SHE 
 
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 MAX PEMBERTON
 
 "NOTICE TO PURCHASER" 
 
 " This copyright volume is offered for sale to the public only 
 through the authorized agents of the publishers, who are permitted to 
 sell it only at retail and at fifty cents per copy, and with the express 
 condition and reservation that it shall not, prior to August 1st, 1907, be 
 resold, or offered or advertised for resale. The purchaser from them 
 agrees to this condition and reservation by the acceptance of this copy. 
 In case of any breach thereof, the title to this book immediately reverts 
 to the publishers. Any defacement, alteration or removal of this notice 
 will be prosecuted by the publishers to the full extent of the law. " 
 
 THE AUTHORS AND NEWSPAPERS ASSOCIATION
 
 
 
 " She was aware instantly that the strangers were speaking of 
 her." Chap. 6.
 
 The Lady Evelyn 
 
 A Story of To-day 
 
 By 
 
 MAX PEMBERTON 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Hundred Days," " Doctor Xavier,' 
 
 "A Gentleman 1 s Gentleman" 
 
 "A Puritan's Wife," 
 
 Etc. 
 
 Illustrated in Water-Colors by ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN 
 
 POWERS' SPECIAL EDITION, 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 THE AUTHORS AND NEWSPAPERS ASSOCIATION 
 
 1906
 
 Copyright igo6 by Max Pembcrton 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall 
 
 rights reser-ved 
 
 Composition and Electrotyping by 
 
 J. J. Little & Co. 
 
 Printed and bound by the 
 
 Manhattan Press, New York.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I. THE ESCAPADE. 
 
 THE FACE IN THE RIVER 
 
 A TELEGRAM TO BUKHAREST - 
 
 n. ETTA ROMNET is PRESENTED - 
 
 III. SUCCESS AND AFTERWARDS 
 
 IV. Two PERSONALITIES - - 
 
 V. THE LETTER - - - - - 
 
 VI. STRANGERS IN THE HOUSE - 
 
 VII. THE NONAGENARIAN 
 
 VIII. LADY EVELYN RETURNS - - - 
 
 IX. THE THIRD EARL OF MELBOURNE 
 
 X. THE ACCIDENT UPON THE ROAD 
 
 XI. A RACE FOR LIFE - - - 
 
 XII. THE UNSPOKEN ACCUSATION - 
 
 XIII. THE INTERVIEW - - - 
 
 XIV. INHERITANCE - - - - - 
 XV. THE PRICE OF SALVATION 
 
 XVI. A GAME OF GOLF - - - 
 
 5 
 
 19 
 
 24 
 
 31 
 
 45 
 
 53 
 
 60 
 
 68 
 
 76 
 
 85 
 
 95 
 
 100 
 
 108 
 
 118 
 
 126 
 
 134 
 
 146 
 
 BOOK II. THE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 XVII. GAVIN ORD BEGINS His WORK - 155 
 
 XVIII. A DUEL OVER THE TEACUPS - - - - 164 
 
 XLX. FROM THE BELFRY TOWER - - - - 174 
 
 XX. LOVERS ---- _ _ _ 134 
 
 XXI. ZALLONY'S SON ------ 193 
 
 XXII. A SPY FROM BUCHAREST ----- 202 
 
 2137827
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK III. THE LIGHT. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXIII. BuxHAREST - - - - 
 
 XXIV. THE PRICE OP WISDOM - 
 XXV. THE HOUSE ABOVE THE TORRENT 
 
 XXVI. THROUGH A WOMAN'S HEART - 
 
 XXVII. ETTA ROMNEY'S RETURN- - 
 
 XXVIII. THE IMPRESARIO'S PRAYER - 
 
 XXIX. THE PRISONERS AT SBTCHEVO - 
 
 XXX. THERE is No NEWS OF GAVIN ORD 
 
 XXXI. THE HOUSE AT HAMPSTEAD - 
 
 XXXII. A SHOT IN THE HILLS - - 
 
 XXXIII. DJALA ----- 
 
 XXXIV. THE SHADOW OP THE RIVER - 
 Epilogue. THE DOCTOR DRINKS A TOAST 
 
 PAGE 
 
 212 
 218 
 
 227 
 236 
 244 
 251 
 260 
 289 
 274 
 287 
 295 
 306 
 315
 
 PAGE 
 
 "She was aware instantly that the strangers were speaking 
 
 of her -------- Frontispiece 
 
 " Oh, please let me go; your hands hurt me "- - - - 145 
 
 " As you came in folly, so shall you go "- - - 243 
 
 "Evelyn, beloved, I am here as you wish" - - - - 314
 
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 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 THE FACE IN THE RIVER 
 
 THE porter did not know; the station-master 
 was not sure; but both were agreed that it was 
 a " good step to the 'all " by which they signi- 
 fied the Derbyshire mansion of the third Earl of 
 Melbourne. 
 
 " Might be you'd get a cab, might be you 
 wouldn't," said the porter somewhat loftily for 
 here was* a passenger who had spoken of walking 
 over : * ' that '11 depend on Jacob Price and the beer 
 he's drunk this night. Some nights he can drive 
 a man and some nights he can't. I'm not here 
 to speak for him more than any other.." 
 
 The station-master, who had been giving the 
 whole weight of his intelligence to a brown paper 
 parcel with no address upon it, here chimed in to 
 ask a question in that patronizing manner pecul- 
 iar to station-masters. 
 
 " Did his lordship expect you, sir ?" he asked 
 with some emphasis; as though, had it been the 
 case, he certainly should have been informed of 
 it. The reply found him all civility. 
 
 ' ' I should have been here by the train arriving
 
 6 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 at half -past six," said Gavin Ord, the passenger in 
 question " it is my fault, certainly. No doubt, 
 they sent to meet me " 
 
 * ' The brown shay and a pair of 'osses stood in 
 the yard more'n an hour," exclaimed the porter 
 with just reproach. " I'll tell Mr. Jacob. He 
 knows his betters when he sees him, drunk or 
 sober " 
 
 " Thank you," said Gavin quietly, " but I will 
 not put his knowledge to the proof. After all, it's 
 only five miles, you say " 
 
 " And a public-house at Moretown if the dust 
 sticks in your throat. You'll do better walking 
 than up alongside old Jacob at this time of night, 
 sir " 
 
 " Had we known that his lordship expected a 
 guest, we'd have answered for a carriage," added 
 the station-master, still apologetically. 
 
 The tall, fair-haired Englishman perplexed 
 him. He hardly knew whether he addressed a 
 Duke or a commoner. The voice and manner 
 suggested the former ; the intention to walk spoke 
 of a vulgar habit rather befitting his lordship's 
 curate than the honored guest of Melbourne Hall. 
 Gavin Ord, upon his part, perhaps, delighted in 
 perplexing people. He quite understood the kind 
 of curiosity he had aroused; and, refusing to 
 gratify it, he snatched up a light dressing bag; 
 and leaving directions for his heavier luggage to 
 be forwarded in the morning, he set off briskly 
 upon the high road to Moretown, beyond which, 
 as all the world knows, lies the Manor of Mel- 
 bourne.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 7 
 
 " Going to make a long stay, sir? " had been the 
 amiable station-master's last shot. 
 
 * ' Oh, I may settle down there for a long time, ' ' 
 said Ord in reply; and this news was all over the 
 village in an hour. 
 
 Strangers upon the road to Melbourne Hall 
 were not so many that one should escape remark. 
 
 " If he's for the Lady Evelyn," the blithe por- 
 ter confessed over his cups at a later hour, ' ' she 
 might go farther and get a worse-looking man. 
 Gave me a shillin', he did, and carried his bag 
 hisself. That's what I call a gentleman, now." 
 
 Unconscious of this tribute to his qualities, 
 Gavin Ord was then more than three miles upon 
 his road to Melbourne Hall. A hot day of Au- 
 gust had given place to a delicious night, fresh 
 and cool and redolent of sweet perfumes. The 
 moon stood high above the horizon, shining with 
 glorious mellow light upon the gathered sheaves 
 and the grattan where the wheat was garnered. 
 So plain were the hill-tops to be seen that the 
 very flocks could almost be numbered upon 
 them; while the bare walls of limestone, the tors 
 of spar, and the higher mounts were veined as 
 by rifts of jewels, giving back in glittering 
 flashes the moonbeams they had husbanded. The 
 roads themselves were eloquent by night. When 
 a farmer's cart went rumbling by, Gavin could 
 hear the echo of the horse's hoofs and the rolling 
 sound of wheels for quite a long time. 
 
 He was a man of redoubtable physique, trained 
 by laborious days at home and abroad to the 
 finer qualities of his endurance ; and nothing was
 
 8 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 more to his liking than this lonely pilgrimage to 
 a splendid house wherein he believed that an ad- 
 vantageous welcome awaited him. A stranger to 
 Lord Melbourne, he never allowed himself to for- 
 get that his own talents and achievements had 
 made this visit possible and opened to him the 
 doors of a house which few even of the aristocracy 
 now entered. For Gavin Ord was callen in London 
 the first among the younger school of architects 
 an artist of prodigious originality and daring, and 
 one with as many sides to his talent as a diamond 
 has facets. Already had Burlington House 
 heaped her honors upon him. The great Church 
 at Kensington would, he believed, stand as his me- 
 morial to all time. But for a prodigality and a 
 refusal to consider a mere matter of money, his 
 plans for a new cathedral in the North would 
 certainly have been accepted by the committee. 
 As it was, critics said, " There is the man of to- 
 morrow." He liked to hear them say it, for he 
 had a great conceit in his art if none for himself. 
 Something of the spirit of the old-time builders 
 moved within him. His imagination dwelt in 
 lofty temples, roamed in vast aisles looked down 
 upon men from a masterpiece of spires. He was 
 but a servant, if only the stone which dominated 
 men's hearts. 
 
 And now this famous old recluse, this eccentric 
 unknown Earl of Melbourne, had summoned him 
 to save the stately Melbourne Hall from its only 
 enemy time. He could not have found a more 
 congenial task upon all the continents. 
 
 There can be no journey more pleasant than
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 9 
 
 that which carries us a stage upon the road to 
 our ambitions. Every event of the wayside is 
 then an adventure to us; every inn at which we 
 rest seems to offer us ambrosia. Here was Gavin 
 Ord, at ten o'clock of the night, as good a walker 
 upon the road to Melbourne Hall as any trained 
 athlete out with the lark for a morning breather. 
 Five or ten miles to go, it mattered nothing to 
 him. He had forgotten already the five hours in 
 a stuffy train ; his mind was set upon the beauties 
 of the moonlit landscape, the fine wooded slopes 
 of the hills, the twinkling lights in the hollows, 
 the dark towers of the scattered churches more 
 than all, upon the distant goal and the reception 
 which would await him there. 
 
 How earnestly had the old Earl implored him 
 to go to the Manor ! 
 
 " Here is the finest Tudor house in England," 
 he had written ; ' ' you can save it. Make it your 
 home and learn to love it as I do. They tell me 
 that in your leisure you ride and shoot. I will 
 introduce you to the finest fencer in Derbyshire, 
 and you shall tell me what you think of the pheas- 
 ants. Don't expect to find a house-party. I see 
 few people. I desire to see fewer. My daughter 
 will play tennis with you, and, if you are a golfer, 
 there are lean long women on the hills who talk 
 of nothing else but hazards and whins. These 
 preach sermons in stones. Come and hear 
 them, and my motor shall show you Derbyshire. 
 But, above all, become the servant of the Manor, 
 as every true artist must be. ' ' 
 
 The letter of a man, Gavin said to himself when
 
 10 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 he read it. He liked it best because there was no 
 gilt-edge of money upon it. The Earl's pro- 
 digious wealth had been the one blot hitherto 
 upon the fair panorama of his desires. " There 
 will be a host of flunkies in red breeches," he 
 had thought, " and every one of them will look 
 the question, ' How much is he good for? ' He 
 knew that the present Master of Melbourne Hall 
 had come to the estate and the title almost by 
 accident late in life, and after an adventurous 
 career which men spoke of openly in clubs, but 
 rarely in private life. A wild man who had been 
 everything from a discredited attache at Bukha- 
 rest to an equally unsuccessful miner in Australia 
 this was the third Earl of Melbourne. 
 
 And what of his daughter, the Lady Evelyn? 
 
 There were but wild fables spoken about this 
 unknown girl and the secluded life her father 
 compelled her to live at the Manor House. Some 
 said she was the daughter of a Eoumanian gypsy 
 whom the Earl had married after his disgrace at 
 Bukharest. Others declared that her dead mother 
 had been an actress who had enjoyed a brief spell 
 of notoriety in Vienna and thence had been driven 
 out by the infatuation of an archduke. None 
 knew the truth, but there were many to suggest 
 what the truth might be. Openly and scandal- 
 ously, as the world will, idle tongues hinted that 
 the Earl must have some good reason for his 
 eccentric conduct. There were even stories that 
 the Lady Evelyn was unmistakably a gypsy girl 
 herself. " As brown as a walnut chiffonier,"
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 11 
 
 said little Backbiter at the Club. The fellow had 
 never been within fifty miles of Melbourne Hall; 
 and if he had met the Earl, he would have gone 
 down on his marrow bones to him. 
 
 Gavin Ord recalled some of these stories as he 
 followed the tortuous road and left the solitary 
 village still farther behind him. They did not 
 interest him. He had gone into Derbyshire to see 
 not a woman but a house. Delight that he should 
 be chosen for guardian of such a national treasure 
 as Melbourne Hall went with him upon his way. 
 He must be now, he thought, but a mile from the 
 Manor gates. The road had become narrow and 
 closely bordered by leafy elms. No longer could 
 he see the moonlit heights or the twinkling lights 
 in the valleys. There were no kindly beams to 
 guide his steps. In weird darkness he followed 
 the dusty track and pressed on toward the Manor. 
 The rustling of leaves sounded almost like a 
 human voice in his ears. He liked to think that 
 Nature was still awake and speaking to him. 
 
 So it is evident that he possessed that quasi- 
 divine attribute, imagination. His mood of 
 thought responded instantly to any change, at- 
 mospheric, or of the light of the heavens. The 
 sunshine could ever build temples of success for 
 him; the twilight rarely failed to bring the ques- 
 tion, what is the good of it all, of ambition and the 
 stress and strife of arenas. In the night he would 
 awake to remember that all men must die. In 
 the daytiine he would laugh at death and all the 
 vain problems of the hereafter. That Melbourne 
 Hall, approached in this gloom of a summer's
 
 12 
 
 night, should provoke no evil thoughts but only 
 those of good omen, seemed a new witness to the 
 pleasure with which he contemplated his stay 
 there. He would accomplish something amid 
 those ancient stones by which men should remem- 
 ber him. The aspiration quickened his step. A 
 turn of the road revealed the lodge-gates, with a 
 lighted window and a pleasant cottage. He en- 
 tered Lord Melbourne's park and discerned the 
 Hall, dim and stately and starred with lights, 
 across the little river which stood for a moat be- 
 fore its walls. 
 
 This, then, was his goal, this superb fabric 
 which the genius of the mediaeval age had be- 
 queathed to England and to posterity. No words 
 could rightly have described the emotions which 
 stirred his imagination as he stood to contemplate 
 the jagged line of building and battlement, chapel, 
 tower and stable, which his hand should snatch 
 from the greedy hand of time. The very park, 
 with its soft grasses, and deer in shadow pictures 
 beneath the trees, could conjure up a vision of 
 knights and pages and stately dames and all the 
 witching pageantry of half -forgotten centuries. 
 The great house itself might have been the house 
 of a thousand mysteries, locked in banded coffers, 
 enshrined in ghostly walls crying aloud none the 
 less to him who would listen to the tongue of their 
 romance. Gavin Ord stood in an ecstasy of hom- 
 age to worship at the gates of such a temple as 
 this. And, standing so, he heard a woman's cry. 
 
 He had walked across the park with slow steps 
 and come to the narrow bridge of five Koman
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 13 
 
 arches which spanned the shallow river shallow, 
 save for one deep pool over which many a fisher- 
 man must have thrown a skilful fly. Standing by 
 the balustrade to contemplate the picture, his de- 
 lighted eyes traced every tower and pinnacle of 
 Melbourne Hall with an artist's ecstasy thence 
 looked out over the moonlit park to glades of sur- 
 passing beauty and scenes which the centuries had 
 hallowed. How inimitable it all was the mighty 
 yews about which Elizabeth's courtiers had 
 grouped; the groves which had listened to many 
 a child of Pampinea the fearsome walls, what 
 tragedies, what comedies, had been played within 
 them! Even a dullard might contemplate the 
 scene with awe. Gavin Ord was no dullard, and 
 the spell it cast upon him was such as he had 
 never known in all his life. So entirely did it 
 claim his mind and will that when he heard a 
 woman's low cry beneath the very bridge he stood 
 upon, he scarcely turned his head or gave the 
 matter a thought. 
 
 What had happened; whence came the sound f 
 Being repeated, he could no longer ignore it. In 
 truth, it awed him not a little ; for it was not the 
 voice of a woman in danger but of one asking his 
 pity, his help, as it seemed, in a low whispering 
 voice which he now heard more clearly than if 
 a strong man had shouted at him. Taking one 
 quick glance at the river, Gavin declared that the 
 cry could not have come from there. Splashing 
 and leaping over mossy boulders, a child might 
 have waded across the stream, he thought. Then 
 whence did the cry come? Turning about, to the
 
 14 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 right, to the left, he discovered himself to be still 
 alone. It was the voice of imagination he began 
 to say; and was about to quit the place when he 
 heard it for the third time, and so unmistakably, 
 that he no longer doubted it to be human. 
 
 Some one called to him from the river below the 
 bridge. 
 
 He climbed upon the old stone parapet and 
 looked down straight to the black silent pool about 
 the arches. So dark was it in the shadows that 
 the keenest eyes might not have perceived a hu- 
 man thing there. Gavin Ord, however, saw the 
 thing as clearly as in daylight a woman's fair 
 head with great sodden leaves about it and 
 streaming black hair caught up upon the ripples. 
 A shudder of awe indescribable came upon him 
 as he looked. For the woman was dead, he said- 
 had been long dead, and yet her voice spoke to 
 him. 
 
 He knew that she was dead, for the water lapped 
 upon her half -closed eyes and the fair head turned 
 slowly as the eddies swirled slowly about it. 
 Every right instinct told him that this was a 
 vision and not a truth of the night. He listened 
 for the voice again ; but it was silent now. As it 
 ceased to speak to him, the spell vanished. He 
 ran round quickly to the river bank and clambered 
 over the slippery stones to the pool's edge. 
 
 It was black as night and void as the ether. 
 
 Gavin Ord was not a nervous man and very far 
 from a superstitious one.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 15 
 
 When he had quite assured himself that he had 
 been dreaming, his first act was to return to the 
 path and laugh aloud at the whole venture. 
 
 " Melbourne Hall is generous to me," he said; 
 ' * here are the very ghosts coming out to welcome 
 me." 
 
 None the less he tried to remember what he 
 had eaten in the train for dinner and whether 
 his recent nights had been late or early. 
 
 ' * I shall get to bed at ten here, ' ' he said to him- 
 self, " and put in a good walk before breakfast. 
 I have been doing a good deal and I never was 
 great at night work. Of course, if I told anyone, 
 I should be written down a liar. It's always the 
 case when you hear or see anything the other man 
 has not seen or heard." 
 
 He caught up his bag and marched on resolutely 
 up the wide gravelled drive by which you reach 
 the great gate of the Manor. A loud bell answer- 
 ing to his touch awakened splendid echoes in the 
 courtyard of the house and set the dogs barking 
 within. When a footman opened to him, he dis- 
 covered that Melbourne Hall was a building about 
 a quadrangle and that its main door admitted him 
 no farther than to the great square court of which 
 the chapel and the banqueting hall were the chief 
 ornaments. Above the latter, lights shone brightly 
 in many windows. But the courtyard itself lay 
 in darkness. 
 
 " Say that Mr. Ord is here," Gavin instructed 
 the footman, and added : " I am very late, I fear ; 
 I was stupid enough to miss the afternoon train. ' ' 
 
 The footman, shutting the door with a solemn
 
 16 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 formality, called another to his aid that the dress- 
 ing case might be safely conveyed to the guest's 
 bedroom. 
 
 " 'Is lordship was sayin' you wouldn't come, 
 sir. Longish walk by Moretown too. We'd have 
 sent the motor but the ' smiffer ' don't like late 
 hours. 'Is lordship is now in the boodore along 
 of the Lady Evelyn. This is Mr. Griggs, the 
 butler, sir " 
 
 Gavin was not particularly interested in the 
 fact; but the butler in question had no intention 
 of being ignored. A fat and pompous man of flat 
 and florid visage, he stood, in majestic pose, at 
 the head of the short flight of stone stairs leading 
 to the boudoir, and his attitude no archbishop 
 could have bettered. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Gavin Ord, is it not T " he asked. 
 
 Gavin said that it was so. 
 
 ' ' We kept dinner back ten minutes, sir I trust 
 there has not been an accident. ' ' 
 
 " No accident at all go and tell the Earl that 
 I am here." 
 
 Mr. Griggs looked as though he had been shot. 
 
 ' ' James will do that, ' ' he retorted loftily wav- 
 ing his hand as a conductor waves a baton. 
 
 The obsequious footman strolled off to do the 
 majestic man's bidding and Gavin meanwhile 
 found himself in the banqueting hall, an old Tudor 
 apartment he had admired in many pictures but 
 now entered for the first time. The banners of 
 three centuries hung in tatters from its oaken ceil- 
 ing; the musicians' gallery stood as it was when 
 fiddle and harp made music there for the seventh
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 17 
 
 Henry, but Gavin resented the fashion of electric 
 lamps none the less and instantly resolved to 
 change them in which intention the fat butler 
 interrupted him with the news that the Earl 
 awaited Mr. Ord in the long gallery. 
 
 " Her ladyship is there too, sir. Perhaps you 
 will be taking supper afterwards. ' ' 
 
 " Nothing to-night," replied Ord quickly; " I 
 shall dream enough in the old house without 
 that." 
 
 " And I dare say you will, sir. Many's the 
 night I've seen a something, though I couldn't 
 rightly say what it were. ' ' 
 
 Gavin judged that it might have been a flask 
 of spirits which thus troubled the good man's 
 dreams ; but he made no comment as they mounted 
 a broad staircase, and passing through a dainty 
 little room in one of the turrets of the house, en- 
 tered the superb long gallery which is the very 
 masterpiece of Melbourne Hall. The vast length 
 of this, its glorious ceiling, the carvings in geo- 
 metric tracery, the embrasured windows, the bays, 
 the ingles how familiar they seemed to Gavin, 
 and yet how far from the truth of them had the 
 drawings been ! Just as a man may enter joyously 
 the house of his dream as a very home of love and 
 welcome, so did Gavin pass into the gallery and 
 feast his eyes upon its treasures. Here, he said, 
 a life's work might be done, indeed; here the 
 ripest genius might fall and be gathered by the 
 lap of time. 
 
 There were brass candelabra at intervals upon 
 the walls of the gallery and little electric lamps
 
 18 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 aglow in the sham candles above them. Far down 
 the immense apartment, Gavin perceived the stal- 
 wart figure of a bronze-faced man and by his side 
 a young girl, whose pose was so natural, whose 
 manner was so clearly that of an aristocratic, 
 that he did not hesitate to name her instantly 
 for Lord Melbourne's daughter. Unable at the 
 distance to see much of her face, it took shape 
 for him as he drew nearer ; and so he found him- 
 self against his will staring at her intently as one 
 who would satisfy himself as to where and when 
 he had seen her before. This interest he could not 
 immediately explain ; nor did her father 's cordial 
 if somewhat loud-toned greeting recall him from 
 his vain pursuit of identity. He felt instinctively 
 that the Lady Evelyn was no stranger to him, 
 and yet for the life of him he could give no good 
 account of any previous meeting. 
 
 " Welcome to Melbourne Hall, Mr. Ord I had 
 begun to say that you had deserted us." 
 
 Gavin stammered some vain tale of lost train 
 and business calls; but he did not tear his eyes 
 away from the Lady Evelyn's face. 
 
 " Great God," he said to himself at last, " that 
 was the face I saw in the river ! ' '
 
 BOOK I 
 THE ESCAPADE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A TELEGRAM TO BUKHAEEST 
 
 UPON a night of May, some twelve months be- 
 fore Gavin Ord had gone down into Derbyshire 
 at the Earl of Melbourne's invitation, Count Odin, 
 a Roumanian celebrity of evil reputation in his 
 own country and none in others, quitted the Savoy 
 Hotel by the Strand entrance and had just called 
 a hansom when a well-dressed girl, whom he was 
 surprised to see afoot, stumbled by accident 
 against him, and nervously, yet very prettily, 
 offered him her apologies. 
 
 Gifted with a prodigious amount of quite un- 
 meaning gallantry, the Count bowed low and said 
 in passable English that no harm had been done 
 and that it should be his part to apologize. 
 
 11 Mademoiselle," he said, "it is all the fault 
 of your narrow pavements. Here is a cab. Since 
 we are no longer strangers permit me to drive 
 you to your destination. The night is too hot for 
 you to walk." 
 
 The girl drew back instantly as though covered 
 with confusion, and without vouchsafing a single
 
 20 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 word of reply to the civil invitation, went on west- 
 ward as fast as the busy street would permit her 
 to walk. Her only desire appeared to be to escape 
 recognition by those who passed her by. She 
 might have been any age between twenty and 
 twenty-five years; her hair was coal black, and 
 her eyes were of the deepest blue. So much the 
 Count had not failed to observe ; but his curiosity 
 was not by any means at an end. Dismissing the 
 cab with a haste so pronounced that a fortune 
 might have hung upon his quest, he set off down 
 the Strand after the unknown; and was soon so 
 near to her that his outstretched hand could have 
 touched her as she walked. 
 
 Who was she? Whither was she going; 
 whence she had come The meeting had been so 
 unlocked for, it appeared to be such a very story 
 of marvels that the man would not, dare not even 
 now, believe in his good' fortune. For three years, 
 often by day and night, he had been dreaming of 
 an hour when he would find the daughter of the 
 man who had consigned a father to a living grave 
 and compelled the son to a vagrant life. And 
 here, in a London street, he met her face to face 
 not by his own desire or cleverness, but by one 
 of those accidents which are the true tragedies 
 of life. Never for a single moment did he doubt 
 that she was the woman he sought. He had come 
 to England, guarding as a precious possession a 
 miniature painting which had been found among 
 his father's effects. The face which he had so 
 often looked upon in that little picture was most 
 certainly the face he had seen for one brief in-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 21 
 
 stant in the Strand this night. Eyes, expression, 
 the shape of the characteristic mouth, the tiny 
 ears, the coal-black hair, how familiar they 
 seemed to him. " She is Forrester's daughter," 
 he said, and walked the faster for the thought. 
 
 It was an easy task, for the girl had no idea 
 that anyone followed her. Crossing the street by 
 St. Martin 's Church, she passed the National Gal- 
 lery at the same swift walk; and neither looking 
 to the right nor to the left, she made straight for 
 Pall Mall and the Carlton Hotel there. At the 
 first hazard, Count Odin believed that this was 
 her destination, a fact which puzzled him not a 
 little; but she passed the hotel without a glance 
 at its doors and going on up the Haymarket, 
 turned suddenly into one of the little courts there 
 and was instantly lost to his view. In his turn, 
 he recognized the place at a glance, and as though 
 both relieved and enlightened stood a moment 
 upon the pavement to debate the situation. 
 
 " So," he said to himself, " my lady is an ac- 
 tress or would it be a chorus girl? "Well, we 
 shall soon find that out." 
 
 He strolled up the narrow alley, and coming 
 to a broad double door of wood, saw written above 
 it in big red letters, " STAGE DOOR," and, on 
 a bell below, the words " Carlton Theatre." The 
 comparative quiet of the scene, the few people 
 about, and the darkness of the passage beyond the 
 door told him that a rehearsal was in progress 
 and not an actual performance. When he read 
 the bill of the play, affixed to a dirty board, he 
 learned that on the following Wednesday evening,
 
 22 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 at eight-thirty precisely, Mr. Charles Izard would 
 present Etta Eomney in the new play " Haddon 
 Hall," by Constant Hayter. Not much of a play- 
 goer, though a recognized frequenter of those 
 houses devoted to musical comedy, the Count 
 asked himself if he had ever heard the name of 
 Etta Eomney before. He could not remember to 
 have done so but, while he stood there, the stage 
 door-keeper came out to smoke a pipe in the alley, 
 and to him the Count addressed himself with that 
 disregard of diplomatic approach which is a habit 
 of the dubious adventurer. 
 
 * ' The young lady who just went in I think she 
 is a friend of mine. ' ' 
 
 " Ah," said the stage door-keeper, without tak- 
 ing his pipe from his lips. 
 
 " If you could tell me her name, I would send 
 in my card. ' ' 
 
 " No doubt you would," said the stage door- 
 keeper. 
 
 Nonplussed, the Count stroked his mustache 
 a little viciously and began to fumble in his 
 trousers' pocket. 
 
 " No good," said the stage door-keeper, antici- 
 pating the offer, and then bridling up as he recog- 
 nized the kind of man he had to do with, he ex- 
 claimed peremptorily: 
 
 " Come, it's time you went home to dinner, ain't 
 it; you look hungry enough." 
 
 " I was going to give you five shillings," said 
 the Count. 
 
 " You keep 'em for your poor old mother in 
 the workhouse," said the stage door-keeper, and
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 23 
 
 he went within and slammed the doors a hint 
 that even Count Odin could not mistake. 
 
 Far from being disturbed at this honest rebuff, 
 the Count, with an adventurer's ready resource, 
 strolled round to the front of the theatre and con- 
 sulted the play-bills there on the off-chance that 
 one of them would enlighten him. The box-office 
 was closed at this hour, but framed photographs 
 of the company engaged for the new play, ' ' Had- 
 don Hall," decorated the pillars of the vestibule; 
 while a large picture, full-length and conspicu- 
 ously displayed, " presented " the heroine, Miss 
 Etta Eomney, to such of the curious as should 
 care to take their stand before it. Hardly had 
 the Count glanced at the photograph when he 
 recognized the original of it to be the young girl 
 whom he had just left at the stage-door. 
 
 " Forrester's daughter, beyond a doubt," said 
 he. 
 
 He waited for no more but called a cab and 
 drove to the telegraph office in Waterloo Place. 
 Thence he sent a long telegram to Bukharest. It 
 was vague in its terms and would have been un- 
 derstood by none but the person who read it. 
 
 " Tracked down," it said; " am remaining 
 here. ' '
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ETTA KOMNEY IS PRESENTED 
 
 THE new play, " Haddon Hall," had been an- 
 nounced for half-past eight precisely on the 
 evening of Wednesday, the twentieth day of May. 
 It still wanted a few minutes to the hour of eight 
 when that famous American impressario, Mr. 
 iCharles Izard, permitted a waiter in the Carlton 
 Hotel to serve him with a coffee and liqueur ; while 
 he confided to his invaluable confederate and 
 stage-manager, Mr. Walter Lacombe, the assuring 
 intelligence that he had no doubt either about the 
 play or the company. 
 
 " They're ho-mo-gen-e-us, " he said, lighting a 
 cigar with comfortable deliberation; " the first 
 act's bully and any play with that Third Act I 
 produce. We must get something written for her 
 to follow in. My side will take " Haddon Hall " 
 and it will take Etta Eomney. If it doesn't, I 
 close up. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Lacombe, the stage-manager, had his own 
 doubts, but he was far too diplomatic to express 
 them. 
 
 " When you close up, I sell bananas," said he; 
 " that will be in the Ides of March." 
 
 Mr. Charles Izard, who had not enjoyed the dis- 
 tinction of three years' idleness at Cambridge
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 25 
 
 (and so had made a vast fortune), produced those 
 strange concatenations of sounds which served 
 him for laughter before uttering a pious wish. 
 
 " It's the ' ides of the critics ' I'd like to 
 touch," he exclaimed with real feeling; " you 
 know what they're going to say about this as well 
 as I do " 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Lacombe frankly, 
 " they'll baste it, sure enough. No historical play 
 is likely to please "Watley. He'll say that hot 
 blankets are the proper treatment." 
 
 "I'd like to wrap him up in 'em and smother 
 him," interjected Mr. Charles Izard, still piously. 
 
 " That's so he's capable de tout. But I fancy 
 he will take her none the less. ' ' 
 
 " Etta Romney, why yes! I'd like to see the 
 man who wouldn't take her. It's a woman that 
 makes a play nowadays. If you'd more of 'em 
 this side, you wouldn't have so many failures. In 
 America we star the woman first and the play 
 afterwards. Here you star the man and when all 
 the schoolgirls have seen him, your theatre's 
 empty. ' ' 
 
 " Exactly this play is the exception. YouVe 
 certainly cut the writing on the wall. There's no 
 room for whiskers on your ideas." 
 
 Mr. Izard drained his coffee cup and admitted 
 loftily that there was not. 
 
 "I'd have been a fool not to. Here's a girl 
 comes to me out of the ewigkeit. No name, no 
 story, nothing. Won 't tell me who she is or where 
 she has played before. Just says, l I've read 
 about Constant Hayter's play I know Derby-
 
 26 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 shire; I have loved the tradition of that story all 
 my life. Money is nothing to me. Let me play 
 the part Miss Fay Warner has given up. Let 
 me play it at rehearsal, and then say whether you 
 wish me to go on.' You couldn't better it in a 
 fairy book. I see her act a scene, hear her speak 
 twenty lines, and say, ' That's bully.' She doesn't 
 ask a salary why, sir, the girl's a genius born 
 and bred and what's more she's a lady from the 
 top of her hat to the soles of her boots. I couldn't 
 wish my own daughter to behave better." 
 
 " Something odd about her all the same," La- 
 combe reflected; " dreadfully afraid of being 
 known. She goes in and out of the theatre like 
 a ghost." 
 
 Mr. Charles Izard laughed again. 
 
 " Well, don't she play the part of one? " he 
 asked affably. " How would you have her come 
 in and out? Whistling like the overhead? The 
 part's herself the Lady of Haddon. She was 
 born to it. If that girl hasn't walked as a ghost 
 sometime or other, put me down for twenty 
 pounds to an hospital. And no salary, sir, not a 
 single penny." 
 
 ' ' Immense, ' ' said Lacombe, but immediately 
 paused as a well-known critic passed through the 
 hall and went out to the theatre almost adjoining 
 the hotel. 
 
 " There's Clayaton," he went on quickly, " it's 
 not often he sits out a sword-and-cape drama." 
 
 ' ' Then he '11 sit out one to-night and be ashamed 
 of himself in the morning. Let 's get, my boy, it 's 
 just on the half -hour. [We must be there. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 27 
 
 "What precisely would have happened had so 
 great a man not been there, the merely humble 
 individual might hardly dare to say. As events 
 went, Mr. Charles Izard put on a light great-coat 
 with a great deal of splendid ceremony, and giving 
 the many-colored lackey a shilling, strolled pomp- 
 ously into the street with his cigar still alight. 
 Passing His Majesty's, before whose doors the 
 boards " House Full " were conspicuously dis- 
 played, the pair walked leisurely on to the front 
 entrance of the Carlton Theatre, and were there 
 gratified by one of those spectacles which London 
 alone can display upon the first night of a new 
 production. 
 
 Cabs, carriages, electric broughams, even the 
 motor-cars, arrived in quick succession before the 
 brightly lighted vestibule of one of the prettiest 
 theatres in London. From these emerged women 
 in blazing evening dress, men who had dined, and 
 men capricious and irritable because they had 
 not dined young girls to whom all plays were a 
 dream of delight, mere boys who already had 
 voted the whole thing ' ' rot. ' ' As for the critics, 
 they were chiefly patrons of hansoms; though a 
 few arrived on foot, two and two, each trying to 
 learn what the other would say about a perform- 
 ance which many had witnessed at a dress re- 
 hearsal. Short men and tall men, bearded men 
 and bald men, they cared nothing for the success 
 of the play, but everything for the glory of the 
 notices they must write. An historical drama 
 could not fail to give them a fine opening. They 
 lolled back easily in their stalls as men whose lit-
 
 28 
 
 erary knives were for the moment sheathed, but 
 would be busy anon. 
 
 The theatre was packed to the very ceiling when 
 the curtain rose, and few of the amiable first- 
 nighters were missing from the audience. Famous 
 lawyers, doctors of letters, and doctors of med- 
 icine, editors of illustrated papers and editors of 
 papers that were not illustrated, literary ladies 
 and ladies who were not literary, novelists, essay- 
 ists, poets, that curious quasi-Bohemian crowd 
 which constitutes a London first-night house, 
 stood for most of the arts and many of the 
 sciences of our day; and yet in the main brought 
 a child's heart to the play as Bohemian crowds 
 will. The cynics of eighteen, mostly representing 
 halfpenny evening papers, were among the few 
 who denounced the drama before they had seen it. 
 " ' Haddon HalP on the stage again why," said 
 they, " there have been twenty Di Vernons in 
 our time and why should this Di Vernon find 
 mercy? ' She was already in the coach of failure 
 so far as they were concerned. The curtain rose 
 upon their mutterings and did not still them. 
 
 It was a pretty scene, the park of famous Had- 
 don Hall and the meeting between pretty Dorothy 
 Vernon and her young lover beneath the shelter- 
 ing yews. The unknown debutante, Etta Komney, 
 received a lukewarm welcome from the audience; 
 but all admitted the grace of her attitudes, the 
 charm of her voice, and the earnestness she 
 brought to her assistance. A little amateurish in 
 the earlier moments of the play she warmed to 
 her work anon ; and a love scene which would have
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 29 
 
 been ridiculous had it been ill-played, she lifted 
 by natural talent to a pinnacle at least of tolera- 
 tion. So the curtain fell to some applause; and 
 the great impressario, Mr. Charles Izard, again 
 ventured the opinion that she was " bully," 
 though his voice had not that confident ring it 
 possessed at the dinner-table. Could the girl 
 make a failure of it, after all? It was just pos- 
 sible. And undoubtedly the play was not a mas- 
 terpiece. 
 
 So the Second Act passed and found him not a 
 little anxious, and he sat far back in his box when 
 the curtain rose upon the Third and concentrated 
 his whole attention upon the performance. The 
 scene was that of the Long Gallery at Haddon; 
 the episode, a midnight meeting between Dorothy 
 and her lover. Dressed in spotless white with the 
 softest black hair tumbling about her almost to 
 her knees, young and supple limbs moving ele- 
 gantly, a face that Reynolds might have loved to 
 paint, a voice that was music to hear never- 
 theless all these physical attributes were speedily 
 forgotten in the sincerity of Etta Eomney's acting 
 and the human feeling which animated it. Here 
 was one who loved every stone of this ancient 
 house which the quivering canvas attempted to 
 portray; who had wandered abroad often in its 
 stately park, who spoke the tongue of three cen- 
 turies ago more naturally than her own, who had 
 been so moved by this story of Di Vernon's life 
 that she gave her very soul to its re-telling. From 
 amazement the audiences passed quickly to a kind 
 of entrancement which only genius can command.
 
 30 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 It did not applaud; its silence was astounding 
 not a whisper, scarce the rustle of a dress could 
 be heard. The spell growing, it followed the 
 white figure from scene to scene ; was unconscious, 
 perhaps, that any other than she trod the stage; 
 devoured her with amazed eyes; heard, for the 
 first time, each a tale of mediaeval England as 
 neither historian nor romancer had ever told. 
 When the curtain fell, the people still sat in si- 
 lence a little while; but the applause came at 
 length, upon a tempest of wild excitement rarely 
 known in a modern theatre. 
 
 "Who was she? Whence had she come? 
 
 A hundred ready tongues asked the question 
 which none appeared able to answer. 
 
 There was but one man in the house who made 
 sure of Etta Eomney's identity, and he was a 
 Roumanian. 
 
 Count Odin had witnessed the girl 's debut from 
 a box on the second tier. 
 
 " She is a great actress," he said to his com- 
 panion, Felix Horowitz, a young attache from 
 the Hungarian Embassy; " I am going to make 
 love to her." 
 
 The young man looked up quickly. 
 
 " I promise you failure," he said " a woman 
 who can spfSak of England like that will marry 
 none but an Englishman." - w
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SUCCESS AND AFTERWAKDS 
 
 ETTA BOMNEY sat in her little dressing-room 
 when the play was over, so very tired after all she 
 had done that even the congratulations of Mr. 
 Charles Izard failed to give her pleasure. 
 
 Unlike the successful actress of our time, she 
 had not yet attracted the attention of the 
 ' ' flower ' ' brigade, as little Dulcie Holmes, one of 
 her friends in the theatre, would call them; and 
 despite her success and the astonishment it had 
 provoked, no baskets of roses decorated her 
 dressing-table, nor were expensive bouquets 
 thrown " negligently " to the various corners of 
 the room. Two red roses in a cheap vase ; a bunch 
 of narcissi, which had obviously come from the 
 flower-girls of the Criterion, witnessed her tri- 
 umph in lonely majesty. Even the redoubtable 
 Mr. Izard, not anticipating the splendor of the 
 evening, had forgotten to " command " a basket 
 for his star. He, good man, had but one word 
 for his surprising fortune. " It's bully," he said 
 . and repeated the conviction usque ad nauseam. 
 
 Etta sat alone, but it was not for many minutes 
 after the curtain fell. Little Dulcie Holmes, the 
 artist's daughter, who had a " walking part " at 
 twenty-four shillings a week, came leaping into
 
 32 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 the room presently and catching her friend in 
 both arms kissed her rapturously. 
 
 " Oh, Etta," she cried ardently, " oh, my dear 
 t they won't go away even now. Can't you hear 
 them calling for you? " 
 
 " They are too kind to me," was the quiet re- 
 sponse, ' * and all because I love Derbyshire. Isn 't 
 it absurd? but, of course, I'm very pleased, 
 Dulcie." 
 
