Chapter 58
"Yes," she interrupted. "It was the night that stranger called at our house, when you and Mr. Carr were closeted with him so long."
He could not deny it; but he had been thankful that she should forget the stranger and his visit. Maude waited.
"Then it was an action, but not brought by the Ashtons?" she resumed, finding he did not speak. "Mamma remarked that you were just the one to propose to half-a-dozen girls."
"It was not an action at all of that description; and I never proposed to any girl except Miss Ashton," he returned, nettled at the remark.
"Is it over?"
"Not quite;" and there was some hesitation in his tone. "Carr is settling it for me. I trust, Maude, you will never hear of it again--that it will never trouble you."
She sat looking at him with her wistful eyes.
"Won't you tell me its nature?"
"I cannot tell you, Maude, believe me. I am as candid with you as it is possible to be; but there are some things best--best not spoken of.
Maude," he repeated, rising impulsively and taking both her hands in his, "do you wish to earn my love--my everlasting grat.i.tude? Then you may do it by nevermore alluding to this."
It was a mistaken request; an altogether unwise emotion. Better that he had remained at the window, and drawled out a nonchalant denial. But he was apt to be as earnestly genuine on the surface as he was in reality.
It set Lady Hartledon wondering; and she resolved to "bide her time."
"As you please, of course, Val. But why should it agitate you?"
"Many a little thing seems to agitate me now," he answered. "I have not felt well of late; perhaps that's the reason."
"I think you might have satisfied me a little better. I expect it is some enormous debt risen up against you."
Better she should think so! "I shall tide it over," he said aloud. "But indeed, Maude, I cannot bear for you delicate women to be brought into contact with these things; they are fit for us only. Think no more about it, and rely on me to keep trouble from you if it can be kept. Where's Bob? He is here, I suppose?"
"Bob's in his room. He is going into a way, I think. When he wrote and asked me if I would allow him to come here for a little change, the medical men saying he must have it, mamma sent a refusal by return of post; she had had enough of Bob, she said, when he was here before. But I quietly wrote a note myself, and Bob came. He looked ill, and gets worse instead of better."
"What do you mean by saying he is going into a way?" asked Lord Hartledon.
"Consumption, or something of that sort. Papa died of it. You are not angry with me for having Bob?"
"Angry! My dear Maude, the house
"Except mamma. She does not like invalids in the house, and has been saying you don't like it; that it was helping to keep you away. Poor Bob had out his portmanteau and began to pack; but I told him not to mind her; he was my guest, not hers."
"And mine also, you might have added."
He left the room, and went to the chamber Captain Kirton had occupied when he was at Hartledon in the spring. It was empty, evidently not being used; and Hartledon sent for Mirrable. She came, looking just as usual, wearing a dark-green silk gown; for the twelve-month had expired, and their mourning was over.
"Captain Kirton is in the small blue rooms facing south, my lord. They were warmer for him than these."
"Is he very ill, Mirrable?"
"Very, I think," was the answer. "Of course he may get better; but it does not look like it."
He was a tall, thin, handsome man, this young officer--a year or two older than Maude, whom he greatly resembled. Seated before a table, he was playing at that delectable game "solitaire;" and his eyes looked large and wild with surprise, and his cheeks became hectic, when Lord Hartledon entered.
"Bob, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you."
He took his hands and sat down, his face full of the concern he did not care to speak. Lady Hartledon had said he was going into a way; it was evidently the way of the grave.
He pushed the b.a.l.l.s and the board from him, half ashamed of his employment. "To think you should catch me at this!" he exclaimed. "Maude brought it to me yesterday, thinking I was dull up here."
"As good that as anything else. I often think what a miserably restless invalid _I_ should make. But now, what's wrong with you?"
"Well, I suppose it's the heart."
"The heart?"
"The doctors say so. No doubt they are right; those complaints are hereditary, and my father had it. I got quite unfit for duty, and they told me I must go away for change; so I wrote to Maude, and she took me in."
"Yes, yes; we are glad to have you, and must try and get you well, Bob."
"Ah, I can't tell about that. He died of it, you know."
"Who?"
"My father. He was ill for some time, and it wore him to a skeleton, so that people thought he was in a decline. If I could only get sufficiently well to go back to duty, I should not mind; it is so sad to give trouble in a strange house."
"In a strange house it might be, but it would be ungrateful to call this one strange," returned Lord Hartledon, smiling on him from his pleasant blue eyes. "We must get you to town and have good advice for you. I suppose Hillary comes up?"
"Every-day."
"Does _he_ say it's heart-disease?"
"I believe he thinks it. It might be as much as his reputation is worth to say it in this house."
"How do you mean?"
"My mother won't have it said. She ignores the disease altogether, and will not allow it to be mentioned, or hinted at. It's bronchitis, she tells everyone; and of course bronchitis it must be. I did have a cough when I came here: my chest is not strong."
"But why should she ignore heart-disease?"
"There was a fear that Maude would be subject to it when she was a child.
Should it be disclosed to her that it is my complaint, and were I to die of it, she might grow so alarmed for herself as to bring it on; and agitation, as we know, is often fatal in such cases."
Lord Hartledon sat in a sort of horror. Maude subject to heart-disease!
when at any moment a certain fearful tale, of which he was the guilty centre, might be disclosed to her! Day by day, hour by hour, he lived in dread of this story's being brought to light. This little unexpected communication increased that dread fourfold.
"Have I shocked you?" asked Captain Kirton. "I may yet get the better of it."
"I believe I was thinking of Maude," answered Hartledon, slowly recovering from his stupor. "I never heard--I had no idea that Maude's heart was not perfectly sound."
"And I don't know but that it is sound; it was only a fancy when she was a child, and there might have been no real grounds for it. My mother is full of crotchets on the subject of illness; and says she won't have anything about heart-disease put into Maude's head. She is right, of course, so far, in using precaution; so please remember that I am suffering from any disorder but that," concluded the young officer with a smile.