Dolores stood still and looked at him with her eyes opened in horror.
'Yes, you may well say Gerald. 'Tis the only name I have a right to if this is true.'
'But you are still yourself,' and she held out her hand.
He did not take it, however, only saying-
'You know what this means?'
'Of course I do, but that does not alter you-yourself in yourself.'
'If you say that, Dolores, it will only alter me to make me-more- more myself.'
She held out her hand again, and this time he did take it and press it, but he started, dropped it, and said-
'It is not fair.'
'Oh yes, it is. I know what it means,' she repeated, 'and it makes no difference,' and this time it was she who took his hand.
'It means that unless this marriage is disproved, or the man's death proved, I am an outcast, dependent on myself, instead of the curled darling the Grinsteads-blessings on them!-have brought me up.'
'I don't know whether I don't like you better so,' exclaimed she, looking into his clear eyes and fine open face, full of resolution, not of shame.
'While you say so-' He broke off. 'Yes, thus I can bear it better. The estate is almost an oppression to me. The Bohemian nature is in me, I suppose. I had rather carve out life for myself than have the landlord business loaded on my shoulders. Clement and Lance will make the model parson and squire far better than I. 'The Inspector's Tour' was a success-between that and the Underwood music there's no fear but I shall get an independent career.'
'Oh! that is noble! You will be much more than your old self-as you said.'
'The breaking of Cherie's heart is all that I care about,' said he. 'To her I was comfort, almost compensation for those brothers. I don't know how-' He paused. 'We'll let her alone till all this is over; so, Dolores, not one word to any one.'
'No, no, no!' she exclaimed. 'I will-I will be true to you through everything, Gerald; I will wait till you have seen your way, and be proud of you through all.'
'Then I can bear it-I have my incentive,' he said. 'First, you see, I must try to rescue my sister. I do not think it will be hard, for the maternal heart seems to be denied to that woman. Then proofs must be sought, and according as they are found or not-'
Loud calls of 'Gerald' and 'Mr. Underwood' began to resound. He finished-
'Must be
'
CHAPTER XX. FRENCH LEAVE
She came, she is gone, we have met, And meet perhaps never again.-COWPER.
The evening of that day was a scene of welcomes, dinners, and confusion. The Rotherwoods had arrived that evening at the Cliff Hotel just in time for dinner, of which they considerately partook where they were, to save Jane Mohun trouble; but all four of the party came the instant it was over to hear and see all that was going on, and were fervently received by Gillian and Mysie, who were sleeping at their aunt's to be ready for the morrow, and in spite of all fatigue, had legs wherewith to walk Lord Ivinghoe and Lady Phyllis round the stalls, now closed up by canvas and guarded by police. Phyllis was only mournful not to have assisted in the preparations, and heard all the fun that Mrs. Grinstead had made. But over the wall of Carrara a sight was seen for which no one was prepared-no other than Maura White's pretty classical face!
'Yes,' she said, 'how could I be away from such an occasion? I made Uncle White bring me to London-he had business there, you know-and then I descended on Kalliope, and wasn't she surprised! But I have a lovely Italian dress!'
Kalliope Henderson looked more alarmed than gratified on the whole. She knew that there had been no idea of Maura's coming till after it had been known that the Rotherwoods were to open the bazaar, and 'made Uncle White' was so unlike their former relations that all were startled, Gillian asking in a tone of reproof how Aunt Adeline spared Maura.
'Oh, we shall be back at Gastein in less than a week. I could not miss such an occasion.'
'I only had her telegram half-an-hour ago,' said Kalliope, in an apologetic tone; and Lord Ivinghoe was to be dimly seen handing Maura over the fence. Moonlight gardens and moonlight sea! What was to be done? And Ivinghoe, who had begun life by being as exclusive as the Marchioness herself! 'People take the bit between their teeth nowadays,' as Jane observed to Lady Rotherwood when the news reached her, and neither said, though each felt, that Adeline would not have promoted this expedition, even for the child whom she and Mr. White had conspired to spoil. Each was secretly afraid of the attraction for Ivinghoe.
At St. Andrew's Rock there was a glad meeting with the Travis Underwoods, who had disposed of themselves at the Marine Hotel, while they came up with a select party of three Vanderkists to spend the evening with Clement, Geraldine, and Lancelot, not to mention Adrian, who had been allowed to sit up to dinner to see his sisters, and was almost devoured by them. His growth, and the improved looks of both his uncle and aunt, so delighted Marilda, that Lancelot declared the Rockquay people would do well to have them photographed 'Then' and 'Now,' as an advertisement of the place! But he was not without dread of the effect of the disclosure that had yet to be made, though Gerald had apparently forgotten all about it as he sat chaffing Emilia Vanderkist about the hospital, whither she was really going for a year; Sophy about the engineer who had surveyed the Penbeacon intended works, and Francie about her Miranda-Mona in strange hands.
The Vanderkists all began life as very pretty little girls, but showed more or less of the Hollander ancestry as they grow up. Only Franceska, content with her Dutch name, had shot up into a beautiful figure, together with the fine features and complexion of the Underwood twins, and the profuse golden flax hair of her aunt Angela, so that she took them all by surprise in the pretty dress presented by Cousin Marilda, and chosen by Emilia. Sophy was round and short, as nearly plain as one with the family likeness could be, but bright and joyous, and very proud of her young sister. It was a merry evening.
In fact, Lance himself was so much carried away by the spirit of the thing, and so anxious about the performance, that he made all the rest, including Clement, join in singing Autolycus's song, which was to precede the procession, to a new setting of his own, before they dispersed.
But Lance was beginning to dress in the morning when a knock came to his door.
'A note from Mr. Flight, please, sir.'
The note was-'Circus and Schnetterlings gone off in the night! Shop closed! Must performance be given up?'
The town was all over red and blue posters! But Lance felt a wild hope for the future, and a not ill-founded one for the present. He rushed into his clothes, first pencilling a note-
'Never say die. L. 0. U.'
Then he hurried off, and sent up a message to Miss Franceska Vanderkist, to come and speak to him, and he walked up and down the sitting-room where breakfast was being spread, like a panther, humming Prospero's songs, or murmuring vituperations, till Franceska appeared, a perfect picture of loveliness in her morning youthful freshness.
'Francie, there's no help for it. You must take Mona! She has absconded!'
'Uncle Lance!'
'Yes, gone off in the night; left us lamenting.'
'The horrible girl!'
'Probably not her fault, poor thing! But that's neither here nor there. I wish it was!'
'But I thought-'
'It is past thinking now, my dear. Here we are, pledged. Can't draw back, and you are the only being who can save us! You know the part.'
'Yes, in a way.'
'You did it with me at home.'
'Oh yes; but, Uncle Lance, it would be too dreadful before all these people.'
'Never mind the people. Be Mona, and only think of Alaster and Angus.'
'But what would mamma say, or Aunt Wilmet? And Uncle Clem?' each in a more awe-stricken voice.