 * * Think of it, dear Etta. Your very first night 
 and Mr. Izard in such a state that he'd give you 
 a hundred a week if you asked him. Of course, 
 you won't play for nothing now, Etta." 
 
 " I've never thought of it," said Etta still with- 
 out apparent emotion . . . and then with a 
 very sweet smile, she asked, " What would you 
 say if I told you that I was about to give up the 
 theatre altogether, Dulcie? " 
 
 Dulcie opened her eyes so wide (and they were 
 pretty blue eyes too) that the rest of her piquant 
 face was quite dwarfed by them. 
 
 " Give up the theatre. You're joking. Here 
 Lucy here's Etta talking of giving up the the- 
 atre. Now, what do you say to that ? ' 
 
 Lucy Grey, a pretty brunette, whose share in 
 the triumph was the saucy delivery of the mo- 
 mentous line, " Oh, Captain, how could you? ' 
 (she playing a maid's part for thirty shillings a 
 week), would not believe that Dulcie could possi- 
 bly be serious. 
 
 " Whatever will the papers say to-morrow? ' 
 she exclaimed. * ' Did you ever think she could do
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 33 
 
 it I I didn't, and I'm not going to say that I did. 
 Why, here 's Mr. Izard quite beside himself. ' ' 
 
 11 And he'll be beside Etta just now wanting 
 her to sign a three years' engagement as prin- 
 cipal. Now, you take my advice and don't you 
 do it, dear not unless he'll pay you a hundred a 
 week. That's where girls ruin their prospects, 
 taking on things just when they're excited. If it 
 were me, wouldn't I ask him something ! Perhaps 
 he'll play hot and cold they sometimes do; but 
 your fortune's made, Etta, and I can't think why 
 you take it so quietly. How I should dance and 
 sing if I were you " 
 
 Etta had begun to gather up the heavy tresses 
 of her long black hair by this time; but she did 
 so slowly and deliberately as one whom success 
 had neither surprised nor agitated. Could the 
 two young girls about her have read her thoughts 
 they would have been astonished indeed. Not 
 idly had she asked Dulcie Holmes what people 
 would say if she gave up the theatre entirely. For 
 give it up she must. In one short month her 
 father would return from the Continent. She 
 must be at home by that time, and none must ever 
 know that she had left her home. 
 
 " We'll talk it all over in the morning," she 
 said, still smiling " I want both of you to come 
 and see me to-morrow. We shall have read the 
 papers by that time. * Whatever will they say 
 about me? " 
 
 " It doesn't matter what they say. Everyone 
 in London will be talking about you before the 
 week's out. All the same, the papers are going
 
 34 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 to be nice. Lucy's cousin was in the vestibule 
 ^between the acts and he heard the critics talking. 
 They called you ' immense,' dear. That means 
 bad luck for the play, but everything for you. You 
 just wait until the morning comes." 
 
 11 I fear I'll have to," said Etta, with a sly 
 look toward them; but just then there came a 
 tap on the door and who should it be but a mes- 
 senger with the intimation that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Charles Izard expected Miss Etta Eomney to 
 supper at the Carlton Hotel as soon as she could 
 conveniently join their party. To the extreme 
 astonishment both of Dulcie Holmes and Lucy 
 Grey, Etta appeared to be distressed beyond 
 words by this customary invitation. 
 
 * ' Oh, I never can go ; I dare not go whatever 
 shall I do? " she asked. 
 
 ' * Not go ! " cried Dulcie, almost too amazed to 
 speak; " why, of course you must go. Charles 
 would send soldiers to fetch you if you refused. 
 The star always sups with him on a first night. I 
 never heard of such a thing. She talks of not 
 going, Lucy! ' 
 
 " That's the excitement," said Lucy wisely. " I 
 should be just the same in her place. She wants 
 a glass of wine. She'll break out crying just now 
 if she doesn't get one." 
 
 Their solicitude for Etta was very pretty and 
 really honest. They were too fond of her to be 
 jealous. Women who love loyally welcome their 
 friends successes; men rarely do. Dulcie and 
 Lucy might say * ' what a lucky girl she is ; " but 
 they would not have wished her to be less so.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 35 
 
 As for Etta herself, the invitation perplexed 
 her to distraction. How if she met some one who 
 knew her at the Carlton. It was very unlikely she 
 thought. Fifteen years passed in a French con- 
 vent with few English pupils do not admit of 
 many embarrassing acquaintances. The subse- 
 quent years, lived chiefly in the park of a medi- 
 aeval country house rarely open to strangers, were 
 not likely to be more dangerous. Etta knew that 
 discovery might be disastrous to her beyond the 
 ordinary meaning of the term ; but her cleverness 
 told her that the risk of it was very small. It was 
 then after eleven o'clock. She remembered that 
 they turned the people out of the Carlton Hotel at 
 half -past twelve. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Izard that I will come," she said to 
 the messenger, and then to the girls, " You won't 
 forget to-morrow. Bun round early and we'll 
 read the newspapers together. And, dear girls, 
 we'll spend Sunday at Henley, as I promised 
 you." 
 
 They kissed her affectionately, promising not 
 to forget. There was not so much pleasure in 
 their lives that they should pass it by when a good 
 fairy approached them. Sharing rooms together, 
 they had as yet discovered upon some fifty-odd 
 shillings a week little of the glamour and none of 
 the rewards of theatrical life. For them the 
 theatre was the house of darkening hope, wherein 
 success passed by them every hour crying, 1 1 Look 
 at me how beautiful I am; but not for you." 
 They had bclioved that the pilgrim's way would
 
 36 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 be strewn with gold they discovered it to be 
 paved with promises. 
 
 " Of course, we shall come," said Lucy in her 
 matter of fact way; " whatever should we be 
 thinking of if we didn't." 
 
 But Dulcie said: 
 
 " I'm going to wear my pink blouse on Sunday 
 and the hat you gave me didn't I tell you that 
 Harry Lauder would be at Henley? Well, then, 
 he will . . and, Etta, could you, would you, 
 mind if I " 
 
 Etta laughingly told her that she could not, 
 would not positively mind at all ; and then remem- 
 bering how late it was, she hurried from the 
 theatre and found herself, just as the clocks were 
 striking the quarter-past eleven, in the hall of the 
 Carlton, standing before Mr. Charles Izard and 
 listening but scarcely hearing the shrewd com- 
 pliments which that astute gentleman deigned to 
 shower upon them. 
 
 " You've struck it thick, my dear," he was 
 saying. " Get twelve months' experience in my 
 company and you'll make a great actress. I say 
 what I mean. All you want is just what my thea- 
 tre will teach you the little tricks of our trade 
 which go right there, though the public doesn't 
 know much of them. Come and have supper now, 
 and we'll talk business in the morning. I 
 shouldn't wonder if the critics spread themselves 
 over this. Don't pay too much attention to them 
 they dare not quarrel with me. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Charles Izard, a frank florid woman, was 
 much less discreet and much more honest.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 37 
 
 " Perfectly adorable, my child," she said; " it 
 was joy all the time to me. You couldn't have 
 played it better if you'd have been born in a 
 Duke's house. Wherever you got your manners 
 from, I don't know. Now, really, Charles, don't 
 say it wasn't; don't contradict me, Charles. You 
 know that Miss Eomney is going to make a for- 
 tune for you; and you're rich enough as it is. 
 Why, child, the man's worth five million dollars 
 if he's worth a penny. And it isn't five years 
 since I was making my own clothes." 
 
 The supper room unfortunately put an end to 
 these interesting revelations. Etta followed the 
 loquacious Mrs. Izard as closely as she could, 
 being sure that such a gorgeous apparition (for 
 the lady was dressed from head to foot in scarlet) 1 
 would divert attention from herself ; and, in truth, 
 it did so. A few turned their heads to say," That's 
 Izard and there 's the only woman of his company 
 who fixes her own salary; " but the supper was 
 already in full swing and the people for the most 
 part silent upon their own entertainment or that 
 of their guests. Of the six or seven women who 
 remarked the stately girl in Izard 's company, the 
 majority first said, " What a charming gown! ' 
 The men rarely noticed her. They had taken their 
 second glasses of champagne by this time and 
 were genially flirting with the women at their own 
 tables. If they said anything, it was just, " What 
 a pretty girl! " 
 
 And what were Etta's thoughts as she sat for 
 the first time amid that garish company, typical 
 of one of London's sets, and in some sense of
 
 38 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 society? Possibly she would have had some diffi- 
 culty in expressing them. The music excited her, 
 the ceaseless chatter hurt ears long accustomed to 
 silence. In truth, she had tried to depict this 
 scene in her Derbyshire home many times since 
 her father had shut his gates upon the world. But 
 the reality seemed so very different from her 
 dreams ; so very artificial, so shallow, so far from 
 splendid. And beneath her disappointment lay 
 the fear that some accident might disclose her 
 identity. How, she asked, if she stood up there 
 and told them all, " My name is not Etta but 
 Evelyn. To-night I am an actress at the Carlton 
 Theatre, but you will know me by and by as an 
 Earl's daughter." Would they not have said that 
 she was a mad woman? Such a confession would 
 have been nothing but the truth, none the less. 
 
 She had planned and carried out, most daringly, 
 as wild an escapade as ever had been recorded in 
 the story of that romantic home of hers, to which 
 she must soon return as secretly as she had come. 
 Until this moment her success had been complete. 
 Not a man or woman in all London had turned 
 upon her to say, " You are not Etta Eomney but 
 another, the daughter of the one-time Robert For- 
 rester, of whom your cousin's death has made an 
 earl." Living a secluded life in a quiet lodging 
 in Bedford Square, none remarked her presence; 
 none had the curiosity to ask who she was or 
 whence she came. The very daring of her ad- 
 venture thrilled and delighted her. She would 
 remember it to the end of her life ; and when she 
 returned to Derbyshire the stimulus of it would
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 39 
 
 go with her, and permit her to say, ' ' I, too, have 
 known the hour of success, the meaning of ap- 
 plause, the glamour of the world. ' ' 
 
 These thoughts followed her to the supper room 
 at the Carlton and were accountable for the in- 
 difference with which she listened to the praises 
 and the prophecies of that truly great man, Mr. 
 Charles Izard. He, wonderful being, confessed to 
 himself that he could make nothing of the girl 
 and that she was altogether beyond his experience. 
 Her stately manners frightened him. When he 
 called her, " my dear," as all women are called 
 in the theatre, the words would sometimes halt 
 upon his lips and he would hurriedly correct them 
 and say, " Miss," instead. The first guess that 
 he had made at her identity would have it that she 
 was a country parson's daughter, or perhaps a 
 relative of the agent or the steward of a Derby- 
 shire estate. Now, however, he found himself of 
 another opinion altogether, and there came to 
 him the uneasy conviction that some great mys- 
 tery lay behind his good fortune and would stand 
 eventually between him and his hopes. 
 
 Now many of Mr. Charles Izard 's friends vis- 
 ited his supper-table from time to time, and of 
 these one or two were languid young men in 
 quest of introductions. These stared at Etta, 
 open-mouthed and rudely; but her host made 
 short work of them and they ambled away, seek- 
 ing whom they might devour elsewhere, but never 
 with any ard.or. Supper was almost done, indeed 
 before anyone of sufficient importance to engage 
 the great Charles Izard 's attention made his ap-
 
 40 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 pearance. At last, however, lie hailed a stranger 
 with some enthusiasm, and this at a moment when 
 Etta was actually listening to a piteous narrative 
 of Mrs. Charles' domestic achievements. 
 
 " Why. Count, what good fortune tossed you 
 out of the blanket ? Come and sit right here. You 
 know my wife, of course? ' 
 
 Mrs. Izard and Etta turned their heads together 
 to see a somewhat pale youth with dark chestnut 
 hair and wonderfully plaintive eyes a youth 
 whose dark skin and slightly eccentric dress pro- 
 claimed him unmistakably to be a foreigner; but 
 one who was quite at home in any society in which 
 he might find himself. The face was pleasing; 
 the manners those of a man who has travelled 
 far and has yet to learn the meaning of the word 
 embarrassment. To Mr. Izard he extended a well- 
 shaped hand upon which a ruby ring shone a 
 little vulgarly, but to Etta he spoke with some- 
 thing of real cordiality in his tone. 
 
 " Why, Miss Eomney," he exclaimed, his ac- 
 cent betraying a considerable acquaintance with 
 Western America, " why, Miss Eomney, we are 
 no strangers surely! " 
 
 Etta colored visibly; but fearing a misconcep- 
 tion of her momentary confusion, she said to Mrs. 
 Izard : 
 
 " The Count and I ran into each other in the 
 Strand the other day. I fear I was very clumsy. ' ' 
 
 " So little," said the Count, " that never shall 
 I call a cab in London again without remember- 
 ing my good fortune." 
 
 He drew a chair to Etta's side and sat so near
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 41 
 
 to her that even the great man remarked the 
 circumstance. 
 
 " That's how I'd like to see 'em sit down in my 
 comedies," he remarked with real feeling. " The 
 young men I meet can't take a chair, let alone fix 
 themselves straight on it. You come along to 
 me, Count, and I'll pay you a hundred dollars a 
 week to be master of the ceremonies. Our stage 
 manager used to do stunts on a bicycle. He thinks 
 people should do the same on chairs." 
 
 Count Odin looked at the speaker a little con- 
 temptuously with the look of a man who never 
 forgets his birthright or jests about it. To Etta 
 he said with an evident intention of explaining his 
 position : 
 
 * ' Mr. Izard crossed over with me the last time 
 I have come from America. I remember that he 
 had the difficulty with his chair on that occasion. ' ' 
 And then he asked her ' ' Of course you have been 
 across, Miss Eomney; you know America, I will 
 be sure? " 
 
 Etta answered him with simple candor, that she 
 had travelled but little. 
 
 1 ' I was educated in a convent. You may im- 
 agine what our travels were. Once every year we 
 had a picnic on the Seine at Les Andlays. That's 
 where I got my knowledge of the world, ' ' she said 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " Then your ideas are of the French? " He put 
 it to her with an object she could not divine, 
 though she answered as quickly. 
 
 " They are entirely English both in my pref- 
 erences and my friendships," was her reply, nor
 
 42 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 could she have told anyone why she put this af- 
 front upon him. 
 
 " She's going to make friends enough out yon- 
 der in the Fall," said Izard, whose quick ear 
 caught the tone of their conversation. " I shall 
 take this company over in September if we play 
 to any money this side. Miss Romney goes with 
 me, and I promise her a good time any way. 
 America's the country for her talent. You've 
 too many played-out actors over here. Most of 
 them think themselves beautiful, and that's why 
 their theatres close up." 
 
 He laughed a flattering tribute to his own 
 cleverness, as much as to say " My theatres 
 never close up." Count Odin on his part smiled 
 a little dryly as though he might yet have some- 
 thing to say to the proposed arrangement. 
 
 " Are you looking forward to the journey, Miss 
 Eomney? " he asked Etta in a low voice. 
 
 " I am not thinking at all about it," she said 
 very truthfully. 
 
 ' * Then perhaps you are looking backward, ' ' he 
 suggested, but in such a low tone that even Izard 
 did not hear him. 
 
 When Etta turned her startled eyes upon him, 
 he was already addressing some commonplace re- 
 mark to his hostess, while Mr. Charles Izard 
 amused himself by diligently checking the total 
 of the bill. 
 
 ' ' I could keep a steam yacht on what I pay for 
 wine in this hotel," he remarked jovially, address- 
 ing himself so directly to the ladies that even his 
 good dame protested.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 43 
 
 " My dear Charles," she exclaimed, " you are 
 not suggesting that I have drunk it? " 
 
 " Well, I hope some one has," was the affable 
 retort. " Let's go and smoke. It's suffocating 
 in here. ' ' 
 
 Etta had been greatly alarmed by the Count's 
 remark, though she was very far from believing 
 that it could bear the sinister interpretation which 
 her first alarm had put upon it. This fear of 
 discovery had dogged her steps since she quitted 
 her home to embark upon as wild an adventure as 
 a young girl ever set her hand to; but if dis- 
 covery came, she reflected, it would not be at the 
 bidding of a foreigner whom she had seen for the 
 first time in her life but a few days ago. Such 
 wisdom permitted her quickly to recover her com- 
 posure, and she pleaded the lateness of the hour 
 and her own fatigue as the best of reasons for 
 leaving the hotel. 
 
 " I am glad you were pleased," she said to 
 Izard, holding out her hand directly they entered 
 the hall. ' ' Of course it has all been very dreadful 
 to me and I'm still in a dream about it. The 
 newspapers will tell me the truth to-morrow, I 
 feel sure of it." 
 
 He shook her hand and held it while he 
 answered her. 
 
 " Don't you go thinking too much about the 
 newspapers," he said, with a splendid sense of 
 his own importance. ' ' When Charles Izard says 
 that a play's got to go, it's going, my dear, though 
 the great William Shakespeare himself got out of 
 his grave to write it down. You've done very well
 
 44 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 to-night and you'll do better when you know your 
 way about the stage. Go home and sleep on that, 
 and let the critics spread themselves as much as 
 they please." 
 
 As before, when she had first come to the hotel, 
 Mrs. Izard defied the warning glances thrown to- 
 ward her by the man of business and repeated her 
 honest praise of Etta's performance. 
 
 11 It's years since I heard such enthusiasm in a 
 theatre," she admitted; " why, Charles was quite 
 beside himself. I do believe you made him cry, 
 my dear." 
 
 The mere suggestion that the great man could 
 shed tears under any circumstances whatever ap- 
 pealed irresistibly to Count Odin's sense of 
 humor. 
 
 11 Put that in the advertisement and you shall 
 have all the town at your theatre. An impres- 
 sario's tears! They should be gathered in cups 
 of jasper and of gold. But I imagine that they 
 will be," he added gayly before wishing Etta a 
 last good-night. 
 
 " We shall meet again," he said to her a little 
 way apart. " I am the true believer in the acci- 
 dent of destiny. Let us say au revoir rather than 
 good-night. ' ' 
 
 Etta looked him straight in the eyes and said, 
 " Good-night."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TWO PEESONALITIES 
 
 ETTA EOMNEY was very early awake upon the fol- 
 lowing morning; and not for the first time since 
 she had come to London did her environment so 
 perplex her that some minutes passed before she 
 could recall the circumstances which had brought 
 her to that square room and made her a stranger 
 in a house of strangers. 
 
 Leaping up with a young girl's agility, she drew 
 the blind aside and looked out upon deserted 
 Bedford Square, as beautiful in that early light 
 of morning as Bedford Square could ever be. 
 
 How still it all was ! Not a footfall anywhere. 
 No milk carts yet to rattle by and suggest the 
 busy day. Nothing but a soft sunshine upon the 
 drawn blinds, a lonely patch of grass beneath 
 lonely trees, and great gaunt houses side by side 
 and so close together that each appeared to be 
 elbowing its neighbor for room in which to stand 
 upright. 
 
 Etta returned to her bed and crouched upon it 
 like a pretty wild animal, half afraid of the day. 
 A whole troop of fears and hopes rushed upon 
 her excited brain. What had she done? Of what 
 madness had she not been guilty? To-day the 
 newspapers would tell her. If they told her father 
 also her father whom she believed to be snug in
 
 46 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 distant Tuscany what then, and with what con- 
 sequences to herself! A fearful dread of this 
 came upon her when she thought of it. She hid 
 her eyes from the light and could hear her own 
 heart beating beneath the bed-clothes. 
 
 She was not Etta now, but knew herself by an- 
 other name, the name of Evelyn, which in this 
 mood of repentance became her better, she 
 thought. True, she had been Etta when she ap- 
 peared before the people last night, the wild mad 
 Etta, given to feverish dreams in her old Derby- 
 shire home and trying to realize them here amid 
 the garish scenes of London's dramatic life. But 
 arrayed in the white garb of momentary penitence, 
 she was Evelyn, the good nun's pupil; the docile 
 gentle Evelyn awaiting the redemption of her 
 father's promise that the gates of the world 
 should not be shut forever upon her youth, but 
 should open some day to the galleries of a young 
 girl's pleasure. It was the Etta in her which 
 made her impatient and unable to await the ap- 
 pointed time; the Etta which broke out in this 
 mad escapade, ever trembling upon the brink of 
 discovery and fearful in its possibilities of re- 
 proach and remorse. But the Evelyn reckoned up 
 the consequences and was afraid of them. 
 
 She could not sleep again although it was then 
 tyut six o'clock of the morning, and she lay for 
 more than an hour listening to those growing 
 sounds which are the overture of a London day. 
 Workmen discussing politics, amiably if in strident 
 tones, went by with heavy tread upon their way 
 to shop or factory. Milk carts appeared with
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 47 
 
 their far from musical accompaniment of doleful 
 cries and rattling cans. An amorous policeman 
 conducted flirtations dexterously with various 
 cooks, and passed thence with sad step. Then 
 came the postman with his cheery rat-tat at nearly 
 every house ; the newsboy with the welcome cry of 
 * ; piper ' ' ; the first of the cabs, the market carts, 
 the railway vans, each contributing something to 
 that voice of tumult without which the metropolis 
 would seem to be a dead city. 
 
 Etta sat up in her bed once more when she 
 heard the newsboy in the square. The papers! 
 Was it possible that they would tell the public all 
 about last night's performance; that her name 
 would figure in them; that she would be praised 
 or blamed according to the critics ' judgment f The 
 thought made her heart beat. She had been warned 
 by that great man, Mr. Charles Izard, not to pay 
 too much attention to what the papers said; but 
 how could she help doing so ? A woman is rarely as 
 vain as a man, but in curiosity she far surpasses 
 him. Etta was just dying of curiosity to read 
 what the critics said about her when old Mrs. 
 "Wegg, her landlady, appeared with her morning 
 tea; and this good dame she implored to bring 
 up the newspapers at once. 
 
 1 1 I can 't wait a minute, Mrs. Wegg, ' ' she said, 
 for, of course, the old lady knew that she was a 
 " theatrical." " Do please send Emma up at 
 once it's absolute torture." 
 
 The excellent Mrs. Wegg, who had her own 
 ideas of newspaper reading, expressed her sym- 
 pathy in motherly language:
 
 48 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 u Ah, I feel that way myself about the stories 
 in ' Snippets, ' ' ' she said. * ' I assure you, my dear, 
 that when the Duke of Eochester ran away with 
 the hospital nurse, I couldn't sleep in my bed at 
 night for wanting to know what had become of 
 her. I'll send Emma up this minute the lazy, 
 good-for-nothin', gossipin' girl she is, to be sure. 
 Now, you drink up your tea and don't worrit 
 about it. I've known them that can't act a bit 
 praised up to the sky by the crickets. I'm sure 
 they'll say something nice about you." 
 
 She waddled from the room leaving Etta to in- 
 tolerable moments of suspense. When the news- 
 papers came, a very bundle which she had ordered 
 yesterday, she grabbed them at hazard, and catch- 
 ing up one of the morning halfpenny papers imme- 
 diately read the disastrous headline, * ' Poor Play 
 at the Carlton. " So it was failure after all, then ! 
 Her heart beat wildly ; she hardly had the courage 
 to proceed. 
 
 POOE PLAY AT THE CAELTON 
 
 BUT 
 
 A PEESONAL TEIUMPH FOE MISS 
 EOMNEY 
 
 The Old Story of Haddon Hall Again 
 
 The Star Which Did Not Fail To Shine 
 
 Etta read now without taking her eyes from the 
 paper. The notice would be described by Mr.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 49 
 
 Izard later in the day as a ' * streaky one ' ' layers 
 of praise and layers of blame following one an- 
 other as a rare tribute to the discretion of the 
 writer, who had been far from sure if the play 
 would be a success or a failure. In sporting lan- 
 guage, the gentleman had " hedged " at every 
 line, but his praise of Etta Eomney was unstinted. 
 
 "Here," he said, "is one of the most natural actresses 
 recently discovered upon the English stage. Miss Eom- 
 ney has sincerity, a charming presence, a feeling for this 
 old world comedy which it is impossible to overpraise. 
 We undertake to say that experience will make of her a 
 great actress. She has flashed upon our horizon as one or 
 two others have done to instantly win the favor of the 
 public and the praise of the critic." 
 
 Etta put the paper aside and took up a notice 
 in a very different strain. This was from the 
 stately pages of " The Thunderer." Herein you 
 had a dissertation upon Haddon Hall, the Eliza- 
 bethan Drama, the Comedie Franchise, the 
 weather, and the tragedies of .^Eschylus. The 
 writer thought the play a good specimen of its 
 kind. He, too, admitted that in Miss Etta Romney 
 there was the making of a great actress : 
 
 " But she is not English," he protested, "we refuse to 
 believe it. An artiste who can recreate the atmosphere 
 of a mediaeval age and win a verdict of conviction has not 
 learnt her art in Jermyn Street. We look for the biog- 
 rapher to help us. Has the Porte St. Martin nothing to 
 say to this story? Has Paris no share in it? We await 
 the answer with some expectation. Here is a comedy of 
 which the Third Act should be memorable. But whoever 
 designed the scene in the chapel is capable de tout. . . "
 
 50 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 So to the end did this amiable appreciation ap- 
 plaud the player and tolerate the play for her 
 sake. Etta understood that it must mean much 
 to her; but she was too feverishly impatient to 
 dwell upon it, and she turned to the " Daily 
 Shuffler " wishing that she had eyes to read all 
 the papers at once. The " Daily Shuffler " was 
 very cruel: 
 
 "Miss Etta Komney," it said, "is worthy of better 
 things. As a whole, the performance was beneath con- 
 tempt. At the same time, we are not unprepared to hear 
 that an ignorant public is ready to patronize it." 
 
 Had Etta known that the author of this screed 
 was a youth of eighteen, who had asked for two 
 stalls and been allotted but one, she might have 
 been less crestfallen than she was when her fin- 
 gers discovered this considerable thorn upon her 
 rose-bush. But she knew little of the drama and 
 less than nothing of its criticism ; and there were 
 tears in her eyes when she put the papers down. 
 
 " How cruel," she said, " how could people 
 write of others like that! ' : She did not believe 
 that she could have the heart to read more, and 
 might not have done so had not little Dulcie 
 Holmes flung herself into the room at that very 
 moment and positively screamed an expression of 
 her rapture. 
 
 " Oh, you dear," she cried, " oh, you splendid 
 Etta! Have you read them! Have you seen 
 them? Now isn't it lovely! Aren't you proud 
 of them, Etta? Aren't you just crying for joy? ' 
 
 Lucy Grey, who had climbed the stairs in a more
 
 THE LADY 'EVELYN 51 
 
 stately fashion and was very much out of breath 
 at the top of them, came in upon the climax to tell 
 Dulcie not to carry on so dreadfully and to assure 
 Etta that the notices were very nice. She, how- 
 ever, soon joined a shrill voice to her friend's, and 
 the two, sitting upon the bed, began to read the 
 papers together with such a running babble of 
 comment, interjections, cries, and good-natured 
 expressions of envy, that the neighbors might well 
 have believed the house to be on fire. 
 
 1 ' The curtain fell to rapturous oh, Etta now, 
 Lucy, do keep quiet her acting in the Gallery 
 Scene I say that I began it first her acting in 
 the Gallery Scene she has a grace so subtle, a 
 manner so winning isn't that lovely! now, 
 Lucy, be quiet we began to think after the Second 
 Act oh, bother the Second Act now, there you 
 go again she is indeed the embodiment of that 
 picture romance has painted for us and history 
 destroyed oh, Etta ! ' ' and so on, and so on. 
 
