The Malefactor Part 33

"You had trouble here, I know," she said frankly. "But that is all past and over. I think that you must forget how beautiful your home is or you would never bear to live away from it. Now, please, may I ask you a question?"

"Any that you think necessary," Wingrave answered. "Spare me as much as possible; I am not fond of them."

"Shall I leave you two together for a little time?" Mr. Pengarth suggested, gathering up some papers.

"Certainly not," Wingrave said shortly. "There is not the slightest necessity for it."

Mr. Pengarth resumed his seat.

"Just as you please," he answered. "But you must sit down, Juliet.

There, you shall have my clients' chair."

The girl accepted it with a little laugh. There was no shadow of embarra.s.sment about her manner, notwithstanding the cold stiffness of Wingrave's deportment. He sat where the sunlight fell across his chair, and the lines in his pale face seemed deeper than usual, the grey hairs more plentiful, the weariness in his eyes more apparent. Yet she was not in the least afraid of him.

"First of all, then, Sir Wingrave, may I ask you why you have been so extraordinarily kind to me?"

"There is nothing extraordinary about it at all," he answered. "Your father died and left you friendless in a parish of which I am Lord of the Manor. He received a starvation pittance for his labors, which it was my duty to augment, a duty which, with many others, I neglected. I simply gave orders that you should be looked after."

She laughed softly.

"Looked after! Why, I have lived at Tredowen. I have had a governess, a pony to drive. Heaven knows how many luxuries!"

"That," he interrupted hastily, "is nothing. The house is better occupied. What I have done for you is less in proportion than the sixpence you may sometimes have given to a beggar for I am a rich, a ridiculously rich man, with no possible chance of spending one-quarter of my income. You had a distinct and obvious claim upon me, and, at no cost or inconvenience to myself, I have endeavored, through others, to recognize it."

"I will accept your view of the situation," the girl said, still smiling, but with a faint note of disappointment in her tone. "I do not wish to force upon you expressions of grat.i.tude which you would only find wearisome. But I must thank you! It is in my heart, and I must speak of it. There, it is over, you see! I shall say no more."

"You are a sensible young lady," Wingrave said, making a motion as though to rise. "I have only one request to make to you, and that is that you keep to yourself the knowledge which Mr. Pengarth informs me that you insisted upon acquiring. You are nearly enough of age now, and I will make you your own mistress. That is all, I think."

The smile died away from her lips. Her tone became very earnest.

"Sir Wingrave," she said, "for all that you have done for me, I am, as you know grateful. I would try to tell you how grateful, only I know that it would weary you. So we will speak only of the future. I cannot continue to accept--even such magnificent alms as yours."

"What do you mean, child?" he asked, frowning across at her.

"I mean," she said, "that now I am old enough to work, I cannot accept everything from one upon whom I have no claim. If you will help me a little still, I shall be more than grateful. But it must be in my own way."

"You talk about work," he said. "What can you do?"

"I can paint," she answered, "fairly well. I should like to go to London and have a few lessons. If I cannot make a living at that, I shall try something else."

"You disappoint me," Wingrave said. "There is no place for you in London. There are thousands starving there already because they can paint a little, or sing a little, or fancy they can. Do you find it dull down here?"

"Dull!" she exclaimed wonderingly. "I think that there can be no place on earth so beautiful as Tredowen."

"You are happy here?"

"Perfectly!"

"Then, for heaven's sake, forget all this folly," Wingrave said hardly.

"London is no place for children. Miss Harrison can take you up for a month when you choose. You can go abroad if you want to. But for the rest--"

She rose suddenly, and sweeping across the office with one graceful movement, she leaned over Wingrave's chair. Her hands rested upon his shoulders, her eyes, soft with gathering tears, pleaded with his.

Wingrave sat with all the outward immobility of a Sphinx.

"Dear Sir Wingrave," she said, "you have been so generous, so kind, and I may not even speak of my grat.i.tude. Don't please think me unreasonable or ungracious. I can't tell you how I feel, but I must, I must, I must go away. I could not live here any longer now that I know. Fancy for a moment that I am your sister, or your daughter! Don't you believe, really, that she would feel the same? And I think you would wish her to.

Don't be angry with me, please."

Wingrave's face never changed; but his fingers gripped the arms of his chair so that a signet ring he wore cut deep into his flesh. When he spoke, his tone sounded almost harsh. The girl turned away to dash the tears from her eyes.

"What do you think of this--folly, Pengarth?"

The lawyer looked his best client squarely in the face. "I do not call it folly, Sir Wingrave. I think that Miss Lundy is right."

There was a pause. Her eyes were still pleading with him.

"Against the two of you," Wingrave remarked, "I am, of course, powerless. After all, it is no concern of mine. I shall leave you, Pengarth, to make such arrangements as Miss Lundy desires!"

He rose to his feet. Juliet now was pale. She dashed the tears from her eyes and looked at him in amazement mingled with something which was almost like despair.

"You don't mean," she exclaimed, "you are going away without coming to Tredowen?"

"Why not?" he asked. "I never had any intention of going there!"

"You are very angry with me," she cried in despair. "I--I--"

Her lip quivered. Wingrave interposed.

"I shall be happy to go and have a look at the place," he said carelessly, "if you will drive me back. I fancy I have almost forgotten what it is like."

She looked at him as at one who had spoken irreverently. Her eyes were full of wonder.

"I think that you must have indeed forgotten," she said, "how very beautiful it is. It is your home too! There is no one else," she added softly, "who can live there, amongst all those wonderful things, and call it really--home!"

"I am afraid," he said, "you will find that I have outlived all sentiment; but I will certainly come to Tredowen with you!"

GHOSTS OF DEAD THINGS

"It was here," she said, as they pa.s.sed through the walled garden seawards, "that I saw you first--you and the other gentleman who was so kind to me."

Wingrave nodded.

"I believe that I remember it," he said; "you were a mournful-looking object in a very soiled pinafore and most untidy hair."

"I had been out on the cliffs," she reminded him, "where I am taking you now. If you are going to make unkind remarks about my hair, I think that I had better fetch a hat."

"Pray don't leave me," he answered. "I should certainly lose my way.