Leslie's Loyalty

She looked into his eyes for a moment, a look which seemed to sink into his soul; then she let her head fall on his breast with a sigh of peace. When Leslie came down there were no tears in her eyes, and presently, of her own accord, she spoke of her father's death, and told Ralph Duncombe how she had met with Lucy, and how they had passed their exams and obtained the school. But not one word did she say of Yorke. Ralph noticed this.

"And why did you not send to me?" he said reproachfully.

Leslie shook her head.

"You were too proud!" he said.

"Yes, that was it," she admitted quietly. "I was too proud."

"And it would have given me much pleasure to have helped you!" he said. "Is there nothing I can do now? Can you think of nothing?"

Leslie shook her head with a faint smile.

"We have everything we want, have we not, Lucy?" she said.

Lucy blushed. She certainly had.

"No, there is nothing," continued Leslie, then she stopped and he looked up quickly.

"There is something you have thought of?" he said.

Leslie's head drooped thoughtfully.

"Yes, there is something," she said. Lucy got up as if to leave the room; but Leslie put out a hand and stayed her. "No, dear, it is no secret; besides, if it were, you must not keep secrets from each other. Wait a moment."

Lucy and Ralph exchanged glances.

"Do you know anything?" he asked.

Lucy shook her head.

"No," she replied in an awed whisper, "she has told me nothing of her past – nothing. We love each other like sisters, and I think there is no one in the world half so good or sweet as Leslie, but I should not dare – yes, that is the word – to ask for her confidence."

Leslie came back into the room. She had a small packet in her hand, and she laid it on the table before Ralph Duncombe.

"I am going to ask you to do something for me," she said with a smile that flickered sadly, as if it were very near tears. "I wish you to give this to the person to whom it is addressed."

Ralph Duncombe took up the packet.

"The Duke of Rothbury!" he said aloud.

Lucy opened her eyes.

"You may open it," said Leslie in a low voice. "It is of value – great value, I believe. If it had not been I would have sent it by post. Yes, open it."

Ralph Duncombe opened the packet and stared amazed.

"It is of great value," he said gravely; "and – and I am to give it to the Duke of Rothbury?"

"Yes," said Leslie, her lips quivering. The sight of the sorrow which she was trying to hide stirred him past repression.

"He gave you this?" he said.

"Yes, but – but do not ask me any questions, please," she faltered.

Her color came and went.

"It is not necessary," he said. "You have suffered, and at his hands – ."

"No – no – ."

"But it is yes, yes!" he said, with restrained passion, and with a strange perplexity. Great heaven, what a mistake Lady Eleanor had made! It was not Lord Auchester then, but the Duke of Rothbury Leslie had been going to marry.

"I will give it him," he said sternly.

Leslie looked up with a sudden glance of apprehension.

"Give it to him; but that is all!" she said meaningly. "There is nothing to be said – or done."

"You mean that if – if he has injured you, you have forgiven him?" he said.

"Long, long ago!" she breathed. "You may say that, if – if there should be occasion, but no more."

He bowed his head.

"It shall be as you wish," he said; "your word is a law to me."

"I knew you would do it for me," she said in a low voice; "would understand."

Then, as if she wished the subject to be closed, she began to talk of his and Lucy's strange meeting, and their future.

"It is the greatest pity in the world that you should have happened to be passing the day Lucy was frightened by the wild horseman, for the Government will lose one of its best teachers."

"And I shall gain one of the best of wives!" he murmured. They talked for half an hour, and Leslie seemed as light-hearted as they, but presently she stole out of the room, looking over her shoulder in the doorway with a "good-night."

"Do you understand it?" whispered Lucy, as he took her in his arms to say farewell. "Does it mean that Leslie might have been a duchess?"

"Yes, I think so," he said. "I don't quite understand it; I feel as if I were groping in the dark with just a glimmer of light. But, anyhow, I know, I am sure that the fault, if there was any, was his, and I wish that she had left me free to tell him so and exact reparation."

"Ah, but that is just what you must not do!" said Lucy sternly. "It is just what Leslie does not want. You are to give him back the diamonds and say nothing excepting that she forgives him!"

He nodded with a sigh.

"Poor Leslie! How she must have suffered!"

