Chapter 33
"No, Mary dear. Let's go home."
There was a ring of sadness in the tone in which those words were uttered, which seemed to give Chris hope. Claude could not be happy to speak like that.
He crept to the window, and, from behind the curtain, watched till he could see the white flannel dress with its blue braiding no more.
"If I were only rich," thought Chris; and then he gave an angry stamp on the floor as he heard a quick pace, and saw Glyddyr pa.s.s, evidently hurrying on to overtake the two girls, who must have parted from Gartram lower down.
Half mad with jealousy, he made for the door, but only to stop with his fingers upon the handle, as he felt how foolish any such step would be, and, going back to his chair, he took up his book again, and opened it, and there before him the words seemed to start out from the page.
"Back the Prince's Filly."
He closed the book with an angry snap.
"Look here," he said to himself, "am I going to be ill, and is all this the beginning of a fit of delirium?"
He laughed the next instant, and then, as if obeying the strange impulse within him, he crossed the room and rang the bell.
"Have you taken away the newspaper that was here, Mrs Sarson?" he said sharply.
The pleasant face before him coloured up.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't think you'd be back yet, and so I'd made so bold."
"Bring it back," said Chris sternly.
"Bless the poor man, what is coming to him?" muttered the landlady, as she hurried out to her own room. "He was once as amiable as a dove, and now nothing's right for him."
"Thank you; that will do," said Chris, shortly; and as soon as he was alone he stood with the paper in his hand.
Volume One, Chapter XV.
TEMPTED.
It was some minutes before Chris opened that paper, and then he had to turn it over and over before he found the racing intelligence, and even then he did not begin to read, for plainly before him were the words,--
"_Back the Prince's filly_."
Then in a quick, excited way he looked down the column he had found, and before long saw that the important race on the _tapis_ was at Liverpool, and the last bettings on the various horses were before him, beginning with the favourite at four to one, and going on to horses against which as many as five hundred to one was the odds.
But the Prince's horse! What Prince? What horse? He stood thinking, and recalled a rumour which he had heard to the effect that the Prince's horses were run under the name of Mr Blanck, and there, sure enough, was in the list far down:--
"Mr Blanck's ch. f. Simoom, 100 to 1." Chris dashed down the paper in a rage.
"What have I to do with such things as this?" he said aloud. "Even if I were a racing man I could not do it. It is too dishonourable."
Then he set to work to argue
Anxiety, love, jealousy and disappointment had combined to work Chris Lisle's brain into a very peculiar state of excitement, and he found himself battling hard now with a strange sense of temptation.
Here was a message giving Glyddyr information how to make money, and it had fallen into other hands. Why should not he, Christopher Lisle, seize the opportunity, take advantage of such a chance as might never come to him again, and back the Prince's horse to the extent of four or five hundred pounds? Poor as he called himself, he had more than that lying at his bankers; and if he won, it might be the first step towards turning the tables on Gartram, and winning Claude.
True, the information was meant for his rival, but what of that? All was fair in love and war. Glyddyr would stand at nothing to master him: so why should he shrink? It would be an act of folly, and like throwing away a chance.
Then his training stepped in, and did battle for him, pointing out that no gentleman would stoop to such an act, and for the next six hours a terrible struggle went on, which ended in honour winning.
"I would not do such a dirty action; and she would scorn me if I did,"
he said to himself. "Eh? Want me, Mrs Sarson?"
"Which it's taking quite a liberty, Mr Lisle, sir," said his landlady, who had come for the fifth time into his room; "but if you would let me send for Doctor Asher, it would ease my mind--indeed it would."
"Asher? Send for him? Are you ill?"
"I? No, my dear boy, but you are. You are quite feverish. It's terrible to see you. Not a bit of dinner have you tasted, and you've been walking up and down the room as if you had the toothache, for hours. Now, do trust to me, my dear, an old motherly body like me; I'd better send for him."
"My dear Mrs Sarson, he could not do me the least good," said Chris, smiling at the troubled face before him. "It was a fit of worry, that's all; but it's better now--all gone. There, you see, I'm quite calmed down now, and you shall prescribe for me. Give me some tea and meat together."
"But are you really better, my dear?"
"Yes; quite right now."
"And quite forgive me for calling you my dear, Mr Lisle, sir? You are so like my son out in New Zealand, and you have been with me so long."
"Forgive you? Yes."
"That's right," said the woman, beginning to beam; and hurrying in and out she soon had a comfortable-looking and tempting meal spread waiting before her lodgers eager eyes, and he made a determined attack upon that before him.
"That's more like you, Mr Lisle," she said, smiling her satisfaction.
"Would you mind opening the window a little more, Mrs Sarson?" said Chris, as he drove the Prince's horse right out of his mind; and races, jockeys, grand stands, and even Glyddyr faded from his heated brain.
"Certainly, sir. And what a lovely evening it is--beautiful. Hah!
there goes that Mr Glyddyr's boat off to his yacht; and there's Mr Gartram in it, and the young ladies. Going for an evening sail, I suppose."
Chris dropped his knife and fork upon his plate.
"Bless me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the landlady, turning sharply round.
"Nothing, nothing, Mrs Sarson," said Chris hastily; "that will do now.
I'll ring. Don't wait."
The landlady looked at him curiously, and left the room; and as soon as she was gone, Chris sprang from his chair, took a binocular gla.s.s from where it hung in its case against the wall, focussed it, and fixed it upon the smart gig being rowed out on the bright water.
"I've fought all I knew, and I'm beaten," he muttered, as he saw Glyddyr leaning towards Claude, and talking to her. "Every man has his temptations, and the best and strongest fall if the temptation is too strong. I am only a poor, weak, blundering sort of fellow, I suppose; and I've fallen--low--very low indeed.
"Claude, my darling!" he groaned, as he lowered the gla.s.s and gazed wistfully out toward the boat, "if it were some good, true fellow whom you loved, and I was going to see you happy, I'd try and bear it all like a man. But you can't be happy with a fast scoundrel like that; and you love me. I know, I'm sure you do, and I'd do anything to save you from such a fate."
He pitched the gla.s.s on to the sofa, took a time table from where it lay, and, after satisfying himself as to the hours of the trains, he went quickly towards the door, just as it was opened and Mrs Sarson appeared.