Why should you be delighted? I assure you it is nothing to me.
My dear, it is everythingyou will tell Mr. Asquith?
I suppose so. It will annoy him.
She reddened, and corrected herself.
Nonsense, I didnt mean to say that. I dare say he will take it very much as you do. But you will both be wrong, both be wrong.
Isabel, you are mysterious.
Am I? she asked with a laugh, not a very joyous one.
Yes, more mysterious than I like.
Then indeed it wont be mysterious at all. Its only in your imagination, Rose. Oh dear, oh dear! she sighed, this world is a hard one!
I wonder whether you will hear from Mr. Lacour? Mrs. Stratton asked, after trying to read her friends face.
I wonder, said Isabel absently.
Their conversation soon came to an end. There was to be driving before lunch as the sky had cleared, and it was not till afternoon that Isabel had an opportunity of informing her cousin of the news she had received.
Robert heard it calmly.
I really do not know whether to congratulate you or not, he said, with meaning.
At all events, you may congratulate Ada.
Probably. Do you stay here much longer?
I go at the end of the week, the day after to-morrow.
So soon?
Yes, Knightswell must not be left empty.
They gazed at each other without definite expression.
CHAPTER III
I shall be home on Saturday, wrote Isabel, at the close of a letter addressed to Wood End. I am writing to Mr. Vissian, to ask him to come and see me before his afternoon service on Sunday, as I want to speak with him of several things. Will you come at three? He will leave shortly after, and youperhaps will not care to stay?
She said nothing of the event which had hurried her return, neither did she mention it in her letter to the rector. Mr. Vissian called at the cottage on Friday.
I have a message for you from Mrs. Clarendon, he said. She is returning, and will be glad to see you any time after three on Sunday. I shall be at the house between two and three myselfhave to go speciallyyour audience will succeed mine.
Kingcote smiled as he promised to obey the summons.
We shall see you to-morrow as usual, said Mr. Vissian, in going. I believe I have got hold of something that will startle you. Nothing, nothing; merely the solution of a crux which has defied every Shakspearian critic hitherto. Dont be too excited about it; it may prove a mares nest; butthe rector half closed his eyes and nodded twicewe shall see.
He went off in his usual high spirits. Sundry Christmas bills had just reduced him to penury, but that was a care he did not allow to weigh upon him, for all that his black suit of daily wear cried shame upon him at the elbowsyet weaker points were happily concealed by pendent cloth. Had he not on his shelves the last years publications of the Early English Text Society, bound in halfcalf extra?
To his infinite annoyance, he waited in vain for Kingcote on Saturday evening. The discovery at which he had hinted, had become overnight a certainty; he was convinced that he had explained the Lady of the Strachy! (See, loc. cit., the critical edition of Twelfth Night, which Mr. Vissian subsequently put fortha work deserving more attention at the hands of Shakspearian scholars than it has received.)
What can ail the man? he exclaimed impatiently, as he kept coming forth from his study to Mrs. Vissian. He never failed us before. If he only knew what Ive got for him!
But Kingcote did not appear, and Mr. Vissian only saw him on the morrow in Mrs. Clarendons drawing-room. Kingcote came in with a grave look, and shook hands with Isabel in silence.
I hope you have come back quite restored, he said, rather awkwardly, when it became incumbent upon him to speak. He was not good at acting.
Why did you fail me last night? inquired Mr. Vissian.
I am very sorry. I was not well, was the brief reply.
He seated himself and was mute. Isabel kept up a lively conversation with the rector, till the latter declared he would be late for church, and hurriedly made off. When he had closed the door behind him, Isabel rose softly, her face all joy; Kingcote moved to meet her, and she fell upon his neck.
You are not well, dear?
That was only an excuse. How well you look, my beautiful!
You are glad to see me again?
Glad and sorry, for I have bad news to tell you.
You too have bad news? she said anxiously.
I, too?
Come and sit by me.
They sat side by side.
Oh, let it wait! he whispered. Forget both yours and mine for these few moments. Look at me; let me drink at your eyes. Speak, and call me by my name. I have only lived on the echoes of that voice. Where did you learn that music, Isabel? My pure-browed lady! Your head is like those which come before us in old songs, dark against gold tapestry, or looking from high castle-windows. You should have lived when queens paced in moon-lit galleries, and heard below the poet softly singing to their beauty. Isabel! Is not that a sweet and queenly name?and I may speak it.
She listened, trembling with pleasure. Was not the world well lost for such worship? She all but forgot his mention of ill-hap, till the mute pain of his lips brought it back to her mind.
What has happened, Bernard?
What I scarcely dare tell you. Let me kiss your lips once, and then move away and try to realise what it will be to leave you.
Leave me?
It has come at last. I have known that it must come, and yet I have closed my eyes against the certainty. I could not go to the Vissians last night because I was overcome with misery. In the morning I had heard from my sister that her husband is dead. She is helpless, without means of any kind, and her two children dependent upon her. I must go at once to London andprovide for them.
Provide for them? Has her husband left her nothing?
Not a coin. He was a man of business, and did badly; he has been ill for months, and they could not have lived but for money from me. It is good that he is dead. I had no more to give, unless I surrendered my independence. That of course I must do now, but for Mary and her children I can do it more easily. Her husband I disliked; association with him was impossible. He was without education, good of his kind perhaps, butcommercial. We only met once, and it was once too often.
But how could a sister of yours marry so?
Poor girl! I never understood it; but she was very young, and had known him some time. That was in Norwich, of course. She went off with him secretly, and they were married in London. Her mother would have nothing to do with them; at her death; what she would have left to Mary, came to me. It was trivial; I have more than repaid it.
Can his relations do nothing for her?
No. A brother of his, Mary tells me, has come, and will attend the funeral. But he has distinctly told her that he can give no help.
Kingcote had drawn away a little; Isabel took and held his hand.
Bernard, how can you support them?
Oh, for a time it doesnt matter; I shall use my capital. Then I shallwork like others do, I suppose. I have had an easy life so long; it was sure to come to an end some day.
Why do you keep away from me? What does all this matter? Nothing has come between us, dear.