"Yes, you can see that by her face, even now; and it is ever so much happier and brighter than when I saw it first. Ah, Ralph, I wish she were as happy as we are!"

Ralph Duncombe, as he drove along the road to White Place with the diamond pendant in his pocket, felt like a man struggling with a tremendous enigma. Lady Eleanor had evidently made a terrible and unaccountable blunder in stating and believing that it was Yorke Auchester whom Leslie was going to marry. How could she have made such a mistake? And what had happened to break off the marriage? Had the duke jilted Leslie? At the thought – though he was in love with Lucy now – his face grew red with anger and he felt that, duke or no duke, he would have called him to account but for Leslie's injunction.

When he reached White Place he found Lady Eleanor pacing up and down the room with an open letter in her hand, and she turned to greet him with a smile on her flushed face.

"You have good news?" he said.

"Yes." She nodded twice with a joyous light in her eyes. "I have heard from Lord Auchester. He is coming back the day after to-morrow. He and the Duke of Rothbury – ."

Ralph started, and his face darkened.

"The Duke of Rothbury?" he said. "I am glad of that, Lady Eleanor, for I wish to see him. And, Lady Eleanor, I have something to tell you – something you will be glad to hear. There has been a strange and awkward mistake. It was not Lord Auchester who was going to marry Miss – Miss Lisle, but the Duke of Rothbury."

Lady Eleanor's face paled, and she caught her breath.

"Not – Yorke! The duke! Ah, no, no! That cannot be!"

"Pardon me, but I am right," he said, rather sternly.

She shook her head.

"No, no; I saw – " She stopped, and the color flew to her face. "I saw him buying the – the wedding ring."

Ralph stared at her, then he smiled grimly.

"He may have bought a ring, but not for himself," he said. "It may have been for the duke, for it was the duke she was going to marry, Lady Eleanor."

"How – how do you know?"

"Miss Lisle herself told me."

She started.

"She! Where – where is she?"

"She is the teacher at the school at Newfold."

Lady Eleanor sank into a chair, and looked up at him with frightened eyes.

"Here – so near? Oh, let me think!" and she clasped her hands over her eyes.

"That is what I have been doing; thinking," he said grimly. "It has been a terrible blunder. I do not know all the circumstances – scarcely any, indeed – of the case; I only know that it was the duke to whom she was engaged."

"Was? Then it is broken off?"

"Yes," he said gravely. "By Miss Lisle – for good and sufficient reasons, I am certain."

She looked at him keenly.

"You know her – you have known her all along." She saw him color, and added in a breath – "Ah, I understand!"

"Yes," he said, "I have known Miss Lisle a long time. I had hoped once to induce her to become my wife, but – ."

"And now?"

"I am engaged to another lady," he said, rather stiffly. "Miss Lisle refused me. That is all that need be said on that point, Lady Eleanor."

She inclined her head.

"It has been a terrible blunder," she said thoughtfully. "But – ah, what a load your news has removed from my heart! Not Lord Auchester, but the duke!"

She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Yorke was all her own now!

"Can you tell me the duke's address. Lady Eleanor?" he asked after a pause.

"His London house is in Grosvenor Square. He will go there, and not to Rothbury, on his return to England. Do you want to see him?" she added. "Why?"

"I have a small matter of business with his grace," he replied.

Lady Eleanor looked at his grave face apprehensively.

"You will not – ."

"Tell him anything that has occurred? Scarcely, Lady Eleanor," he said. "That which you and I did in regard to these bills and Lord Auchester's money affairs must forever remain secret. Erase it from your memory."

"Ah, if I could!" she murmured. "When I think of the possibility of his knowing – ."

"It is not likely that he will ever know," he said. "The secret is yours and mine alone. You say that Lord Auchester is returning the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"In that case, Lady Eleanor, my visits to White Place must cease. You will not need any help of mine in the future – I need not say that I should be as ready and willing to be of assistance to you as I have ever been – but it will be better that all communication between us should cease. You will not misunderstand me?"

"No, no! I understand," she said. "I am very grateful for all you have done. But for you I should not be as happy as I am."

"I am glad to have helped you to that happiness, however slightly," he said. "And I trust that you may be happier still in the future. Good-by, Lady Eleanor."

He held her hand for a moment or two, then left her. He had no desire to see her again. If he could have done so, he would have wiped from his memory the plot in which he had been concerned with her to drive Lord Auchester into her arms; indeed, as he drove through the silent night he felt heartily ashamed of it. He thought of Leslie and Lucy throughout the journey with a strange sense of confusion. He loved the gentle girl who had given him her heart, but he would remain Leslie's friend and champion. That the Duke of Rothbury had in some way behaved badly to her he felt assured, and but for his promise to Leslie he would have called him to account. As it was, he had bound himself to the simple return of the diamond pendant.

He carried it in his breast pocket for the two following days, and on the third went to Grosvenor Square.

"Yes, sir; his grace is at home, but I do not know whether he can see you. I will ask his gentleman."

Grey came into the hall, and shook his head as Ralph Duncombe preferred a request for an interview.

"His grace only returned yesterday, and is very tired, sir," he said. "I am afraid he cannot see you."

Ralph Duncombe wrote on the back of his card, "From Miss Lisle," and enclosed it in an envelope.

"Give that to his grace," he said.

Grey came back after a few minutes.

"His grace will see you, sir. Follow me, if you please," and he led the way to the study at the back of the hall.

The duke was lying on the adjustable couch, and the sight of his wasted form and deathlike face startled Ralph Duncombe and drove all the anger from his heart.

The duke signed to Grey to withdraw, then raised himself on his elbow and looked at Ralph Duncombe keenly.

"You wish to see me?" he said.

"Yes," said Ralph, and unconsciously he lowered his voice.

"And you come from – Miss Lisle?" A faint, very faint color tinged the transparent face.

"I do, your grace. I am charged with a simple mission. Miss Lisle bids me return this to your grace," and he held out the packet.

The duke took it and opened it, and gazed at the pendant as it flashed in the palm of his hand.

"She told you to return it to me? I did not give – ." He stopped.

"I was to return it to the Duke of Rothbury," said Ralph, rather sternly.

"To – the – Duke of Rothbury; yes, yes," said the duke in a low voice, and the color deepened in his face. "You have come from Miss Lisle? You know where she is; may I ask her address?"

"I cannot give it to your grace," said Ralph.

The duke flashed his eyes – they glittered in their dark rings – then he let them fall, and sighed.

"I understand. At least you will tell me whether she is well and – and happy?"

Ralph Duncombe's wrath smouldered.

"She is well now, and I trust happy," he said.

"Now? Has she been ill?"

"Ill and in great trouble. Her father is dead – ."

The duke raised himself to an upright position, then sank back.

"Poor girl, poor girl!" he murmured.

Ralph Duncombe flushed.

"Miss Lisle neither asks nor would accept your pity, your grace," he said, sternly. "I am ignorant of the events connected with that gift or its return. I do not wish to know anything about it, but of this I am assured – that Miss Lisle desires to hold no further communication with you."

The duke was silent for a moment.

"Very good," he said at last. "I understand. But I think if she knew how much I desire her forgiveness for the deceit I practised upon her, and how near I am to that land which forgiveness cannot reach, she would not refuse to forgive me."

"I have discharged my mission," said Ralph coldly. He could not bring himself to convey Leslie's forgiveness.

The duke touched an electric bell.

"I wish you good day, sir," he said, and sank back with a sigh. But, after Ralph Duncombe had gone, he opened his hand and looked at the diamond pendant, which still lay in his palm.

"Yorke had given her this," he said musingly. "But why did she send it to me? Why? What shall I do with it? Give it to him? Dare I do so just now? Will it be safe to call up sleeping memories? Had I not better wait until – until after the wedding?"

He decided that he would do so, and carefully placing the pendant in the drawer of a cabinet that stood near his elbow, he sank back again and closed his eyes. But his lips moved long afterwards, and "Poor girl, poor girl!" came from them, as if he were still thinking of her.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"VENGEANCE IS MINE."

