Five minutes after, Charley was in a cab and on his way to Crescent Villas; where, after a little parley, he was now admitted to the presence of Mrs Marter, red-eyed, furious, and ready, apparently, to make an onslaught upon the first person who offended her.

Before he had been there long, the rapid flow of the angry woman's words told of how, by cunning, flattering, and attention, Max Bray had gained a footing in the house; the weak vain woman believing that his visits were all upon her account, and willingly accepting the presence of Ella as a blind. Her only sin was a love of flattery, attention, and Max Bray's escorts to the various places of amus.e.m.e.nt; but now the veil had dropped from her eyes, and she spoke.

"It has all been planned for long enough," she exclaimed pa.s.sionately, "and they have gone off together." And then she burst forth into a furious tirade against deceit, forgetful entirely of how she was hoist with her own petard.

Charley could hear no more, but hurried away, confused, doubting, heart-sick. What faith could he place in any one again? He had gone to Crescent Villas in the hope that he was, after all, wrong; that there was some mistake which might be cleared up; and according to this woman the idol of his heart had been a monster of treachery and deceit.

He was ready to make any allowance for the mad pa.s.sion of a woman who found that she had been made the tool of the designing; but, after all, what could he say to his wounded heart after the scenes he had witnessed? What right had he now to trouble himself, though--what was it to him? There was nothing to palliate what he had seen; and now he must begin life afresh. What he had to do was to draw a line across the mental diary of his life--a thick black mark between the present and the bygone--and at that line he told himself his thoughts must always stay; for upon that past he could not bear to dwell.

Forgive her? He had nothing to forgive. She had always told him, from the first, that it could not be; while he had blindly and impetuously rushed on to his heart's destruction.

Volume 3, Chapter III.

BEGINNING AGAIN.

And how about Laura? Well, she loved him, and it was his father's wish.

He had committed himself to it now, too; and if he were to marry, why not her as well as any other woman?

So mused Charley Vining, weakly enough; but he is here held up as no model--simply as a weak erring man, whose pa.s.sions had been deeply moved. He had been, as it were, in a fearful life-storm, to be left tossing, dismasted, and helpless, now that a calm had come. Here, too, was the friendly consort offering her aid to lead him into port--the port that he had hoped to enter gallantly, with ensign flowing. But now, as this was impossible, he would let matters take their course.

He met Sir Philip Vining at dinner; and though the old gentleman studiously avoided all allusion thereto, yet he marked the change in his son, and was inwardly delighted thereby.

"Father," said Charley, as they sat over their wine, "I'm about tired of town. When shall we go back home--home--home?" he said, repeating the word. "How pleasant that seems to sound!"

"My dear boy, when you like; to-morrow, Charley, if you wish." And the old gentleman spoke earnestly, for of late his heart had p.r.i.c.ked him sorely; and had his son now brought Ella to his side and said, "Father, I shall never love another; this must be my wife," he would have struggled with himself, and then given up and blessed them. But now it seemed that there was a change; the attentions to Laura had been marked; and, hushing his conscience, the old man told himself that matters would soon come right after all, and he spoke cheerfully.

"Well, let's go back to-morrow, then," said Charley. "I want to see the old place again."

"You are not ill, Charley--you don't feel in need of advice?"

"Ill?" said Charley, "not at all! I want a change, and to see the old place."

"By the way, Charley, Bray called here to-day; he wanted me to dine there again, but I declined, as you said you would be back. I said, though, that I would go up in the evening. We are discussing the drainage question of Holt Moors. You will not mind my leaving you. I thought, too, that perhaps--"

"I would go too," said Charley smilingly. "Well, yes, I've no objection; little Nell is come back. Do you know, dad," he said cheerfully, "I should like to give that girl a nice little well-broken mare? She would ride splendidly. Couldn't we pick up something before we go down, and let it be for a surprise? A nice little thing that would hunt well, without pulling the child's arms off."

"My dear Charley, you give me great pleasure, you do indeed. We'll see about it first thing in the morning. My dear boy," exclaimed the old man, rising, and crossing to his son's chair to rest his hands upon his broad shoulder, "Heaven bless you, my dear boy! Are the old times coming back?"

"I hope so, father," said Charley, smiling; but there was something very sad in his tone.

"Not in that way, my dear boy," said the old man tenderly. "Indeed, indeed, Charley, my every act and desire has been for your good."

