Read Ebook: A Gray Eye or So. In Three Volumes—Volume III by Moore Frank Frankfort

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Ebook has 1082 lines and 37263 words, and 22 pages

For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound argument--that is, argument that sounds well--and for general obstinacy, there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in moderately good working order.

After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, he sprang from his seat crying, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!"

He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the words, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!"

In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote a note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on second thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an equally short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be advisable to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan which he had suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into its cover; but when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his stamp-drawer was empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going to his club to dine, and he knew that he could get stamps from the hall-porter.

He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary.

At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. He brightened up at the appearance of Harold.

"I've just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with me," he cried.

"I'm sorry that I can't congratulate you upon finding one," said Harold.

"Then I congratulate myself," said Mr. Durdan, brightly. "You're the most companionable man that I know in town at present."

"Ah, then you're not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just now," said Harold with a shrewd laugh.

"Don't say it in the open air," said Harold.

"Come inside and make the revelation to me."

"If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you're afraid of, you may reckon upon my services," said Harold. "But to tell you the truth, I'm a bit down myself to-night."

"What's the matter with you--nothing serious?" said Mr. Durdan.

"I've been working out some matters," said Harold.

Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis.

For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan's prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any stamps.

He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night.

Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat the two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small pieces.

With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling of distrust.

Yes, he would make sure of her.

He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept turning it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and relocked the box and the drawer.

"It will be hers," he said. "Would I use my mother's ring for this ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud--if I meant to take advantage of it to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal with me when my hour comes." It was a ring that had been left to him with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for the ceremony which was to be performed the next day.

Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument had done.

The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had been repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once been a priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, did not consider the rite a mockery.

Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell forward until his face was buried in his hands.

It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial.

Her hand--his mother's ring was upon the third finger--was upon his head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, "My husband--my husband--I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall live trusting one another for ever, my beloved!"

They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands for a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head against his.

In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, looking into her eyes.

"Oh, my love, my love," he cried. "What am I that you should have given to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?"

"Only once," said she, "I felt that--I scarcely know what I felt, dear--I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed--was it a want of trust?"

"I was a fool--a fool!" he said bitterly. "The temptation to bind you to me was too great to be resisted. But now--oh, Beatrice, I will give up my life to make you happy!"

|THE next afternoon when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with two letters in her hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, letting her know that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least a fortnight longer; the second was from Mrs. Lampson--she had paid Beatrice a ten minutes' visit the previous day--inviting her to stay for a week at Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday.

"What am I to do in the matter, my husband--you see how quickly I have come to recognize your authority?" she cried, while he glanced at his sister's invitation.

"My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and other matters, by pleasing yourself," said he.

"No," said she. "I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see as a husband--I see it clearly as a wife--will give me a capital chance of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, yes, you may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and fail to enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That's the way with wives, is it not?"

"I can't say," said he. "I've never had one from whom to get any hints that would enable me to form an opinion."

"Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to please myself?" said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was extremely charming.

"I've seen other men's wives now and again," said he. "It was a great privilege."

"And they pleased themselves?"

"They did not please me, at any rate. I don't see why you shouldn't go down to my sister's place next week. You should enjoy yourself."

"You will be there?"

He shook his head.

"I was to have been there," said he; "but when I promised to go I had not met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my sister, that it was impossible for me to join her party."

"Of course that decides the matter," said she. "I must remain here, unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands."

He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where she was opening the old mahogany escritoire.

"I particularly want you to go to my sister's," he said. "A reason has just occurred to me--a very strong reason, why you should accept the invitation, especially as I shall not be there."

"Oh, no," said she, "I could not go without you."

"My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to be so graceful an exponent?" said he, standing behind her with a hand on each of her shoulders. "The fact is, dearest, that far more than you can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw people--my relations in particular--off the notion that something came of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands while it was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what the effect would be."

"The effect, so far as I'm concerned, would be that I should be miserable, all the time I was away from you."

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