madeline's letter into his pocket and walked out of the room.

For the rest of the day Gervase loitered about alone. He was much more troubled than he let his father see. Madeline had accused him of treachery to Rufus Sterne, and had hinted in words too plain to be misunderstood that she had proof that he bribed Tim Polgarrow to commit perjury. If Madeline, therefore, had discovered this, how did he know that other people had not made the same discovery? He felt that he could not return to St. Gaved again until he knew. If Tim had let the secret out, his best course would be to keep out of sight until the storm had blown over, and people had forgotten the incident.

So it came about that Sir Charles and the others returned without him. Gervase promised to follow in a week or two at the outside. But a run of luck at Monte Carlo kept him a slave at the Casino. This was followed by a run of bad luck during which he lost all he had won. Then he remained on, trying to recover his lost position, and in the end he had to cable to his father for a remittance to bring him home.

Gervase had not been at Trewinion many days before the truth about Madeline began to leak out. Sir Charles had been too chagrined to give the smallest hint as to her whereabouts, or even to mention her name if it could be avoided, and Beryl and Lady Tregony took their cue from him. But Gervase, discovering that he was still in good odour among the people, and that the secret Madeline had discovered appeared to be known to no one else, concluded that nothing was to be gained by a policy of silence. He need not tell all the truth; in fact, he could put his own gloss on the facts as they stood, and so it began to be whispered about that Miss Grover had decided on visiting her friends in America before finally settling in England.