The weeks rolled on, and the wedding morn of Yorke and Eleanor Dallas stood but three days off. It was to be a quiet wedding, in consequence of the death of Lord Eustace and his two sons; but the heir to the great dukedom of Rothbury could not be married without some slight fuss, and the society papers contained interesting little paragraphs concerning the event. The happy young people were to be married at a little church in Newfold, a picturesque village near Lady Eleanor Dallas's seat, White Place. There were to be only two bridesmaids, cousins of the bride, and the great Duke of Rothbury himself was to be the bridegroom's best man, provided that the duke should be well enough, the paragraphist went on to say, adding that, as was well known, the duke had been in bad health of late. After the ceremony the young couple were to start for the South of France, and on their return it had been arranged that they should go to Rothbury Castle, the seat of the duke, who intended handing over the management of the vast estate to his heir.

Lady Eleanor read these and similar paragraphs until she had got them by heart. To her the days seemed to drag along with forty-eight hours to each, and they had appeared all the longer in consequence of Yorke's absence, for on the plea of having to make his preparations, and business for the duke, he had not paid many visits to White Place since his return from Italy. But though Eleanor felt his absence acutely she was too wise to complain.

"I shall have him altogether presently," was the thought that consoled her. "All my own, my own with no fear of anything or anybody coming between us."

But she was terribly restless, and wandered about the grounds, and from room to room, 'where bridal array was littered all around,' as if she were possessed of some uneasy spirit.

"If one could only send you into a mesmeric sleep and wake you just before the ceremony, my dear Nell, it would be a delightful arrangement for all concerned," said Lady Denby. "It is the man who is generally supposed to be the nervous party in the business, but I'll be bound Yorke is as cool as a cucumber."

If not exactly as cool as that much abused vegetable, Yorke certainly showed very little excitement, and as he walked into the duke's study on the evening of the third day before that appointed for the wedding, the duke, glancing at him keenly, remarked on his placidity.

"You take things easily, Yorke," he said.

"As how?" said Yorke, dropping into a chair, and poking the fire.

"Well, you don't look as flurried as a nearly married man is supposed to look."

"I am not flurried," he said. "Why should I be?" and he looked round with the poker in his hand. "Fleming has seen about the clothes, the banns have been put up, and the tickets taken. There is nothing more to be done on my side, I imagine. No, I am not at all flurried."

"But you look tired," said the duke. "Is everything all right at Rothbury?" Yorke had just come from there.

"Yes," he replied listlessly. "I saw Lang about those leases and arranged about the timber, and I told them to have everything ready for you. I am glad you are going to winter there, Dolph. You will be as comfortable, now that the whole place is warmed by that hot water arrangement, as if you were at Nice, and will have the satisfaction, in addition, of knowing that you are benefitting the people around. They complained sadly of the place being shut up so much."

"Well, you can alter that," said the duke. "You like the place and can live there five or six months out of the year. I believe it is supposed to be one of the nicest places in the kingdom."

Yorke nodded and leant back, his eyes fixed on the fire.

"You dine here to-night?" asked the duke after a pause.

Yorke nodded again.

"Thanks, yes. I'll take my dinner in here with you, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," said the duke with a smile of gratitude and affection lighting up his wan face. "I wish you were going to dine in here with me for the rest of my life; but that's rather selfish, isn't it? Don't be longer away than you can help, Yorke. It may happen that Eleanor will get tired of the Continent; if she should, come home at once."

"Very well," said Yorke. "I am in her hands, of course."

"Of course, and you couldn't be in better or sweeter."

"No," assented Yorke absently. "Did you send back that draft of the leases I posted to you?"

"Eh?" The duke thought a moment. "No, I didn't. I forgot all about them."

Yorke smiled.

"You see that it is time I handed in my checks and allowed a better man to take the berth," said the duke cheerfully. "I'm very sorry, especially as you have taken so much trouble about the business. Let me see, where did I put them? I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten. Look in that bureau drawer, will you?"

Yorke got up and sauntered across the room. He looked very tall and thin in his dark mourning suit of black serge, and the duke noticed that he was paler than when he had seen him last, paler and more tired looking.

"Never mind," he said. "Let the lawyers make out fresh ones."

"Oh, I'll find 'em," said Yorke. "You have stuffed them in somewhere," and he opened drawer after drawer, in the free and easy manner in which a favorite son opens the drawers and cupboards of a father. "I'll back you for carefully mislaying things, especially papers, against any man in England – excepting myself."

"Grey always sees to them. He has spoilt me," remarked the duke apologetically.

