"Well, if this is all the thanks I am to get for warning you of a danger that threatens your life, I hope you'll be able to protect yourself--but, mark me, uncle, you will be sorry for having behaved so cruelly. What can I do? You know I am dependent upon you and must submit. But it is wicked and wrong of you to take advantage of that to force upon me the presence of a creature I detest. And for what good?"

And Mrs. Darrow once more opened the flood-gates wide, and with them her whole battery of accompanying gesticulations.

"There, there," said Barton, pouring out another gla.s.s of wine for her, "drink this, and have a little more confidence in me. You are quite wrong about Miss Crane. Be a sensible woman, Julia, for once in a way, and drop this. I have told you I won't have it, so there's an end of the matter."

She drank the wine, adjusted her cloak, and stepped towards the window which he held open for her.

"I must do what you wish," she blurted out, "because I am poor and defenceless--but the day will come, and that soon, Uncle Barton, when you will be sorry indeed for having trusted that wretch instead of _me_."

Without another word he shut the window on her. Then he returned to his seat, and gazed moodily into the fire.

"I must see Miriam," he muttered, "there is danger--great danger."

CHAPTER XIV.

ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT.

Christmas Day dawned--the day of peace and goodwill, of renewed friendships and Christian forgiveness. Mrs. Darrow was very careful to observe the day as behoved a righteous and gentle spirit. Compelled by the weightiest of reasons to keep silence, she restrained the horrid words which were on the tip of her tongue, and at breakfast addressed Miriam with something like a show of kindness. The girl looked terribly pale and ill; but was, as always, complete mistress of herself. She had gone straight to bed on her return from the church, and had of course no idea that Mrs. Darrow had followed her; she did not even know she had been out. But the change in Mrs. Darrow's demeanour in nowise imposed on her. She accepted it gravely and quietly for what it was worth, and welcomed it only as tending to lessen the chances of friction for the time being.

"I have been thinking over things, Miss Crane, and I have come to the conclusion that I owe you an apology," said the widow, after having pa.s.sed the customary compliments of the season. "I lost my temper the other day when I spoke of your leaving. But my wretched nerves--mother's side, you know--must be my excuse. You are too pleasant a companion and too valuable a teacher to my beloved child for me to lose you. You must please forget the words I said, and accept my sincere apology for them.

Miss Crane, I ask you, will you stay?"

This was a very neat little speech, and glibly enough expressed, but Miriam at once detected its falsity. Still, she accepted Mrs. Darrow's apology, and agreed to remain.

"I'm sure I like you very much," said the widow effusively, "and I think someone else does too--someone who will be at the Manor House dinner to-night. Need I say that John is in my mind?"

"Major Dundas and I are very good friends," replied Miriam gravely.

"Yes, indeed; and some day you may be more than friends!"

"I think not, Mrs. Darrow."

"Well, we shall see. At all events, we are all going to enjoy ourselves to-night. Besides ourselves, Dr. and Mrs. Marsh are to be there, and d.i.c.ky by special desire--fancy the dear boy at a grown-up dinner-party!

Uncle Barton's Christmas dinners are always excellent. I must say he does it very well. He seems to love to gather us all around him on this day, dear man," concluded Mrs. Darrow sentimentally.

Miriam had to restrain a smile.

"Really! You surprise me; but of course I have never yet seen Mr. Barton at Christmas time."

"Oh, believe me, there is much good in Uncle Barton, although he is rough. He does not understand me, it is true, but there, I am a problem even to myself--I am one of those complex natures. Dear! how they suffer! Nor does he like everyone. There is Mrs. Parsley, for instance; I know he hates _her_, and I'm sure I don't wonder. By the way, you saw her last night--at least," added the widow pointedly, "you went out to see her." She looked directly at Miriam, who bore her scrutiny without flinching.

"Yes; I saw Mrs. Parsley, and remained with her for some time. I suppose you had gone to bed when I returned. I was careful not to disturb you."

"No; I was half asleep in the drawing-room," lied Mrs. Darrow glibly, "dozing over a stupid novel. I hope you had a satisfactory interview."

"Very, thank you," replied Miriam, and there the matter dropped.

At six o'clock the Squire sent his carriage, the coachman explaining that he came thus early, as he had to go on to fetch Dr. and Mrs. Marsh and their daughter. At this Mrs. Darrow grumbled loudly, for it meant she had to hurry over her toilet, and Mrs. Darrow's toilet was one of those things which did not do with hurrying. However, at length it was achieved, and the good lady, excited and flushed, allowed herself to be conducted to the carriage.

On arrival at the Manor House they found Major Dundas and Gerald Arkel in the drawing-room. The Squire was not there to receive them, but almost immediately after they had entered, a message was brought to Miriam that he wished to speak to her alone in the library. Mrs. Darrow was alarmed. Surely the man was not going to chose this opportunity for betraying her eavesdropping? Then she reflected that even if he did she had it in her power to make it equally unpleasant for Miriam. Thus comforted, she fell to chatting with Major Dundas.

In the library the Squire received Miriam. He looked particularly frail and old, she thought. Bidding her sit by the writing-table, he recounted to her all that had pa.s.sed on the previous night between himself and his niece. But Miriam expressed little surprise.

"I knew she hated me," she said, "and would gladly ruin me if she could.

Why, goodness only knows. I am not aware of ever having done anything to offend her."

"I know," snapped Barton. "You have committed the greatest offence you could commit in her eyes--that of being beautiful and young. That is more than enough to secure the enmity of the perambulating ma.s.s of vanity which we know by the name of Julia Darrow. But let us leave her for the present. She will keep--unfortunately. What about Jabez? Is there any truth in what she told me?"

"Yes; it is quite true he came here last night--to get money from me. He is going to America; indeed, he may have started by this time. I feel that I shall never see him again."

"That oughtn't to trouble you."

"Perhaps not--but bad and selfish as Jabez has been to me, I can't help feeling it. What I have done for him I did freely; I expected no grat.i.tude."

"And you didn't get it. Well, that's the way of the world. But tell me, Miriam, what is he like, this worthy?"

"You couldn't call him handsome. He is tall and very spare. His eyes are blue, and he has a freckled complexion. His hair is red."

"No, it doesn't sound attractive. However, he's out of the way now, and I for one am glad; though I don't suppose he would have tried any tricks on with me."

"I'm sure he meant no harm to you. Of course, if you had interfered with him, I can't say what might have happened. He has always had the most ungovernable temper. But I have never known him do anything right down wicked in cold blood."

"Well, so much the better. I've enough enemies and to spare as it is. I shouldn't have interfered with him, even if he hadn't gone. I utilised him, as you know, merely to control you."

"All that is past and done with now. There is no possibility of my carrying out your scheme. I want you to let me go back to London, Mr.

Barton."

"And there, what will you do?"

"G.o.d knows! Begin all over again, I suppose."

"You are absolutely without means!"

"Yes, that is true. I gave him all I had."

"Like you," growled Barton, going to his desk. "You must take this, Miriam"--he handed her a bank-note--"for the present. And when you are in London you must stay at the Pitt Hotel. I have told Mrs. Perks to look after you, and to leave the rest to me."

"I really am to go, then?"

"It is your own wish, isn't it? I can see there is no hope for my plans about Gerald. He and Hilda will make their way to the devil together, in a very short s.p.a.ce of time. _Facile est_, etc."

"Then you still intend to leave your money to Gerald?"

"I have done so." He took a legal-looking doc.u.ment from the still open drawer. "Three days ago I sent for my lawyers in London to come here, and I executed this will. By it the whole of my property goes to Gerald, excepting three hundred a year to Julia, and the same amount yearly to yourself."