The Sapphire Cross

The temptation was strong, but he could not play the coward’s part; and he held Isa to him more and more closely, gloating over the soft, regular features, as, with a pang hard to bear, he told himself the next moment that, even if help came, it would arrive too late.

That same afternoon Sir Murray Gernon strode out into the pleasure-grounds, thoughtfully crossed the lawn, avoiding, as it were, more by instinct than care, the various flower-beds, till he roused himself, with a start, on finding that he was standing at the very edge of the lake, gazing down into its deep waters, as if they possessed for him some horrible fascination.

He stood there for full ten minutes, his brow corrugated, his eyes staring, and his teeth clenched firmly upon his lower lip. Then with an effort he seemed to drag himself, shuddering, away, to walk slowly muttering to himself.

Fifty yards of winding amidst flower-beds and shrubs, and Sir Murray came suddenly upon Lord Maudlaine, his guest, seated upon a garden-chair, a half-smoked cigar in one hand, a newspaper at his feet, his mouth half open, and his aristocratic head resting upon his open palm.

It is quite possible that Sir Murray Gernon might have passed his visitor, who had already been for some days at the Castle, but for the fact that certain strange sounds arrested his attention. Had these sounds proceeded from Alexander McCray, there would have been no difficulty about the matter, and one would have immediately said that the ex-gardener was snoring loudly; but when a nobleman is concerned, a diffidence – an unwillingness is felt to use such a term. However, Lord Maudlaine was loudly trumpeting forth the announcement that he was devoting a spare hour to the service of Morpheus, and Sir Murray Gernon, hearing those sounds, was attracted thereby.

“You here, Maudlaine?” exclaimed Sir Murray.

“Eh? Why, what the deuce – Dear me! I suppose I was dozing,” said his lordship, lifting himself up a bit at a time, as he indulged in a most unmistakable yawn.

“Not with Isa?” said Sir Murray. “I thought you went out with her?”

“Ya-as – ya-as! no question of a doubt about it, I did,” drawled the Viscount; “and I’ve just been dreaming that I was boating with her on the lake – not your fish-pond here, but Como – same as we did before we came away.”

“But you went out walking with her?” said Sir Murray, anxiously.

“Ya-as. Not a question of a doubt about it! I did go out and walked a little way with her.”

“Did she turn back, then?”

“N-n-no!” said the Viscount; “point of fact, she as good as told me she didn’t want me, and went on by herself.”

“My dear Maudlaine,” said Sir Murray, smiling, as he clapped his guest upon the shoulder, “I’m afraid that you are not half a lady’s man. It is a fine thing for you that you have no rival in the field.”

“Ya-as – just so – no doubt about that,” said his lordship laughing. “But a – a I began talking to her on indifferent subjects, and, point of fact, she didn’t seem to like indifferent subjects – seemed as if I bothered her, you know, and of course I didn’t want to do that; so seeing, as you say, that there was no one else in the field – regular walk over the course, you know – I didn’t bother her nor myself either. We’re getting on very nicely, though, Sir Murray – very nicely indeed. No question about that.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Sir Murray, dryly.

“Ya-as; beginning to understand one another’s idio – what is it? – syncracies, don’t you call it? I think Isa likes me.”

“Oh! yes, of course – of course!” said Sir Murray. “By the way, Maudlaine,” he continued, taking the young man’s arm and walking slowly with him down a path, “I hope you will be particular about the place; for I dare say I shall give it up to you young folks. I mean to be pretty stringent, though, I can assure you: I won’t have a tree touched – no timber felled; there is none too much now. I should not like the lake drained either: I should particularly object to that. It might be said,” continued Sir Murray, hastily, “that it made the place damp; but I don’t think it – I don’t think it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything distasteful, of course,” said the Viscount. “Always be glad of your advice, of course, if I had any ideas of improving anything. By the way, though, Gernon, she’s mad after botany.”

“She? Who is?” said Sir Murray, starting.