 Etta admitted upon this that they had some 
 good excuse for congratulating her. In the thea- 
 tre she found it quite natural to listen to the 
 girls' pleasant chatter and to put herself upon 
 their level both as to Bohemian habits of life and 
 odd views of the world. Away from the theatre, 
 however, the Evelyn in her would assert itself. 
 Despite her affectionate nature, she found herself 
 not a little repelled by that very freedom of 
 speech and act which seemed to her so delightful 
 a thing upon the stage. She was too kind-hearted 
 to show it, but her distaste would break out at 
 intervals, especially in those quiet morning hours
 
 52 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 when the freshness of the day reproached the 
 memories of the night with its garish scenes and 
 its jingling melodies. To-day, especially, she would 
 have given much to be alone to think upon it all 
 and try to understand both what she had done 
 and what the consequences might be. But the 
 girls gave her no opportunity even for a moment 's 
 leisure. 
 
 11 You said we'd lunch at the Savoy, Etta 
 
 " And you'd drive us in the Park after- 
 wards " 
 
 1 1 Aren 't you really very rich, Etta f You must 
 be, I'm sure. Do you know I have only got three 
 shillings in the world and that must last me until 
 salaries are paid. ' ' 
 
 * ' I Ve worn this dress seven months, ' ' said Lucy, 
 " and look at it. Who'll write nice things about 
 me with my petticoat in rags? Well, I suppose 
 what is to be is to be. I'm going to the Vaudeville 
 in the Autumn and perhaps my ship will come in. ' ' 
 
 " My dear children," said Etta kindly, " you 
 know that I will always help you when I can, and 
 you must let me help you to-day when I am happy 
 so happy," she added almost to herself, " that 
 I do not believe it is real even now. ' ' 
 
 They laughed at her quaint ideas and would 
 have read the notices over again to her but for 
 her emphatic protest. 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' she said, ' ' we have so much to do ; so 
 much to think of. After all, what does it matter 
 while the sun is shining? "
 
 .CHAPTER V 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 THE sunny day, indeed, passed all too quickly. 
 A splendid telegram, fifty words long, from the 
 splendid Mr. Charles Izard set the seal of that 
 great man's approval upon the verdict of the 
 newspapers. 
 
 " You have got right there,*' he wired, " the 
 business follows. See me at four o'clock without 
 fail. . . ." 
 
 " That means a long engagement," said the 
 shrewd Dulcie, when she read the telegram. 
 
 Lucy, prudent always, thought that Etta should 
 have a gentleman to advise her. 
 
 " Don't go to the theatre-lawyers," she said; 
 ' ' they always make love to you. If you had a gen- 
 tleman friend, it would be nice to speak to him 
 about it. Mr. Izard knows what he's got in his 
 lucky bag. Now, don't you go to signing anything 
 just because he asks you, dear. Many's the poor 
 girl who's engaged herself when half the mana- 
 gers in London wanted her. I should hold my 
 head very high if it were me. That's the only 
 way with such people." 
 
 Etta promised to do so, and having taken them 
 to lunch, as she promised, she found herself, at
 
 54 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 four o 'clock of the afternoon, in the elegeant office 
 wherein the great Charles Izard did his business. 
 Then she remembered with what awe and trep- 
 idation she had entered that sanctum upon her 
 first business visit to London. How different it 
 was to-day, and yet how unreal still! The little 
 man had the morning and evening papers proper- 
 ly displayed upon his immense writing table ; and, 
 when Etta came in, he wheeled up a chair for her 
 with all the ceremony with which he was capable. 
 
 " Why, now," he said, " what did I tell you! 
 Afraid of the newspapers, eh? Well, there they 
 are, my dear. Don't tell me you haven't read 'em, 
 for I shouldn't believe you." 
 
 Etta admitted that she might have glanced at 
 them. 
 
 * ' Every one seems very kind to me, ' ' she said. 
 * ' I wish they had spoken as well of the play ; but 
 I suppose they must find fault with something. I 
 know so little about these things, Mr. Izard." 
 
 " Then you'll soon learn, my dear. As for 
 what they say about the play, that don't matter 
 two cents while the business keeps up. We '11 take 
 $9,000 this week or I know nothing about it. Let 
 the newspapers enjoy themselves while they can. 
 They've been kind enough to you; but you're 
 clever enough to understand the advantages my 
 name gives you. Produce that play at any other 
 house and let any other man bill it and they'd 
 have the notices up in a fortnight. But they'll 
 take just what I give 'em, because I know just 
 what they want and how they want it. That's 
 how we're going to do business together. You
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 55 
 
 can earn good money with me and I can find you 
 the plays. My cards are all on the table; I'll sign 
 a three years' engagement here and now and pay 
 you a hundred dollars a week that 's 20 sterling, 
 English money. If you want to think it over, take 
 your own time. You've a good deal of talent for 
 the stage, and my theatre is going to make you 
 that's what you've to say to yourself, ' Charles 
 Izard will produce me and his name spells money. ' 
 As I say, take your own time to think it over. 
 And don't forget you are the first woman in all 
 my life to whom I have offered a hundred dollars 
 a week on a first engagement." 
 
 Etta listened a little timidly to these frank and 
 business-like proposals. Such a situation as this 
 had never occurred to her when she left her home 
 in Derbyshire and set out upon this mad escapade. 
 She had asked for a hearing from a man who 
 made it his boast that he saw and heard every one 
 who cared to approach him. The tone of her 
 letter, the restraint of it, the fact that she had 
 known Haddon Hall all her life, that every bit of 
 that splendid ruin, every tree in the old park, 
 every glade in the gardens were familiar to her, 
 struck a note of assent in the great American's 
 imagination and compelled him to send for her. 
 He believed that at the outset she would serve for 
 a ' ' walking on ' ' part. When he saw her, he asked 
 her to read a scene from " Haddon Hall " and 
 heard her on the stage. Then he said, ' ' Here is a 
 born actress, and not only that but an aristocrat 
 besides. ' ' The secrecy which had attended her ap- 
 plication whetted his desire to engage her. " I
 
 56 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 will play for a month for nothing, ' ' she had said. 
 Even Charles Izard did not feel disposed to offer 
 her a smaller sum. 
 
 And here he was talking of agreements for a 
 term of three years and of 20 a week ! 
 
 How to answer him Etta did not know. 
 
 She was perfectly well aware that her weeks in 
 London must be few. Any day might bring a letter 
 from her father in which he would speak of a 
 return to Derbyshire. The mythical visit to Aunt 
 Anne, which had been her excuse to the servants 
 at home, would be exploded in a moment should 
 her father return. None the less, the situation 
 had its humors. ' ' If only I dare tell Mr. Izard, ' ' 
 she had said to herself, knowing well that she 
 would not tell him unless it were as a last re- 
 source. 
 
 11 You are as kind to me as the critics," she 
 exclaimed upon a pause, which greatly alarmed 
 that shrewd man of business he had expected 
 her to jump down his throat at the offer. " You 
 are very kind to me, Mr. Izard, and you will not 
 misunderstand me when I hesitate. I have already 
 told you that money is nothing to me. Perhaps I 
 am tired of the stage already; I do not know. I 
 feel quite unable to say anything about it to-day. 
 It is all so new to me. I want to be quite sure that 
 I am a success before I accept any one 's money. ' ' 
 
 Her reply astonished Izard very much, though 
 he tried to conceal his annoyance. Shuffling his 
 papers with a fat hand, upon which a great dia- 
 mond ring sparkled, he breathed a little heavily 
 and then asked almost under his breath:
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 57 
 
 " Any one else been round? " 
 
 " Do you mean to ask me have I any other 
 offers? " 
 
 " That's so." 
 
 11 As frankly, none at present." 
 
 He looked at her shrewdly. 
 
 " Expecting them, I suppose? ' 
 
 ' ' I have never thought of it, ' ' she said, greatly 
 amused at the turn affairs were taking. " Of 
 course, I know that successful people do get 
 offers " 
 
 " But not twice from Charles Izard," he ex- 
 claimed very meaningly then turning round in 
 his chair he looked her straight in the face and 
 said, " Suppose I make it one hundred and fifty 
 dollars? " 
 
 " Oh," she rejoined, " it really is not a ques- 
 tion of money, Mr. Izard " 
 
 11 No," he said savagely, " it's that Belinger. 
 Been seeing you, hasn't he talking of what he 
 could do? Well, you know your own business 
 best. That man will be waiting on my doorstep 
 by and by, and he'll have to wait patiently. Think 
 it over when you're tossing us both in the blanket. 
 He's a back number; I'm a dozen editions." 
 
 Etta was seriously tempted to smile at this 
 frightened earnestness and at the great man's 
 idea of her shrewdness. She could not forget, 
 however, that he had given her the opportunity 
 she had so greatly longed for to put the dreams 
 of her girlhood to the proof. And for that she 
 would remain lastingly grateful. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Izard," she said, " I fear you
 
 58 
 
 don't understand me at all. Who Mr. Belinger 
 may be I don't know; but he certainly has not 
 made me any offers. And just as certainly should 
 I refuse them if he did so. You have been gen- 
 erous enough to give me my chance. If I remain 
 on the stage, it will be with you." 
 
 Izard opened his dull eyes very wide. 
 
 " If you remain upon the stage! Good God, 
 you don't mean to say that you have any doubt 
 of it? " 
 
 11 I have every doubt." 
 
 " Have you read the papers'? " 
 
 " Oh, but you told me not to pay any attention 
 to them " 
 
 " That's from the front of the house point of 
 view. Don't you know that they say you are as 
 great as Eejane? ' 
 
 11 I cannot possibly believe that." 
 
 " It won't be so difficult when you try. Go 
 home and read them again and come to me to- 
 morrow morning to sign agreements. ' ' 
 
 He was pleased at her promise to continue at 
 his theatre and clever enough to understand her 
 reticence. 
 
 " She's a genius," he said to himself, " and 
 she's more than that, she's a woman of business. 
 Well, I like her sort. When Belinger goes round, 
 he'll get some dry bread. As for her leaving the 
 stage pooh! she couldn't do it." 
 
 Had he known what Etta was saying at that 
 very moment, his self-satisfaction assuredly 
 had been less. For when she returned to her 
 rooms in Bedford Square she found the expected
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 59 
 
 letter from her father awaiting her there and in. 
 it she read these words : ' * I shall be returning to 
 England on the 29th of June." 
 
 She had a short month, then, to live this Bo- 
 hemian life which so fascinated her! And when 
 that month was over Etta Romney would cease 
 to be, and the stately Lady Evelyn must return.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 STBANGEKS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 THE news in the letter alarmed Etta not a 
 little; but when she reflected upon it, she remem- 
 bered that it was just such news as she had been 
 expecting all along. Her adventure had been for 
 a day. She had never hoped that it would be more. 
 The desire to appear upon the stage of a theatre 
 had haunted her since her childhood. Now she 
 had gratified it. Why, then, should she complain? 
 
 True, the glamour of the stage no longer de- 
 ceived her. All the gilt edge of her dreams had 
 vanished at rehearsal. She no longer believed 
 the theatre to be a paradise on earth. It was a 
 somewhat gloomy, business-like, and sordid arena 
 of which the excitements were purely personal, 
 and concerned chiefly with individual success and 
 achievement. These she had now experienced and 
 found them unsatisfying. A morbid craving for 
 something she could not express or define re- 
 mained her legacy. The ' ' Etta ' ' in her had not 
 been blotted out by triumph. Had she known it, 
 she would have understood that nothing but 
 tragedy would efface it. 
 
 This, naturally, she did not know. Believing her 
 time to be brief, she desired to see as much of 
 Bohemia as the numbered weeks would permit;
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 61 
 
 and she refused no invitation, however imprudent 
 it seemed, nor denied herself any experience by 
 which her knowledge might profit. A perfect mis- 
 tress of herself, she did not fear whatever adven- 
 ture might bring her. Her desire had been to do 
 exactly what the ordinary stage girl did to live 
 in lodgings, to tramp about the London streets, to 
 spend little sums of money as though they had 
 been riches, to give a girlish vanity free rein. 
 Sometimes she almost wished that a man would 
 make love to her. The homage of men, she had 
 read, always attended success upon the stage. 
 Etta would have been delighted to evade her pur- 
 suers, to see their flowers upon her table, to read 
 their ridiculous letters. 
 
 For the moment, however, her dramatic ex- 
 periences appeared likely to be somewhat prosaic. 
 She had answered Mr. Charles Izard with the 
 intimation that she would give him a definite reply 
 within a week, and with that, perforce, he had 
 to be content. The early promise of success for 
 " Haddon Hall " was amply justified. The busi- 
 ness done at the Carlton Theatre proved beyond 
 experience. There Were two matinees a week, and 
 splendid houses to boot. Etta delighted in the 
 triumphs of these more than words could tell. 
 The thunderous applause, the ringing cheers, the 
 frequent calls, animated her whole being and 
 awoke in her the finest instincts of her inheritance. 
 She knew that she had been born an actress, and 
 that nothing would change her destiny. All the 
 frivolous life of the theatre could show her made 
 their instant appeal to her senses and were en-
 
 62 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 joyed with a child's zest. Her gestures were quick 
 and excited, and, as little Dulcie Holmes would 
 say, " so French." She could behave like a 
 schoolgirl sometimes a schoolgirl freed from 
 bondage and ready for any tomboy's play. 
 
 This was her mood on the afternoon of the 
 seventh day after the first production of ' ' Haddon 
 Hall " at the Carlton Theatre. The exceedingly 
 " genteel " Lucy Grey had invited a few friends 
 to tea upon that occasion ; and an artist, known to 
 all the halfpenny comic papers as " Billy," a 
 lodger in the same house as Lucy, kindly put his 
 studio at the disposal of the company. Here for 
 a time gentility reigned supreme over the tea- 
 cups. The theatrical ladies found themselves 
 awe-struck in the presence of Etta Eomney, and 
 remained so until the amiable painter volunteered 
 to do a cake-walk if Dulcie Holmes would accom- 
 pany him. This set the ball rolling ; and although 
 gentility suffered a snub when a lady from the 
 Vaudeville remarked that she always " gorged ' : 
 currant loaves, nevertheless merriment prevailed 
 and some striking performances were achieved. 
 Etta had not laughed so much since she left the 
 convent school and she could not help reflecting, 
 as she returned to Bedford Square, upon the vast 
 capacity for innocent enjoyment these merry girls 
 possessed and the compensations it afforded them 
 in lives which were by no means without their 
 troubles. 
 
