"I can't imagine what it might be, and that's the truth."
"She's Lord Tarlton's daughter."
His eyes rounded slightly, and I thought he was taken aback.
"Well, I should have seen that. I suppose I did see it—but didn't pin it down. Nothing else could give you such a complete sense of victory."
"But if Eliza is unalterably averse, this is a needless discussion."
"I didn't say she was. The truth is, she took it better than any of us—unless it was I, who am very hard to jar. In the first place, she loves Papa deeply. I don't see why she should—she's been his prisoner more than his daughter—but the fact remains. She's romantic enough to want to save him regardless of his deeds—if only as a kind of beau geste. To be married to the Ogre of Elveshurst—that's your current name among the bucks—would be quite novel. Finally, she'll need the money."
"That surprises me."
"There was only one large estate in the family—my father's mother's. Papa enjoys the income, but at his death it goes to Sophia— quite a jar when the will was read, ten years ago. I have nothing except five hundred quid a year from the Countess of Harkness. Papa supplies the rest. Eliza's a demure little thing—butter wouldn't melt in her mouth—but she doesn't intend for her nest to go unfeathered."
"May I take it you're encouraging me to sue?"
"Not exactly. I wouldn't go that far. But come down to Celtburrow to see what develops. She's gone back—Papa went frantic and sent her—but you'll be invited there for a week's sport—I can promise that much—and the surroundings will be much more favorable than here in London. Bring the big gray, if it's not too much trouble. Eliza was greatly taken with him. While you're there, don't hide your light under a bushel when it comes to shooting and riding. You're top flight in both-we were fools not to see it straight off-and she'll champion you against me. You know she hates me like poison."
I did not answer, being almost unable to speak.
"Put me in the shade if you can," Dick went on. "I won't slack the game—it would be against my sporting instincts—and the show would be worth seeing. The woodcock will be moving northeast in great numbers; show her what you can do. Take Papa for some stiff bets. Then when the time's ripe, state your case—not too gingerly— and see what she'll say."
"I'll heed your advice, Mr. Tarlton."
"I'm Dick—and I hope to God this can be the answer. What's that line from Shakespeare about someone having somebody on the hip?"
"I recall it vaguely." Actually I knew it word for word.
"It's not a pleasant position for the latter cove, I do assure you. Mr. Blackburn, you'll be hearing from us soon."
In a few seconds he had gone. I felt as though just waking from an evil dream. But it was not a dream, and the mouse that ran under a curtain was only a little rodent of flesh and blood.
Five days before owe day of departure, I had Perkins, the good hostler, leave from Elveshurst on horseback, leading El Stedoro for Celtburrow but on no business except to attend to his feeding, watering, currying, and petting. Seven days would do it, but I allowed them eight. Thirty or less miles a day in good, cool, misty riding weather would merely keep Perkins limber and the gray stallion in good fettle.
My bags were packed and the carriage waiting at my door in Charles Street when Alan burst into the little reading room where I waited for Jim.
"You didn't summon me, sir, but I had to come," he said, very white, and with his hands clenched to still their tremor.
"I was going to summon you, to bid you good-by, and to have you witness a document before Jim and I go to the dock."
"There would be others present then, and I couldn't say what I wished. Not what I wished—what I felt I had to say—what I can't keep from saying. I hope you'll excuse the presumption."
"There is none."
"Well, then, I hoped you'd take me with you. The reason I hoped it especially was, I've a feeling you're going into danger. I wanted to be with you in that case. I don't know if I could make the danger any less, but I wanted to try. You've made me a man again. It might pay a little of the debt I owe you."
"You were a man all the time."
"Then you've given me my pride again—that a man can't live without. If you can't take me—and I know you would if you could —will you let me speak out of my place?"
"Every man has the right to speak until he speaks what's unfit for a man—I was taught that, long ago."
"Sir, are you armed?"
"I'll have my fowling pieces."
"You're not carrying a pistol?"
"No."
"Don't you realize you're going to danger?"
"In becoming the guest of Lord Tarlton and his family in the old seat in Cornwall? That doesn't seem to make sense."
"I don't know what sense it makes. I only know it's true. A shotgun went off in the hands of Pike, Tarlton's bully. His daughter Sophia asked him how it happened when they were all standing about the refreshment wagon, so of course I heard about it. You knocked aside the barrel just in time. Tarlton came here with an official from the Foreign Office and a renegade from Africa, and Jim threw a knife through the aperture—no jury would believe it, but that's what happened. Now you're going to their very nest. I think very possibly you'll be killed, and you and Jim think the same. Yet you won't take me with you and you won't even take a pistol."
"No, I can do neither of those things."
"To what are you trusting to save your life from that elegant little monster and his malign son and his bully boy and that precious son-in-law, and that angel-haired witch who may be as bad as the rest? Are you trusting Providence?"
"One thing at a time. Lord Tarlton is not a monster—if he were, he wouldn't be half so frightening. He's merely a man who's renounced God in favor of logic—his own logic, of course. I doubt if Eliza is a witch. She's Lord Tarlton's daughter, but also a daughter of a woman named Elspeth and of nature and the moors. No, I don't trust Providence to save me from being killed. It's not possible for all men to live until tomorrow—some must die today—and I doubt if any man should trust Providence to put him in one of the groups instead of the other. If he tries to kill me, and I shoot him down with a pistol, Jim and I haven't succeeded in our undertaking. We're carrying out some orders that put us into danger, but we're not authorized to kilclass="underline" we're not accredited officers pursuing criminals; as Jim once told me, unwritten law is not law at all. Am I trusting that goddess—again a personification—to protect our lives? She punished evil, but I never heard of her rewarding good. But we put a good deal of confidence in our ability to survive. We've had long practice at it."
I had talked too long. I had tried too hard to explain. My heart had grown heavy.
"I'd like to ask one question more."
"All right."
"If either one or both of you are killed in this undertaking—put to death in your enemy's den—may it bring victory to your cause?"
"I think very likely it will. If so, we've carried out our orders. If not, we've done all we could and gone off watch for good. We may die, and lose. We may die, and win. What we hope is—a long-enduring, solid hope—we may win and live."
"I think you will." Alan was trembling so he could hardly speak, "It may be a false vision, yet I believe it."