the cloth had been drawn in the old-fashioned way, so that the candles in the ancient silver branches made pools of brown light on the polished mahogany of the dining table. here were palms and flowers, feathery fronds, rays of light streaking the sides of blushing grapes and peaches with the downy bloom on them. the candle rays glistened sombrely on deep ruby red wines in crystal decanters; the table was as a bath of silver flame in a background of sombre brown shadows. a noiseless servant or two, gliding about, ministered to the wants of the guests. how peaceful, how restful and refined it all was, ralph thought, the only jarring note being the person opposite him, a clean- shaven, hard-featured man with a glass screwed in his left eye. and what a hard, firm mouth he had. he was quite at his ease, too, in dashwood's presence; he chatted with glib assurance to the man whom he had robbed as deliberately as if he had picked his pocket. actually he had met ralph in the drawing-room an hour before, with a smile and a proffered hand, as if they had been two men taking up the threads of a desirable acquaintance.
ralph's fingers had itched to be at the throat of the man, but he had to smile and murmur the ordinary polite commonplaces. he shut his teeth together now as he noted mayfield's insolently familiar, not to say caressing, manner towards mary dashwood. sir george looked on and smiled in a pained kind of way. he reminded ralph unpleasantly of a well-broken dog in the presence of a harsh master. it was almost pathetic to see how dashwood hung on any word of mayfield. surely there was some guilty knowledge between the two, some powerful hold that mayfield had on his host. it was with a feeling of relief that ralph saw mary rise at length. he opened the door for her, and she playfully asked him not to be too long, it was so lovely a night.
"i'll come with you now," ralph answered. "i don't care to smoke, and i never touch wine after dinner. i fear sir george wants to talk business, which seems to me to be a desecration on an evening like this. shall we go outside?"
"i think it would be nice," mary said. "no, i shall not need a wrap."
she stepped through the double french window that led to the lawn. the full light of the moon flashed on her ivory shoulders and played in gilded shadows on her hair. as she looked upwards, ralph could catch the exquisite symmetry of her face. a desire to speak possessed him, a desire to tell the girl strange and wonderful things. here was his heart's object standing pale and beautiful by his side; he had only to stretch out his hands and the flowers were his for the plucking. it only needed a few words and the whole situation would be changed. but ralph was silent, he was too strong and masterful a man for that. what he won he would win by sheer merit, by intrinsic worth alone. he could have purchased the kisses and caresses for which his heart hungered, but he knew that they would be no more than dead sea fruit on his lips.
"you are very silent," mary said at length. "what are you thinking about?"
"about you," ralph said boldly. "i was thinking how beautiful you looked with the fuller moonlight on your face. it is only when you recollect that you are miss dashwood, of dashwood hall, that i like your expression least. and you are not always happy."
"what do you mean by that?" mary asked. there was a startled look in her eyes. "why should i not be happy?"
"why, indeed! but the fact remains that you are not. i do not want to appear inquisitive, but there is a worm in the heart of the rose somewhere. mary, why do you allow your father to ask mayfield here when you dislike him so much? though you are exclusive and can show your pride, yet you allow that man to be insolently familiar with you. he laid his hand on your arm tonight, and i could have struck him for it. it is not as if you cared for him----"
"oh, no, no," mary said with a shudder. "i detest him. he is so cold and calculating, you cannot chock him off. i thought that when i refused to marry him----"
"ha! i expected something of the kind. mayfield is not the man to take 'no' for an answer once he has set his heart upon a thing. i told you before that he was a scoundrel, and i am in a position to prove it. not that the fellow has done anything to bring himself within the grip of the law--your city rascal is too clever for that. and your father is afraid of him; he watches him as a dog watches his master. if he is in the power of that man he must get out without delay. he must raise money on the property----"
"he can't," mary said sadly. "my father has not taken me into his confidence. but you can see how much he has aged and altered lately, and you looked quite shocked when you met this morning. i don't know what it is, but i feel that some evil is impending over him. that is why i asked you to be my friend. you see my father is not really a rich man. he has the income of this fine estate, it is true. i believe he could get rid of horace mayfield if he could raise money on the property, but that is impossible. old sir ralph, my great uncle, had a serious quarrel with his wife--that is the present dowager lady dashwood, you understand. it must have been all sir ralph's fault, for she is the dearest old lady. the heir to the property took the side of his mother when the separation came, and left dashwood hall, declaring that he would never see the place again. there is only one man living who knows the whole facts of the case, and that is slight. but his lips are sealed. the old man loved young ralph dashwood as if he had been his own child. ralph the younger went off to america, and has never been heard of again. that was forty years ago. when old sir ralph died two years ago, and my father came into the property, no will could be found. so my father, being next of kin, succeeded to the property and the rents of the estate. it is a settled estate, and each possessor has only what is called a life-interest in it. now it is just possible that some day an heir will turn up. it is more than likely that young ralph dashwood married in america, and left a family. or he may be still alive, and is waiting to claim, for his son, that which he declined to touch himself. most people know this, and that is why my father could never raise a penny on the family property. if he could, he would not long remain under the heel of horace mayfield. oh, if we could only find a way!"
"i begin to understand," ralph said thoughtfully. "if old sir ralph had died leaving a will, things might have been very different. is that what you mean?"
"partly. sir ralph died leaving a good deal of ready money. that will no doubt come to us in time, but for the present we cannot touch it in the absence of proof of the death of the youngest ralph dashwood. i mean the one who went to america. old lady dashwood says she is sure that her husband did leave a will, and that he had divided all his money, with certain provisions. if that will could be found, we should be in a position to get rid of mayfield. what a hateful thing this money is, and what misery it seems to bring everybody. but i am afraid that i am very selfish and exacting. why should i worry you with our troubles?"
"my shoulders are broad, and i have very few of my own," ralph smiled. "indeed, i am more interested than you imagine. as i told you today, i am a poor man, thanks to one who is a guest here at the present moment. but, still, don't forget the fable of the mouse and the lion. i may find a means of freeing you from the net yet. but here come the others."
mayfield emerged from the window on to the lawn. his cigar seemed to pollute the sweet-scented night; he was talking loudly to sir george.
"we shall know presently," he said. "the worst of living buried in the country is that one is out of touch with telegrams and telephones. i told my secretary to wire directly he heard from worham and his partner."
"don't let us talk about it," said sir george in a voice that shook a little. "let us enjoy the beauty of the night . . . i began to wonder what had become of you, darnley. so you and mary have been communing with nature together. you will have a cigar before you go?"
darnley declined the offer. he did not care to stay any longer in mayfield's presence. and it was getting on to half-past ten, when he had promised to meet slight. he made his excuses and passed across the lawn in the direction of the avenue. at the end of the rose garden he paused to look back.
he saw the picture of the grand old house standing out in the moonlight; he could see mary, pale and silent, a dainty figure in white and amber. he saw mayfield bend familiarly to her, and the girl draw coldly away. there was a fierce tumult in his heart, a desire to go back and proclaim his story. he could stretch out a hand, and put an end to all that without delay. but he preferred to wait. he was going to win mary, and wear her like a white rose on the shield of a knight. he was going to bend down the barrier of her pride, and win her for himself alone, as himself, and not as a man who had the advantages of fortune on his side.
these thoughts filled his mind as he walked down the avenue. he knew that he had far to go before the goal was in sight. he almost walked over a figure standing just inside the lodge gates, and his thoughts came tumbling to earth again.
"i beg your pardon, slight," he said. "i was miles away just now. let us sit on this tree stump in sight of the old house and talk things over."