 It was a quarter to six when she reached her 
 lodgings. She had time upon her hands, for seven 
 o 'clock would be quite early enough to set out for
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 63 
 
 the theatre. The weather promised to become a 
 little overcast as she stood upon her doorstep; 
 and she was conscious of that sudden depression 
 with which an approaching storm will often afflict 
 nervous and highly sensitive people. Opening the 
 front door slowly, with her eyes still watching the 
 creeping clouds above, she became aware that 
 there were strangers in the hall beyond, and she 
 stood for an -instant to hear rapid words in the 
 German tongue a language her father had al- 
 ways advised her to study and had insisted upon 
 the good nuns teaching her. To-night it served 
 her well, for by it she became aware instantly 
 that the strangers were speaking of her indeed, 
 that they awaited her coming. 
 
 " Go into the room," said a voice. " I must 
 be alone here." 
 
 Another said, ' * Hush, that 's her step ! ' ' 
 Etta turned as pale as the marguerites in the 
 flower boxes when she heard these words ; though, 
 for the life of her, she could not say why she was 
 alarmed. Perhaps the constant fear of discovery 
 which had attended her escapade from the begin- 
 ning asserted itself at the moment to say that these 
 strangers knew the truth and had come to profit 
 by it. If this were so, the idea passed instantly 
 to give place to that more sober voice of reason 
 which asked, ' ' How should a stranger know of it, 
 and what is my secret to him? ' Such an argu- 
 ment immediately reassured her; and, entering 
 the hall boldly, she found herself face to face with 
 no other than the Roumanian, Count Odin, who
 
 64 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 had been presented to her eight days ago at the 
 Carlton Hotel. 
 
 Now, here was the last man in all London whom 
 Etta had expected to see in Bedford Square, and 
 her astonishment and distaste were so plainly vis- 
 ible in her wide-open eyes that the victim of 
 them could not possibly remain under any delu- 
 sion whatever. Plainly, however, he was quite 
 ready for such a welcome as she intended to give 
 him, for he barred her passage up the hall and, 
 holding out his hand, greeted her with that ac- 
 cepted familiarity so characteristic of the idlers 
 who lounge about stage-doors. 
 
 11 My dear lady," he said, " do not put the dis- 
 pleasure upon me. I come here because my 
 friend, Mr. Izard, recommend me when I ask him 
 where I shall find a lodging. ' Miss Komney is at 
 Bedford Square,' that's what he says; ' go right 
 there and you will find an apartment in the same 
 street.' Now, isn't it wonderful? I arrive at 
 your house by accident and here is your landlady 
 who has the dining-room to let. You shall forgive 
 me for that when I say that my friend, Horowitz, 
 is with me and his sister. Why, Miss Eomney, 
 we'll be just a happy family together; and that's 
 what Charles Izard was thinking of when he sent 
 me here. ' Tell her I wish it,' he said; ' she's too 
 much alone in London, and it doesn't do- 
 Etta interrupted him with a dignity he had not 
 looked for. 
 
 " Mr. Izard would not be so impertinent," she 
 exclaimed hotly. " Your coming or going really
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 65 
 
 does not interest me, Count. I have to be at the 
 theatre immediately. Please let me pass ! ' 
 
 She tried to go by, but he still forbade her, smil- 
 ing the while and seemingly quite sure of himself. 
 
 " My dear lady," he said, " you do not go to 
 the theatre until half-past seven. This amiable 
 person of the house has told me as much. If I am 
 rude, forgive me. I wish to ask you to see my 
 pictures of Eoumania, a country your father once 
 knew very well, Miss Bomney, though he has 
 not been there for many years. Say that you 
 will come and see them to-morrow and I will ask 
 Mademoiselle Carlotta to help me to show them to 
 you. Now, dear lady, will you not name the hour? 
 I shall have much to show you, much for you to 
 tell your amiable father about when you see him 
 again. ' ' 
 
 Etta shivered as though with cold. Never be- 
 fore had she known such a curious spell of help- 
 lessness as this man seemed able to cast upon her. 
 The words which he spoke amazed her beyond all 
 experience. Roumania ! She understood vaguely 
 that her father had lived dreadful years there so 
 long ago that even he almost had forgotten them. 
 And this stranger could speak of them, youth that 
 he was, as though he held their secret. Had she 
 wished to terminate her acquaintance with him 
 then and there, her woman's curiosity would have 
 forbidden her. But, more than this, the man him- 
 self attracted her in a way she could not define 
 attracted her, despite her early aversion from him 
 and her sure knowledge that there must be danger 
 in the acquaintance.
 
 66 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " Do you know iny father, Count? " she asked 
 presently in a voice which could not conceal her 
 apprehension. 
 
 " To my family he is well known, to me not at 
 all, ' ' was the frank reply. ' ' I came to England to 
 make my misfortune good; but now that I come 
 your father is not here, Miss Bomney. ' ' 
 
 " Then he was not aware of your intended 
 visit? " 
 
 * ' Quite unaware of it. ' ' 
 
 11 You did not write to him? " 
 
 11 How should I write when I do not know the 
 house in which he live I ' 
 
 " Then why do you say that he is not in Lon- 
 don? " 
 
 He looked at her with the triumphant eyes of 
 a man who puts a master card upon the table. 
 . "I say that he is not in England because you 
 are alone, Miss Bomney." 
 
 Etta bit her lips, but gave no other expression 
 to her emotion. 
 
 " A compliment to my discretion," she ex- 
 claimed with a little laugh; and then, as though 
 serious, she said, ' ' You will make me late for the 
 theatre after all. Do please talk of all this to- 
 morrow. ' ' 
 
 He drew aside instantly. 
 
 ' * Izard would never forgive me, ' ' he said ; ' ; let 
 it be to-morrow as you wish shall we say at 
 twelve o'clock? " 
 
 " Oh, by all means, at twelve o'clock to-mor- 
 row," she rejoined and upon that she ran up the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 67 
 
 stairs, and, entering her own room, locked the 
 door behind her. 
 
 Who was the man? How had he come thus into 
 her life? She was utterly unnerved, amazed, and 
 without idea. But she knew that she would go to 
 the theatre no more. 
 
 11 And what will Mr. Izard say? " she asked her- 
 self blankly; " what will they all say? " 
 
 Etta was ready both to laugh and to cry at that 
 moment. Conflicting sentiments found her sitting 
 upon her bed, a very picture of irresolution and 
 dismay. The deeper truths of the night were not 
 as yet understood by her, although the day for 
 understanding could not be far distant.
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 THE NONAGENARIAN 
 
 SHE sat upon her bed for a little while, seem- 
 ingly without purpose or resolution. The black 
 muslin dress with the exquisite lace and suspicion 
 of Cambridge blue about the neck, a dress in which 
 she always went to the theatre, lay ready for her 
 spread out upon the back of a chair. She used to 
 say that it was the only good dress she had 
 brought to London with her. Her desire had been 
 to deceive herself with the pretty supposition that 
 her own talent must earn luxuries or that they 
 must not be earned at all. 
 
 So her riches were few. She could almost num- 
 ber them as she sat upon her bed, reflecting upon 
 this astounding encounter, the threat of it, and 
 Its just consequences. When she left Derbyshire 
 she had no thought of discovery, nor imagined it 
 to be possible. Not a soul knew her by sight, she 
 said. She had spent her days in a convent in 
 France, and after that as a very prisoner in her 
 father 's house. Why, then, should she fear recog- 
 nition? None the less did recognition stand upon 
 the threshold. This foreigner she believed to be al- 
 ready in possession of her story. How he had 
 gained knowledge of it, and what use he would 
 make of it, she felt absolutely unable to say. Sum-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 69 
 
 cient that a malign destiny had brought her face 
 to face and called her to decide instantly as diffi- 
 cult an issue as escapade ever put before a woman. 
 
 " He knows my name; he knows my father," 
 she argued ; " if he does not come to our house, he 
 has some good reason for not doing so. In any 
 case, I must not stop here. Oh, my dear Mr. 
 Izard, what will you say to-night ? And poor dear 
 Di Vernon, poor dear Di Vernon, whoever will 
 take care of her? ' 
 
 .She laughed aloud at her own thoughts, and, 
 jumping up impulsively, she gathered her things 
 together as though for a journey, though she had 
 not the remotest idea whither she would go or how 
 she would act. A church clock striking the hour 
 of seven reminded her that the hours were brief 
 and that she must make the best use of them. 
 Had she been a man she might have remembered 
 that if this intruder knew her father's name, he 
 would very quickly discover her father's house, 
 his rank, and the story of his life. But she was 
 not even a woman, scarcely more than a school- 
 girl, in fact, and terror of the present became an. 
 immediate impulse without regard to the future. 
 She must flee the house and the mystery without 
 an instant's loss of time. Nothing else must count 
 against the prudence of this course. All the little 
 things she had collected in London, the clothes she 
 had bought there, these must be abandoned. Etta, 
 indeed, carried nothing but her light dust-cloak 
 and her purse when she left the house at half -past 
 seven. 
 
 " I must write to dear old Mrs. Wegg and make
 
 70 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 her a present, ' ' she said ; ' ' she can send my things 
 to St. Pancras Station to be called for. If I don't 
 go to the theatre, Mary Jay will play my part. 
 Perhaps the poor girl will make her fortune. It's 
 an ill wind . . . no, a horrid wind, and, oh, I 
 do wish it wonld blow me home again ! ' 
 
 From which it will be seen that the idea of 
 " home " crept already into her dizzy head and 
 attracted her strangely. There is always an after- 
 math of jest, however bold that jest may be. Etta 
 realized this dimly, though all the impressions of 
 the theatre, its glamour and its triumphs, were 
 too new to her to permit of any serious rival. 
 She feared discovery simply for her father 's sake. 
 To him the theatre stood for a very pit of all that 
 ,was most evil. He had, from the days of her 
 childhood, dreaded a day which would awaken a 
 mother's instincts in Etta and tell him that she 
 had inherited her mother's genius as an actress. 
 For such a reason, above others, he made a recluse 
 of her. For such a reason, loving her passionately, 
 he sent her to the convent school and guarded 
 her almost as a prisoner of his house. Etta knew 
 that he disliked the theatre greatly ; but she never 
 had his reasons, and was unaware of her dead 
 mother's story. Had she known it, this mad 
 escapade would never have taken place. 
 
 She left the house in Bedford Square at half- 
 past seven furtively and not a little afraid. She 
 had already determined to keep her own secret, 
 and to that intention she adhered resolutely. 
 Crossing the Square with quick steps, she stood 
 an instant at the corner to make sure that no one
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 71 
 
 followed her. When her suspicions upon this 
 point were at rest, she called the first hansom 
 ca'b she could see and told the man to drive her 
 to St. Pancras Station. 
 
 ' * And please to stop at a telegraph office on the 
 way," she said. 
 
 The journey had been fully determined upon 
 by this time, and she no longer found herself 
 irresolute. It cost her much to send Charles Izard 
 her farewell message ; but she did it courageously, 
 as one who knew that it must be done. How or 
 why Count Odin had crossed her path she could 
 not say; but her clever little head grappled in- 
 stantly with that turn of destiny and determined 
 to defeat it. None could harm her in her home in 
 Derbyshire, she said . . . and to Derbyshire 
 she determined to go. 
 
 When she entered the post-office and had dis- 
 patched her telegrams, she felt as one from whose 
 weak shoulders a great weight had been lifted. 
 What a dream it had all been! The hopes, the 
 fears, the success of it. Her heart was a little 
 heavy when she wrote down the words: "I am 
 leaving London and shall not return pray, for- 
 give me and forget Etta Eomney. ' ' There would 
 be a sensation at the theatre to-night, but what 
 of it if the walls of her home were about her 
 and the gates of it had closed upon her secret. 
 She knew too little of Count Odin's story that her 
 fears of him should be enduring. 
 
 " He has learnt something about me somewhere 
 and wanted to satisfy his curiosity, ' ' she thought ; 
 " perhaps he was going to make love to me," an
 
 idea which amused her, but did not appear in quite 
 as repugnant a light as it might have done. Some 
 whisper of personal vanity said that Count Odin 
 was a man of the world and an exceedingly good- 
 looking one at that. She began to see that all her 
 fears might be mere shadows of misunderstanding 
 none the less, she persisted in her intention to 
 return to Derbyshire. A sense of personal danger 
 had been awakened; she fled from discovery be- 
 fore discovery could do her mischief. 
 
 There was a train to Derby at half-past eight. 
 Etta took a seat in the corner of a first-class com- 
 partment, which an obliging guard, bidding a 
 porter keep watch upon it, insisted upon reserving 
 for her. The porter, good fellow, drove off the 
 besiegers, among whom were a parson with brown 
 paper parcels and a fussy little man who always 
 travelled in ladies' carriages because he could 
 have the windows up, to say nothing of old maids 
 and their dogs and younger maids without dogs. 
 To these the man of corduroys politely pointed 
 out the red bill upon the window; but when a 
 cloaked foreigner, with a hawk's beak and watery 
 eyes, a man who must have numbered at least 
 ninety years, persisted in an attempt to enter, 
 then was the ancient dragged back by the flap 
 of his coat while the magic words " reserved ' 
 were shouted in his ears. 
 
 " What you say what what " the old 
 fellow cried, exerting a surprising amount of 
 strength for a nonagenarian, " not go in here, 
 accidents! " 
 
 1 1 Higher up, grandfather, ' ' said the merry por-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 73 
 
 ter. " Saffron Hill goes forward no parley 
 Inglesh, eh well, that's not my fault, is it ? ' 
 
 He took the old fellow by the arm in a kindly 
 way (for of the poor the poor are ever the best 
 friends) and led him to a third-class carriage at 
 the forward end of the train. 
 
