"Do you mean that you have got married since Sat.u.r.day?" asked Caspar, quietly.

The woman uttered a short, gasping sort of laugh. "Since Sat.u.r.day? Oh, no, sir. I've been married for the last six years, or more. I am Francis Trent's wife--Francis the brother of Mr. Oliver Trent, who was here last Sat.u.r.day night."

And then, overcome with her confession, or with the look of mute astonishment--which he could not repress--on Caspar Brooke's countenance, she dropped into the chair that he had offered her, covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. It took her hearer some seconds before he could adjust his mind to this new revelation.

"Do you mean," he said at last, "that brother of Mr. Trent's"--he had nearly said "of Mrs. Romaine's"--"who--who----" He paused, feeling unable to put into words the question that was in his mind.

"That got into trouble some years ago, you mean," said Mrs. Trent, lifting her face from her hands, and trying to control her trembling voice. "Yes, I mean him. I know all about the story. He got into trouble, and he's gone from bad to worse ever since. I've done my best for him, but it doesn't seem as if I could do much more now."

"Why?"

"He's been ill--I think he's had an accident--but I don't rightly know what's been the matter with him. Mr. Brooke, sir, I hope you'll believe me in what I say. When I came here first I didn't know that you were friends with his sister and his brother, or I wouldn't have come near the place. And when I found it out I'd got fond of Miss Lesley, and thought it would be no harm to stay."

"But what--what on earth--made you take a situation as ladies'-maid at all?" cried Caspar, pulling his beard in his perplexity, as he listened to her story.

"I wanted to earn money. _He_ could not work--and I could not bear to see him want."

"_Could_ not work? Was it not a matter of the will? He could have worked if he had wished to work," said Mr. Brooke, rather sternly. "That Francis Trent should let his wife go out as----"

"Oh, well, it was work I was used to," said Francis Trent's wife, patiently. "I'd been in service when I was a girl, and knew something about it. And it was honest work. There's plenty of ways of earning money which are worse than being a servant in your house, and to Miss Lesley, too."

Lesley's words came back to Caspar's mind. She had had "faith" in Kingston's attachment, and her faith seemed now to be justified. Women's instincts, as Caspar acknowledged to himself, are in some ways certainly juster than those of men.

"Is he not strong? Is there no sort of work that he can do?" he demanded, with asperity. "If you had come to me at the beginning and told me who you were, I might have found something for him. It is not right that his wife should be waiting upon my daughter. Tell me what he can do."

"I don't think he can do much now," was Mary Trent's answer. "He's very much broken down. I daresay you wouldn't know him if you saw him. I don't think he _could_ do a day's work, so there's all the more reason that I should work for both."

She spoke truly enough as regarded the present; but, by a suppression of the truth which was almost heroic she concealed the fact that for many years Francis had been able but unwilling to work. Now, certainly, he was incapacitated, and she spoke as if he had been an invalid for years.

Thus Caspar Brooke understood her, and his next words were uttered in a gentler tone.

"I am very sorry that you should have been brought into these straits, Mrs. Trent. Will you give me your address, and let me think over the matter? Mrs. Romaine or Mr. Oliver Trent----"

"I'd rather not have anything to do with them," said Mrs. Trent, quietly, but with an involuntary lifting of her head. "Mrs. Romaine knows I am his wife, but she won't speak to me or see me." Caspar moved uneasily in his chair. This account of Rosalind's behavior did not coincide with his own idea of her softness and gentleness. "And Oliver Trent is the man who has brought more misery on me than any other man in the world."

"But if I promise--as I will do--not to give your address to Mrs.

Romaine or Mr. Trent, will you not let me know where you live?" said Caspar, with the gentle intonation that had often won him his way in spite of greater obstacles than poor Mary Trent's obstinate will.

She gave him her address, after a little hesitation. It was in a Whitechapel slum. Then, seeing in his face that he would have liked to ask more questions, she went on hurriedly--

"But I have not come here to take up your time. I only wanted to explain to you why I left your house on Sat.u.r.day--which I'm very sorry to have been obliged to do. And one other thing--but I'll tell you that afterwards."

"Well? Why did you go on Sat.u.r.day, Mrs. Trent?" said Mr. Brooke, more curious than he would have liked to allow. But she did not reply as directly to his question as he wanted her to do.

"I was only a poor girl when Francis married me," she said, "but I loved him as true as any one could have loved, and I would have worked my fingers to the bone for him. And he was good to me, in his way. He got to depend upon me and trust to me; and I used to feel--especially when he'd had a little more than he ought to have--as if he was more of a child to me than a husband. It was to provide for him that I came here.

And then--one day when I'd been here a little while--I went to his lodgings to give him some money I'd been saving up for him--and I found him gone--gone--without a word--without a message--disappeared, so to speak, and me left behind to be miserable."

Caspar e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed "Scoundrel!" behind his hand, but Mrs. Trent heard and caught up the word.

"No, you're wrong, sir, he was no scoundrel," she said calmly. "He'd met with an accident and been taken to an hospital. He was there for weeks and weeks, not able to give an account of himself, or, as far as I can make out, even to give his name. He came out last week, and made his way, by sort of instinct, to your house, where he knew I was living. I came out on the steps and saw him there--my husband that I'd given up for lost. I ran up to him--you'd have done the same in my place--and went with him without thinking of anybody else."

"I see. But why did you not leave a word of explanation behind."

"I daren't quit hold of him for a moment, sir. He was so dazed and stupid, he didn't even know me at the first. That was why I say it was instinct, not knowledge, that guided him to the place. If I had left him to speak to any one in the house, he might have gone off, and I never seen him again. That was why I felt obliged to go sir, and am very sorry for the inconvenience I know I must have caused."

Caspar nodded gravely. "I see," he said. "Of course it _was_ inconvenient, and we were anxious--there's no denying that. But I can see the matter from your point of view. Would you like to see Miss Lesley and explain it to her?"

"I'd rather leave it in your hands, sir," said Mary Trent. "Because there's one thing more I've got to mention before I go. And Miss Lesley may not thank me for mentioning it, although I do it to save her--poor lamb--and to save you too, sir, from a great trouble and sorrow and disgrace that hangs over you all just now."

Caspar flushed. "Disgrace?" he said, almost angrily.

And Mrs. Trent looked at him full in the face and nodded gravely, as she answered--

"Yes, sir, disgrace."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON."

Caspar Brooke's att.i.tude stiffened. His features and limbs became suddenly rigid.

"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable to conceive the possibility of _disgrace_ hanging over me or mine."

"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to what goes on around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden bitterness; "and I am a woman, and can use my eyes and ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at once, and you can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley----"

"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had better be said in her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot displeasure. He rose and laid his hand upon the bell. "I want no tales about her behind her back."

"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly. "It is only to spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is to blame--no, no, I don't mean that; but she is in more danger than she knows."

Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had turned a trifle pale, and his brows looked very stern.

"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen to anything that Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear. I have perfect faith in her."

"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted ladies I ever came across," said Mary Trent, indignantly; "but she may be on the brink of a precipice without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr.

Oliver Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to get her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want to say--that she would never do such a thing--but one cannot always say what a girl will do under pressure; and, believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is ready to throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of your daughter, Mr. Brooke."

"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar, now white to the lips. "Do you know what an aspersion you are casting on my daughter's character? Are you aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is to take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly unjustifiable--unless you are in ignorance of the facts of the case."

"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly unmoved by this burst of anger. "I tell you what I have seen and heard for myself.

And I know Oliver Trent only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed my only sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a good girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had no scruples. He will have more outward respect to Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no more scrupulous about using his power, when he has any, than he was then."

"After making this accusation you must not be surprised if I ask what grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke.

He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even Mrs. Trent, not very observant by nature, could tell that he was very much disturbed. For answer, she proceeded to describe the scene that had taken place in the very room in which they now stood, on the preceding Sat.u.r.day night.