"Father," said Charley sternly, "do you see that?" And he made a mark on the white cloth.

"My dear boy, yes."

"That must divide the past from the present. All on that side is to be forgotten. Let it be as if dead. Now for the clean blank page of the future."

He held out his hand, which was eagerly taken by Sir Philip, and then they were silent for some time; when, in quite changed tones, Charley said, looking at his watch, "Eight o'clock, dad! Shall I ring for a cab?"

Sir Philip did not speak; he only bowed his head, and then wringing his son's hand, he left the room.

Volume 3, Chapter IV.

OF WHAT ARE MEN'S HEARTS COMPOSED?

"Hooray, here's Charley Vining!" cried Nelly, as Sir Philip and his son entered the Brays' drawing-room; and bounding over the carpet, she ran up, and caught the latter by the hand; but as Charley shook both her thin hands warmly, he glanced across the room to where Laura was standing, flushed and happy.

"Are you better?" he said, as he crossed over.

"Better? yes," she said softly; "and so happy!"

There was such a look of intensified joy in Laura's face, that as he took his seat beside her, Charley Vining smiled pleasantly. He was accepting his fate.

And why not, he asked himself, when, with all their eccentricities, the family seemed ready to worship him? Sir Philip and Mr Bray had no sooner taken their places in a corner of the lesser drawing-room, and commenced their discussion upon the projected improvements, than Mrs Bray crossed over to where Charley was seated, and probably for the first time in her life forbore to shriek, and, leaning over him, actually whispered, as she stooped and kissed him on the forehead.

"Bless you, Vining! you have made us all so happy! But I have not said a word to him."

Charley felt disposed to frown; but there was a genuine mother's tear left upon his forehead, and he pressed Mrs Bray's hand as she left him, carrying off Nelly at the same time.

It was all settled, then; it was to be. And why not? Let it be so, then. Some people said there was no fate in these things; what, then, was this, if it were not fate?

But he accepted it all, asking himself the while, could the gentle tremulous woman at his side be the Laura of old? How she drank in his every glance, eagerly listening for each word! Could he, as he had said he would, thoroughly dismiss the past, life might, after all, be endurable.

So he reasoned, as the evening pa.s.sed away.

They had had tea, and Nelly had been sent to the piano to play piece after piece, not one of which was listened to, for those present were intent upon their own affairs. Charley talked in a low voice to Laura, Mrs Bray dozed in an easy-chair, and Nelly kept to her music.

Meanwhile the question of draining Holt Moors had been discussed and rediscussed. Farming matters had been talked over, and the state of Blandfield Park; Mr Bray strongly advising a particular breed of sheep for keeping the gra.s.s short and lawnlike, giving his opinions freely, and at the same time listening with deference to those of his old friend.

At last, during a pause, Sir Philip caught Mr Bray's eye, and nodded towards the other room.

"That's a picture, Bray!" he said. "Ah," said Mr Bray, as he gazed for a few moments at where--a n.o.ble-looking couple--Charley and Laura sat together in the soft light shed by the lamps, "I wish, Vining, I had had such a son. It seems hard to speak against one's own flesh and blood, but my Max--"

He did not finish his sentence, but shrugged his shoulders, laughing pleasantly, as tall thin Nelly came and rested her weak loose body against his shoulder, before laying her cheek against his bald head, afterwards polishing the shiny white hemisphere with her little hand, rubbing it round and round, round and round; while, apparently approving thereof, Papa Bray drew his child upon his knee, and went on talking.

But suddenly he ceased; for, rising, and with her hand in his, and one arm round her waist, Charley Vining walked with Laura towards where the old men sat, and Nelly, with the tears in her eyes, glided away to the seat just vacated.

"Mr Bray--father," said Charley quietly, as he stopped in front of them, "Laura has promised to be my wife: have you any objection?"

The next moment Sir Philip Vining had folded Laura in his arms, kissing her lovingly, as Mr Bray caught Charley's hands in his, shaking them warmly.

"My dear boy," he exclaimed, "you make me very proud--happiest day of my life!"

"Charley, my son," said Sir Philip, stretching out one hand to take his son's, and speaking in a voice that showed how he was moved, "thank you, thank you; you have made me very happy."

Half an hour after, they were leave-taking; and as Charley kissed Nelly and bade her warmly "good-night," there was a tear left upon his lips.