"That's what I tell my man Fleming," said Yorke. "I should mislay my head if he didn't put it on straight every morning when he brushed my hair."

The duke laughed.

"They are a pattern pair," he said. "Don't trouble. Ring for Grey."

But Yorke in an absent mechanical fashion still sauntered round the room searching for the missing drafts, and presently he opened the drawer of the small cabinet which generally stood beside the duke's couch, but which this evening was immediately behind him.

Yorke opened the drawer and turned over the things, and was closing it again when his eyes caught the glitter of diamonds.

"You keep a choice collection of things in these drawers of yours, Dolph," he said.

"What is it?" asked the duke.

Yorke pulled out the pendant.

"Only diamonds," he said, "and very handsome ones, too. Where on earth did you get them, and who are they for? Perhaps I'd better not go poking about any longer, or I shall come upon some secret – ." He stopped suddenly. He had been speaking in a tone of lazy badinage, scarcely heeding what he was saying, until suddenly he recognized the pendant.

"Oh, I've no secrets," said the duke. "What is it you have found! Ah!" He had swung himself round by the lever and saw Yorke gazing at the pendant lying in his hand.

"Where did you get this?" demanded Yorke. The duke looked at his face as he asked the question. It was grave, with curiosity and surprise; but the duke was glad to see that it showed no keener emotion, and told himself that Yorke was forgetting Leslie.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked.

"Yes," said Yorke slowly. "It is a thing I gave – ." He stopped. "How did it come here? Where did you get it?"

"It was brought to me," said the duke in a low voice.

"Brought to you? Why to you?" Yorke demanded, looking up from the pendant. What memories it awakened!

"I cannot tell you."

"Who brought it?"

"A man by the name of – I forget. His card is in the drawer."

Yorke looked.

"No, it is not here."

"Then it is lost. His name – his name – yes, I remember. It was Duncombe. Ralph Duncombe."

"Ralph Duncombe?" Yorke spoke the name two or three times. He seemed to think that he had heard it before, but he could not recall it. He put the pendant in his pocket, and went and stood before the fire with his back to the duke.

"Did he give no message – no explanation?" he asked.

"No," said the duke. "He acted as if he thought I had sent the thing to her."

Yorke did not look round. Why had Finetta sent back the pendant, and why had she sent it to the duke instead of to him, Yorke?

"You don't want to talk about it?" said the duke after a pause.

"No, I don't," assented Yorke grimly. "There are some things one would prefer to forget."

"Ah, if one could, if one could!" muttered the duke.

The dinner came in soon afterwards; and the two men talked of the approaching marriage, of the plans for the winter, of the game at Rothbury, of everything but the diamond pendant. Then suddenly Yorke, who had been answering in an absent-minded kind of way, uttered an exclamation.

"What is the matter?" demanded the duke.

"Nothing," said Yorke sharply. Then he looked at his watch. "Do you mind my leaving you before the coffee?"

"Not a bit. Where are you going?"

Yorke made no reply, perhaps he did not hear. He got up, and rang for Grey to bring his hat.

"I shall not be back till late, Dolph," he said. "Don't sit up."

He had remembered suddenly where he had seen this Ralph Duncombe's name. It was the man who had hunted him down to the ruin from which Eleanor had saved him; and it was by this man Finetta had sent back the diamond pendant. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from the coincidence; it was Finetta, then, who had sought to revenge herself for his desertion of her, by planning his ruin and disgrace. It was she who had brought about this marriage of his, this marriage which would enslave him for life.

Yorke was not a bad-tempered man, nor a malignant, but at that moment he was possessed of a burning desire to confront Finetta, and charge her with her perfidy.

He went down the Strand and entered the Diadem. The stall-keeper looked at him with lively surprise and interest.

"Glad to see you back, my lord," he said, with profound respect.

Yorke took the programme and glanced at it.

"Miss Finetta appears to-night?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, my lord! She will be on in a few minutes."

Yorke sat bolt upright in his stall, glaring at the stage. There were several persons in the front of the house who knew him, but he looked neither to the left nor the right. His heart was on fire. The false-hearted woman! She had pretended to bid him farewell in peace and friendship, and had betrayed him! Yes, he would wait until the performance was over, and would go round and confront her. There should be no scene, but he would tell her that her baseness was known, and, if possible, shame her.