Witness to the Deed Part 48

"I am sure I could get him to confide in me."

"You? Why, you'd win the confidence of a Memnon."

"Don't be silly. But tell me, Percy--do you think, now, that Malcolm Stratton has been very wicked? I mean, do you think he has married anyone else?"

"No," said Guest flatly, "I feel sure he hasn't."

"Then we will have the matter cleared up."

"How?"

"Myra shall go and see him, and ask him why he has treated her so badly."

"But it will be such bad form."

"I don't care what it is! It would be much worse form for us to let the poor thing take to her bed and die."

"But surely she is not so bad as that," whispered Guest, who felt moved by the sob he heard in his companion's throat.

"Worse, worse," whispered Edie. "You don't see what I do. You don't know what I do. Breaking hearts are all poets' nonsense, Percy, but poor Myra is slowly wasting away from misery and unhappiness. Uncle doesn't see it, but I know, and if something isn't done soon I shall have no one left to love."

"Edie!"

"I mean like a sister. O Percy, I'd rather see her forgive him and marry him, however wicked he has been, than live like this."

A few chords in a minor key floated through the drawing room, and Edie s.h.i.+vered.

"Tell me," she said after a few minutes, "do you think he acted as he did because he didn't love her--because he felt that he couldn't take a woman who had been engaged to someone else?"

"I'm sure he loves her with all his heart, and I feel as certain that he would not let such a thing stand in his way."

"Then I'm reckless," said Edie excitedly. "I don't care a bit what the world may say. Myra shall go to him and see him."

"She would not."

"I'll make her, and if uncle kills me for it afterward, well, he must."

"I should like to catch him trying to," said Guest.

"No, no; I don't mean that. Then what do you think of my plan?" said Edie. "You should come here to fetch us to some exhibition--to see something; any evening would do. We could let them be together for a little while and then bring them back."

"Capital!" said Guest; "only isn't that my plan, little one?"

"Oh, what does it matter which of us thought of it?"

"Not a bit," he said, pressing the hand that lay so near him; and a little later on, with the understanding that if Myra would consent the attempt should be made, Guest left the house.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

AT HER OWN HEART'S BIDDING.

Some time elapsed before the announcement that the consent had been won.

"She wanted to all the while," Edie said; "but her woman's dignity kept her back."

The girl was quite right, and it was only in a fit of mad despair that Myra had at last agreed in acknowledging the force of her cousin's words.

"Percy says he thinks Malcolm is slowly dying, dear, and that your coming might save his life."

"I'll go," Myra said, drawing in her breath with a hiss; and then to herself, "If he despises me for the act, well, I must bear it, too-- while I am here."

An evening was fixed, one on which Guest felt sure he would be able to catch his friend at the chambers, as being the preferable place, though, failing this, there was the lodging in Sarum Street.

There was no occasion for inventing subterfuges. The admiral that night dined at the club, and he troubled himself so little about the comings and goings of his daughter and niece that, if he returned, he would only consider that they had gone to some "at home," and retire to his bed.

The consequence was that the carriage was in waiting at eight, and Guest arrived to act as guide.

"Strikes me, William," said Andrews, the butler, to the attendant footman, "that our young lady would be doing more what's right if she stopped at home."

"Ay, she do look bad, sir."

"She does, William," said Andrew, with a little stress on the "does."

"Twice over me and you has made preparations to have her married, and it strikes me that the next time we have to do with any public proceedings it will be to take her to her long home."

"They're a-coming down, Mr Andrews," whispered the footman as, in evening dress and cloak, Guest brought down Myra, looking very white in her m.u.f.flings, and as if she were in some dream.

Guest handed her into the carriage, and returned for Edie, who was flushed and agitated.

"You won't think any the worse of me for this, Percy, will you?" she whispered.

His reply was a tender pressure of the little hand which rested upon his arm.

Matters having been intrusted to Guest he directed the coachman to draw up beside the old court in Counsel Lane, and upon the footman opening the door, and the ladies being handed out, he looked at them in wonder, and asked his fellow-servant what game he thought was up as the trio pa.s.sed into a gloomy looking alley, at whose corner was a robe-maker's shop with two barristers' wigs on blocks in the window.

But Guest knew what he was about. The courts and alleys about Benchers'

Inn were princ.i.p.ally occupied by law writers, printers, and law stationers, and deserted enough of an evening to render the pa.s.sage through of a couple of ladies in evening dress a matter likely to cause little notice, especially as they might be taking a short cut to one of the theatres.

Myra had taken Guest's arm at a whisper from her cousin, who followed close behind, and, before long, the young barrister was well aware of her agitation and weakness, for, as they reached the upper entrance to the inn, she leaned more and more heavily upon his arm, and, after a few more paces, clung to him and stopped.

"Tired?" he said gently; "we are nearly there."

She tried to speak, but no words would come; he could feel, though, that she was trembling violently, and Edie pressed to her side.

"Courage," she murmured; and her voice seemed to calm Myra, who drew a deep breath, and tried to walk firmly the rest of the way; while Edie began to hope Stratton would be absent, for she dreaded the scene.

But fate was against her this time. The meeting she had struggled to bring about was to be, for Guest turned to her and whispered over his shoulder: