of all the places on which the autumnal moon, approaching her full like a comely matron, looks down, there are many far less picturesque and less enjoyable than that bit of robertson-terrace, st. leonards, which adjoins the narrow strip of beach communicating with the old town of hastings proper. on this beach the moonbeams play.
"among the waste and lumber of the shore, hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn,"
casting grim and fantastic shadows, and bringing oddest objects into unwonted and undue prominence. robertson-terrace--as hideous, architecturally considered, as are the majority of such marine asylums for the temporary reception of londoners--stands back from the road, and has its stuccoed proportions somewhat softened by the trees and shrubs in the "enclosure," as the denizens love to call it, a small oblong strip of something which ought to be green turf, but what, under the influence of promenading and croquet-playing, has become brown mud. in the moonlight on this lovely night in early autumn, some of the denizens yet linger in the enclosure. young people mostly, of both sexes, who walk in pairs, and speak in very low tones, and look at each other with very long immovable glances; young people who cannot imagine why people ever grow old, who cannot conceive that there can be any pleasure except in that one pastime in which they themselves are then employed--who cannot conceive, for instance, what enjoyment that old gentleman, who has been so long seated in the drawing-room balcony of no. 17, can find in life.
that old gentleman is lord sandilands, who, the london season over, has come down to st. leonards for a little sea-air, and quiet and change. one reason for his selection of st. leonards is that miss grace lambert and mrs. bloxam are staying within a few miles' distance, at hardriggs, sir giles belwether's pretty place. lord sandilands had been invited to hardriggs, also, but he disliked staying anywhere except with very intimate friends; and, moreover, he had come to that time of life when rest was absolutely essential to him, and he knew that under sir giles belwether's ponderous hospitality he would simply be moving the venueof his london life without altering any of its details. moreover, the old gentleman, by coming to st. leopards, was carrying out a kindly scheme long since laid, of giving miles challoner occasional opportunities of seeing miss lambert. miles was not invited to stay at hardriggs; he did not even know sir giles belwether; but he became lord sandilands' guest in the lodgings in robertson-terrace, and, as such, he was taken over by his friend to hardriggs, introduced to the host, and received with the greatest hospitality. lord sandilands has this advantage over the youthful promenaders in the "enclosure," that while they cannot imagine what he is thinking of, he perfectly well divines the subject of their thoughts, and is allowing his own ideas to run in another vein of that special subject. he has just made miles confess his love for grace lambert, and all the drawbacks and disadvantages of the position are opening rapidly before him.
"i might have expected it," said the old gentleman half-aloud; "i knew it was coming. i saw it growing day by day, and yet i never had the pluck to look the affair straight in the face--to make up my mind whether i'd tell him anything about gertrude's parentage; and i don't know what to do now. ah, here he is!--well, miles, had your smoke? lovely night, eh?"
"a lovely night, indeed! no end of people out by the sea."
"you wouldn't mind a turn in that lime-walk at hardriggs just now, miles, eh? with--kate belwether, or someone else?"
"rather the someone else, dear old friend. and so you weren't a bit astonished at what i told you to-day?"
"astonished, my boy! i astonished? why, where do you think my eyes have been? i declare you young fellows think that to you alone has been confided the appreciation of beauty and the art of love!"
"anyone who imagines that must have ears, and hear not, so far as your lordship is concerned," said miles, laughing. "now, of john borlase, commonly known as baron sandilands, the ladies whom he courted and the conquests which he made, are they not written in the chronique scandaleuseof the period?"
"well, i don't know that. i'm of an old-fashioned school, which holds that no gentleman should so carry on his amourettesthat the world should talk about them. but the idea of your thinking that i should be astonished when you told me that you were head over ears in love with--with miss lambert! nourri dans le sérail j'en connais les detours, master miles."
"and if not astonished, you were also not annoyed?"
"annoyed! not the least bit in the world. i don't mean to say that the matter looks to me entirely one of plain-sailing, my dear boy; there are certain difficulties which will naturally arise."
"do you think that grace's friends will make any obstacle? by the way, my dear lord, do you know anything of miss lambert's relations? i have never heard of or seen any connection but mrs. bloxam; but you who are so intimate with the young lady will probably know all about them."
a half-comic look of embarrassment overshadowed lord sandilands' face as he heard this inquiry, and he waited for a moment before he replied, "not i, indeed, my dear miles; miss lambert has never spoken to me of her relations--indeed, i understood from her that she was an orphan, left to mrs. bloxam's charge. i shouldn't think you need look for any objection to your marriage being made by the lady's friends."
"that is one point happily settled; then the world?"
"the what?"
"the opinion of the world."
"ah, that's a very different matter! you're afraid of what people will say about your marrying a singer?"
"to you, dear old friend, i will confess candidly that i am. not that i have any position, god knows, on the strength of which to give myself airs."
"my dear boy, that's where you mistake. if you hada position, you might marry not merely a charming and amiable and lovely girl like this, against whom no word ought to be uttered, but even a person without the smallest rag of reputation; and the world would say very little about it, and would speedily be silenced. look at--no need, however, to quote examples. what i have said is the fact, and you know it."
"i am forced to acknowledge the truth of your remark, but while acknowledging it, i shall not permit the fact to turn me from my purpose. if miss lambert will accept me for a husband, i will gladly risk all the tattle of all the old cats in belgravia."
"your sentiments do you credit, my dear boy," said the old nobleman with a smile, "though the juxtaposition of 'tattle' and 'cats' is scarcely happy. i've noticed that when people are in love, the arrangement of their sentences is seldom harmonious. i suppose you feel tolerably certain of miss lambert's answer to your intended proposal. you are too much a man of the present day to anticipate any doubt in the matter."
"i should not be worth miss lambert's acceptance if i had any such vanity; and i know you're only joking in ascribing it to me."
"i was only joking; but now seriously, do you fear no rivals? you see how very much the young lady is sought after. are you certain that her preference is given to you?"
"as certain as a man can be who has not 'put it to the touch to win or lose it all,' by ascertaining positively."
"and there is no one you are absolutely jealous of?"
"no one. well,--no, not jealous of,--there is one man whom i regard with excessive distrust."
"you don't mean lord ticehurst?"
"o, no! lord ticehurst's manners are rough and odd; but he is a gentleman, and, i'm sure, would 'behave as such,' in every possible way, to miss lambert. indeed, no duchess of his acquaintance can be treated with greater respect than she is by him. i would not say as much of the other man."
"who is he?"
miles hesitated a moment before he said, "lord ticehurst's great friend, mr. gilbert lloyd."
"mr. gilbert lloyd!" repeated lord sandilands, with a low whistle--"that's a very different matter. i don't mind telling you, my dear miles, that i have had an uncomfortable impression about that young man ever since the first night we met him at carabas house. it's singular too; for i know no real harm of the man. his tastes and pursuits are not such as interest or occupy me; though, of course, that is the case with scores of persons with whom i am acquainted, and towards whom i feel no such dislike. very odd, isn't it?"
miles looked hard at his friend to see whether there were any latent meaning in the question; but seeing that lord sandilands was apparently speaking without any strong motive, he said:
"it is odd. perhaps," he added, "it is to be accounted for by the feeling that this--mr. gilbert lloyd is not a gentleman?"
"n-no, not that. though the man, amongst his own set, has an air of turfy, horsey life which is hideously repellent, yet with other people he shows that he knows at least the convenancesof society, and is not without traces of breeding and education. i fancy that in this case i am suffering myself to be influenced by my belief in physiognomy. the man has a decidedly bad face; deceit, treachery, and cruelty are written in the shifty expression of his sunken eyes, in his thin tightened lips."
"and you really believe this?" said miles earnestly.
"i do; most earnestly. depend upon it, nature never makes a mistake. we may fail to read her properly sometimes, but she never errs. and in this case her handwriting is too plain to admit of any doubt."
miles shuddered. the old gentleman noticed it, and laid his hand kindly on his friend's knee; then he said:
"but, after all, there's no reason for us to fear him. you say that he has been somewhat marked in his attention to grace?"
"more than marked. did you not notice the other night at the house of that odd woman, mrs. burge--o, no, i forgot, you were not there; but it was just before we left town, and miss lambert had been dancing with me, and i had only left her for a minute when lloyd went up and spoke to her."
"well?"
"of course i don't know what he said, but they both seemed to speak very earnestly, and after a very few moments he left her abruptly and hurried away."
"well, i don't think that proceeding ought to cause you much disquietude, master miles. in all probability, from what you say, miss lambert was giving mr. lloyd his congé, or, at all events, saying something not very pleasant to him. have you ever spoken to her about lloyd?"
"once or twice only."
"and what has she said about him?"
"she seems to have taken your view of the question, my dear old friend, for she spoke of him with cold contempt and irrepressible dislike, and begged me never to mention his name to her again."
"really, then it seems to me that you have nothing to fear in that quarter. that this mr. lloyd is a dangerous man i am convinced; that he would be desperate in any matter in which he was deeply interested, i don't doubt; but he may be as desperate as he pleases if grace dislikes him, and loves you. by the way, as that question is still a moot point, master miles," added the old gentleman with a sly look, "the sooner you get it settled, the better. we shall be driving over to hardriggs to-morrow, and i should think you mightfind an opportunity of speaking to the lady in private. i know i would at your time of life, and under the circumstances. and if you want an elderly gooseberry-picker, you may command me."
but seeing that miles challoner's face wore a stern and gloomy expression, lord sandilands dropped the tone of badinagein which he had been speaking, and said with great earnestness and softness:
"there is something strangely wrong with you to-night, miles; something which keeps crossing your mind and influencing your thoughts; something which i am convinced is apart from, and yet somehow connected with, the subject we have been discussing. i have no wish to pry into your secrets, my dear boy; no right and no desire to ask for any confidence which you may not feel disposed to give. but as, since the death of my dear old friend, i have always regarded myself as your second father, and as i have loved you as i would have loved a son, i cannot bear to see you in obvious grief and trouble without longing to share it and to advise and help you."
there was a pathos in the old man's tone, no less than in his words, which touched miles deeply. he took his friend's hand and pressed it, and his eyes were filled with tears, and his voice trembled as he said:
"god knows, my dearest friend, how willingly i acknowledge the truth of all that you have just said, and how recognisant i am of all your affection and kindness. i amtroubled and disturbed, but there is nothing in my trouble that need be hid from you; nothing, indeed, which your sympathy and counsel will not lighten and tend to disperse."
"that's right," said the old nobleman, brightening up again. "come, what is this trouble? you're not worried for money, miles?"
"no. i had an odd letter from my lawyers yesterday about some mortgage that sir thomas walbrook is interested in, but i haven't gone into the matter yet. no, not money,--i wish it were only that!"
"what then? you've not gone and mixed yourself up with any--any connection--you know what i mean--that you feel it necessary to break off before you propose to miss lambert?"
"not i, dear old friend; nothing of the sort. though my trouble is caused by what i think the necessity of giving a full explanation on a very difficult and delicate matter, before i ask grace to become my wife."
"in the name of fortune, what is it, then?" asked lord sandilands.
"simply this," said miles, his face resuming its grave expression; "you know that my father's life was overshadowed and his whole mental peace destroyed, at a period when he might reasonably have looked forward to much future enjoyment, by the conduct of my younger brother, geoffrey?"
"ah! now i begin to comprehend--"
"wait, and hear me out. that conduct, the nature of which i never could learn, and do not know at this moment, blighted my father's life, and changed him from an open-hearted, frank, genial man, into a silent and reserved valetudinarian. for years and years geoffrey's name was never mentioned in our house. i was brought up under strict orders never to inquire about him, directly or indirectly; and those orders i obeyed to the letter. only when my father was on his deathbed--you recollect my being telegraphed for from your house, where i was staying? i spoke of geoffrey. i asked why he had been sent away, what he had done--"
"your father did not tell you?" interrupted lord sandilands eagerly.
"he did not, he would not. it was just before he expired; his physical prostration was great; all he could say was that geoffrey was, and for ever must be, dead to me. he implored me, he commanded me with his dying breath, if ever i met my brother to shun him, to fly from him, to let nothing earthly induce me to know him or acknowledge him."
"your poor father was right," said lord sandilands; "he could have said nothing else."
"do you justify my father's severity?" cried miles in astonishment. "do you hold that he was right in dying in anger with one of his own children, and in bequeathing his anger to me, the brother of the man whom in his wrath he thus harmed?"
"i do; i do indeed."
"do you tell me that any crime not punishable by law could justify such a sentence?--a sentence of excommunication from his home, from family love, from--"
"stay, stay, miles. tell me, how has this subject cropped up just now? what has brought it into your thoughts?"
"because, as a man of honour, i feel that i ought to tell miss lambert something at least--as much as i know--of the story before i ask her to be my wife. because i would fain have told her that my father was harsh and severe to a degree in his conduct to geoffrey."
"that is impossible; that you can never say. listen, miles; i know more of this matter than you suspect. i know every detail of it. your father made me his confidant, and i know the crime which your brother attempted."
"you do?--the crime!"
"the crime. the base, dastardly, hideous crime, which rendered it impossible for your father to do otherwise than renounce his son, and bid you renounce your brother for ever."
"ah, my god!" groaned miles, burying his head in his hands.
"there is no reason to be so excited, my poor boy," said lord sandilands, laying his hand gently on him. "you need tell grace nothing of this; and be sure that this wretched geoffrey will never trouble you again. he is most probably dead."
"dead!" shrieked miles, raising his livid face and staring wildly at his friend. "he lives--here amongst us! i have seen him constantly; he has recognised me, i know. this man of whom we were just speaking,--this man whom you call gilbert lloyd,--is my younger brother, geoffrey challoner!"