“She is – Isa, you know. I shall have to work it up, for she don’t seem to like my not being able to enter into the names of weeds with her. Not a weedy man myself, you know, eh? Ha, ha, ha!” And he laughed at what he intended for a joke.

“Was she botanising to-day?” said Sir Murray, huskily.

“Ya-a-as! Said it was her mother’s favourite pursuit, though I don’t know why she should like it for that reason, eh?”

“Who told her that absurd nonsense?” exclaimed Sir Murray, angrily.

“Well, she did tell me,” said the lover; “but, a – a – really, you know, I can’t recollect. Don’t particularly want to know, I suppose?”

“Oh no – oh no!” exclaimed Sir Murray, impatiently. “But this place, Maudlaine – I should like it kept as it is: the timber, you know; and you would not drain the lake?”

“Oh no! of course not. But, I say, you know, I – a – a – a suppose it will be all right?”

“Right – all right?” said Sir Murray, whose face wore a cadaverous hue. “What do you mean by all right?”

“Well, you know, I mean about Isa. I haven’t said anything pointed to her yet, though we two have made it all right. She won’t refuse me, eh?”

“Refuse? No: absurd!”

“Well, I don’t know so much about that. I get thinking sometimes that she ain’t so very far gone with me. Snubs me, you know, – turns huffy, and that sort of thing.”

“My dear Maudlaine,” said Sir Murray, with a sneering laugh, which there was no need of the other interpreting, “you are too timid – too diffident for a man of your years.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said his lordship, “I don’t think I am; but she’s a style of woman I’m not used to. Don’t seem dazzled, and all that sort of thing, you know. Some women would be ready to jump out of their skins to be a viscountess, and by-and-by an earl’s wife; but she don’t – not a bit – not that sort of woman; and if I never said a word about it, I don’t believe that she would, even if I went on visiting here for years.”

“Most likely not,” said Sir Murray, dryly; “but you see that it is as I say – you are too timid – too diffident.”

“I say, though, you know,” said his lordship, “was her mother that style of woman – quiet and fond of weed-hunting – botany, you know?”

“You will oblige me greatly by not referring to the late Lady Gernon,” said Sir Murray, stiffly.

“Oh, beg pardon, you know. No offence meant.”

“It is granted,” said Sir Murray; and then, in a different tone: “There goes the dressing-bell.”

The gentlemen strolled up in silence to the entrance, where the major-domo – Mr Alexander McCray – who seemed to rule supreme at Merland, now stood waiting the arrival of his master.

“I’m thinking, Sir Mooray,” he said deferentially, “that ye’d like a pony-carriage sent to meet my young lady.”

“What – has she not returned?” said Sir Murray, anxiously.

“Nay, Sir Mooray, not yet awhile, and I should hae sent wi’oot saying a word, but that I thocht my laird here would tell us which road she gaed.”

“Towards the waste – the snipe ground, you know,” said his lordship, on being appealed to.

“Send at once, McCray. No: go yourself,” said Sir Murray.

“I’ll go with him,” said his lordship, who now seemed about wakening to the fact that he had grossly neglected his intended; and five minutes after the old Scot was driving briskly towards the village.

“Ye dinna ought to have left her, my laird,” said McCray, sturdily. “She’s ower young to be left all alone.”

“What? Were you speaking to me?” said his lordship, haughtily.

“Ay, that I was,” said McCray. “Ye mauna mind me, my laird, for I’m a’most like her foster-fairther, and nursed her on my knee mony’s the time.”

His lordship did not condescend to answer, and the lanes were traversed at a good rattling pace; but though McCray pulled up from time to time to make inquiries, the only news he learned was that Miss Gernon had been seen to go towards the marsh, but not to return; while one cottager volunteered the information that young Squire Norton, the sailor, went that way too in the morning time, and that neither of them had been seen to come back.

This news had no effect upon Lord George Maudlaine, but a close observer would have seen that the wrinkles upon Alexander McCray’s brow grew a little more deeply marked.