 " And a wonnerful strong old chap for his 
 years, too, miss," he said to Etta when he re- 
 turned for his shilling; " give me a shove like a 
 young 'un he did. I shouldn't wonder if he ain't 
 agoing to play in a cricket match by the looks 
 of him. Did you want to send a telegram, per- 
 haps? A surprisin' lot of telegrams I do send 
 from the station. Mostly from gents wot has a 
 fency for a 'oss. They takes a number horf of 
 their tickets and backs the first 'un they sees with 
 the same number in the noospipers. Not as I 
 suppose you've any fency like that, miss though 
 young ladies nowadays do send telegrams almost 
 as frequent as other people." 
 
 Etta laughed at this idea, but, a sudden re- 
 membrance coming to her, she asked : 
 
 " What time do we arrive at Derby, porter? ' 
 
 11 You should arrive at a quarter to twelve, 
 miss." 
 
 " A quarter to twelve oh, my poor little me, 
 whatever will you do ? ' 
 
 " Not meaning to say that you've forgotten to 
 ask them to meet you, miss? " 
 
 " Meaning the very thing please get me a 
 form, oh, lots of them. I must wire to Griggs. 
 Don't let the train go until I've done it. What- 
 ever should I do if no one met me? "
 
 ?4 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 "I'll stop it if I have to hold the engine my- 
 self. Now, miss, you take these 'ere. That's the 
 name of a Spring 'andicap winner on one of them 
 you scrat it out and write your own telegram. 
 We ain't agoin' to have you out in the cornfields 
 at that time of night, I know. Just write away 
 and don't you flurry yourself." 
 
 Etta needed no pressing invitation. She wrote 
 two telegrams as fast as her eager fingers could 
 set down the messages one to Fletcher, the 
 coachman at the Hall, one to Griggs, the butler, 
 who would be the most astonished man in all 
 Derbyshire that night when he read it. These the 
 porter gathered up together with a liberal mone- 
 tary provision to frank them, and the train was 
 just about to start when who should appear again 
 but the white-haired nonagenarian, grumbling 
 and shuffling and plainly seeking a carriage, de- 
 spite the fact that he had been lately seated in it. 
 
 < < Why, here 's old nannygoat broke out again, ' ' 
 cried the astonished porter, and running after him 
 he exclaimed: " Here, grandfather, train goin r , 
 comprenny, inside oh, chucky walkey now then, 
 smart, or I'm blowed if I don't put you in the lorst 
 luggage horfiss." 
 
 They bundled the old man into a carriage; the 
 engine whistled, the train steamed majestically 
 from the station. 
 
 " Good-by, London! " said Etta, sinking back 
 upon the cushions with tears in her eyes. 
 
 But the far from docile old gentleman, who 
 had been treated so unceremoniously, did not 
 weep at all.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 75 
 
 11 She's going to Melbourne Hall," he kept re- 
 peating with a chuckle; " if the telegrams mean 
 anything, they mean that. ' ' 
 
 By which it is clear that the old scoundrel had 
 read Etta's messages which the ever-obliging 
 porter carried to the telegraph office for her.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LADY EVELYN EETUKNS 
 
 ME. GKIGGS, the butler at Melbourne Hall, had 
 just fallen asleep after a second glass of his 
 master's unimpeachable port, when a footman 
 knocked softly upon the door of his pantry and in- 
 formed him that he was the proud owner of a 
 telegram. 
 
 " For you, sir, and the boy's a-waitin' for a 
 hanswer. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Griggs, who had been dreaming of a rich 
 uncle in Australia, and of the fortune this worthy 
 had bequeathed to him (by which he would set up 
 a public-house in Moretown and acquire a mas- 
 terly reputation), murmured softly, " No jugs in 
 the private bar," and awoke immediately in that 
 state of irritable stupor which even a moderate 
 allowance (and Mr. Griggs' glasses were true 
 bumpers) of ancient port may provoke. 
 
 " Whatever do you want, comin' creeping in 
 here like a fox with the gout I " he asked angrily ; 
 ' * is the 'ouse on fire or is Partigan took with the 
 hysterics? Whatever is it, James? " 
 
 ''It's a telegrarf," replied James loftily; 
 " perhaps you're a little 'ard of 'earing after 
 port wine, Mr. Griggs. The boy's a-settin' on
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 77 
 
 the step whistlin' airs. I'll tell him to come in 
 if you like " 
 
 Griggs looked a little sheepishly at the bottle 
 before him, and prudently offered James a glass. 
 
 * ' Them boys is born in a hurry and that 's how 
 they'll die, James. Just take a mouthful of that 
 wine. I'm sampling it for the guvner. This '11 
 be from him, no doubt." 
 
 To do the excellent man justice, it must be ad- 
 mitted that he had been sampling that particular 
 wine during the last twenty years, and still found 
 it necessary to continue his task before he could 
 give a definite opinion. The telegram was another 
 matter. Mr. Griggs read it by the aid of an im- 
 mense pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, and, having 
 read it, he uttered that exclamation he was wont to 
 employ only upon the very greatest occasions. 
 
 ' ' God bless my poor old gray hairs if her lady- 
 ship ain 't returning this very evening. Whatever 
 can have put it into her wicked little head to do 
 that I Derby station at eleven-forty, and Fletcher 
 gone haymaking to Matlock. I shouldn't wonder 
 if the beast had been drinking," he added pom- 
 pously. 
 
 James, the footman, admitted that it was very 
 embarrassing. 
 
 " I've lived in many families, Mr. Griggs," he 
 said, " and a deal of human nater I've learned. 
 But this 'ere family is wholly a Masterpiece. Your 
 good health, sir, and I'm sure I wish you 
 blessings." 
 
 " It's easier to wish 'em than to bring 'em,"
 
 78 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 replied the philosopher Griggs. " Where's Par- 
 tigan now and what's she doing? " 
 
 " She's a-participatin' in the Floral fete at the 
 Bath-Dianner in a motor-car or something of that 
 sort.'* 
 
 " She went over with Fletcher, no doubt. 
 That's how his lordship's interests are served in 
 his absence. Is Molly in the 'ouse, James? ' 
 
 " She was takin' her singin' lesson from the 
 horganist of Moretown half an hour ago." 
 
 " Let her sing upstairs with the warmin' pan, 
 and quick about it too. I suppose the snuffer's 
 not in? " 
 
 * ' Gone to Derby to see Mr. Wilson Barrett eat 
 up by lions " 
 
 " Then we'll have to send Williams, the groom, 
 and make a tale. Lord, what a 'ouse to look after. 
 I feel sometimes as such responsibulness will 
 break me up into small coal, James. Just ring 
 that bell and send Molly here. I'll give her a 
 singin' lesson as she won't soon forget." 
 
 There never was such a ringing of bells, cer- 
 tainly never such a scampering of overfed menials 
 as the next hour witnessed at the Manor. Hither 
 and thither they went : Molly up the stairs to look 
 out the sheets, Williams, the groom, to get the 
 single brougham ready, James to set the boudoir 
 straight (" with me own 'ands I done it," he said 
 to Partigan, the lady's maid, afterwards, as 
 though ordinary he did it with other people's 
 hands, which was a true word), Griggs to put 
 away his decanter and enter the kitchen in mighty 
 splendor. Not only this, but stable-boys upon bi-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 79 
 
 cycles went flying off to Matlock and Derby to 
 bear the tidings to the absentees. 
 
 " Her ladyship a-comin' home," said Partigan 
 when she heard it; " well, that do beat the best! " 
 
 * * I 've always said, ' ' Griggs remarked to James, 
 when the first moments of agitation had passed, 
 " I've always said the Lady Evelyn isn't ordi- 
 nary. Just look at the antics she'd be a-doin' 
 by herself when she thought no one was lookin' 
 at her in the park. Carrying on like a play 
 actress, she was, and me hidin' behind a tree, 
 mortal feared of her throwin' of herself into my 
 arms by mistake. What his lordship would say 
 if I told him of this 'ere, the cherubims above 
 us only knows, James. ' ' 
 
 " You surely ain't goin' to tell him, Mr. 
 Griggs? " 
 
 Griggs tapped his breast with a heavy fist that 
 seemed to make a drum of it. 
 
 " A lady's secret they'd have to cut it out 
 of my bussum, James." 
 
 " Then you don't think, perhaps, as she's been 
 staying with Miss Forrester at all? ' 
 
 This, however, was the beginning of a sugges- 
 tion which the worthy Griggs would not tolerate 
 at all from one he styled a menial. 
 
 ' ' What I think is my own affair. Take my ad- 
 vice and hold your tongue, James. When you get 
 to my time of life you'll know that the less you 
 say about the ladies the better for your good 
 health. Go and get the dining-room ready. She'll 
 be in a rare tantrum when she comes back. They 
 always are when they've been up in London en-
 
 80 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 joyin' of theirselves. His lordship himself is 
 good cayenne after a week on the Continent. It's 
 enough to make a man take to drink almost." 
 
 The reservation was wise, for certainly Mr. 
 Griggs had " almost " taken to drink on many 
 occasions, stopping at the second bottle on a benev- 
 olent plea of moderation. This particular occa- 
 sion, however, was not to prove one for extreme 
 remedies as subsequent events quickly demon- 
 strated. Having seen that all had been prepared, 
 both within and without the house, he composed 
 himself to a comfortable nap in his arm-chair and 
 again had begun to dream of a rich uncle in Aus- 
 tralia (whose continued good health he found most 
 provoking), when a loud ringing of bells and a 
 sound of voices in the quadrangle instantly 
 brought him to a state of recollection, and he sat 
 bolt upright and stared wildly at the grand- 
 father's clock in the corner of his pantry as though 
 its fingers reproached his tardiness. 
 
 * ' A quarter to two o 'clock. God bless my poor 
 old head. It must be her ladyship. A quarter to 
 two o'clock. What would her father say to it! ' 
 
 It was her ladyship, as he said very tired, 
 very pale, strangely quiet, and with frightened 
 eyes, such as neither Griggs nor anyone in that 
 house had looked upon before. Amazed to see 
 her, dressed in no way for travelling, carrying no 
 other luggage than the purse in her hand, the old 
 butler simply stared as he would have stared at 
 any bogey of Melbourne come suddenly upon 
 him in the witching hours.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 81 
 
 " I welcome your ladyship home," he stam- 
 mered, looking anything but a welcome from his 
 inquiring eyes, and then, most inaptly, he con- 
 tinued: " The trains is very late for the time of 
 year, I must say, my lady." 
 
 Lady Evelyn merely said : 
 
 " Yes, I am dreadfully late, Griggs. Don't let 
 anyone be disturbed. I could not touch anything 
 to-night. My luggage is to be forwarded from 
 London. Please see that everything is locked up. 
 I am going straight to my room, and shall not 
 want anything at all." 
 
 Griggs did not really know what to make of it. 
 
 " She was as white as a sheet," he told the 
 kitchen afterwards, " and she asked me to lock 
 up the 'ouse. Now, am I in the 'abit of leavin' 
 the doors open or do I see 'em shut regular? 
 Mark my words, Partigan, there's something 
 more than her luggage she's left in London, and 
 the sooner his lordship takes it out of the cloak- 
 room the better. 
 
 Here was something to set the servants ' hall by 
 the ears beyond possibility of discretion. Will- 
 iams, the groom, who had driven her ladyship 
 home, added an ingredient to the sauce of 
 their curiosity which proved appetizing beyond 
 measure. 
 
 " There was a young man at the station wot 
 kept hopping about us just like a 'oss about a hay- 
 rick," said he. "I could see she didn't want to 
 take much notice on him, but what was I to do ? If 
 he'd have opened his lips, I could have given him 
 something for hisself. But he didn't say nothing
 
 82 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 to nobody and all she says was, ' Drive on at once, 
 Williams, and don't stop for anyone.' Be sure I 
 made the old 'oss slip it. He come along for all 
 the world as though he were riding to 'ounds and 
 me in the first flight. ' ' 
 
 Williams, be it observed, had not exaggerated 
 at all. There had been a young man at the 
 station and Lady Evelyn had been very frightened 
 by him. What is more remarkable is the fact that 
 she was perfectly well aware of his identity and 
 knew him beyond a shadow of doubt for the ap- 
 parent nonagenarian who had been so persistent 
 at St. Pancras. That white-haired old man and 
 the youth who appeared before her suddenly at 
 her journey's end were certainly one and the 
 same person. The only conclusion possible was 
 this, that she had been watched closely in London 
 and followed thence. 
 
 " It must be Count Odin," she said to herself, 
 and upon this she tried to .reason out a secret 
 of which the key lay far from her possession. 
 Why should the man have been at such pains to 
 follow her if he knew her father's name, as he 
 pretended he did? It never occurred to her 
 untrained mind that a foreigner recently arrived 
 from Bukharest might be quite unaware of the 
 identity of Kobert Forrester and altogether igno- 
 rant of the fact that he was Robert Forrester no 
 longer, but had become, by a strange accident of 
 fortune, the third Earl of Melbourne, Baron Nor- 
 ton, and heaven and Burke know what besides. 
 Here had been the Count's difficulty. He had 
 searched every directory in vain for the where-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 83 
 
 abouts of a man he had now made it his life's 
 purpose to discover. Knowing scarcely anyone 
 in London, and having no particular desire to 
 declare his presence to the Roumanian charge 
 d'affaires, his quest had been profitless until 
 chance brought him face to face with the Lady 
 Evelyn in the Strand. Instantly he had resolved 
 never to lose sight of her until he had discovered 
 Robert Forrester's house, and had asked of him 
 that question the answer to which should tell him 
 if his own father were alive or dead. 
 
 The Lady Evelyn, upon her part, had no share 
 of the story, save that which her own eyes and 
 the Count's brief words had told her. He had 
 spoken in London of her father, it is true; but 
 there had been no betrayal of a warm anxiety to 
 meet him, nor had he mentioned the name ex- 
 cept as a passport to Evelyn's confidence. The 
 fact that she had been followed from town to 
 Derbyshire disquieted her exceedingly by the very 
 pains which had been taken to conceal it. No 
 longer could she believe that Count Odin had 
 been fascinated by her acting and had foolishly 
 fallen in love with her. Something lay beyond, 
 and her clever brain divined it to be a thing dan- 
 gerous both to her father and to herself. 
 
 So it was not Etta Romney but my Lady Evelyn, 
 grave and stately, and dreadfully afraid of her 
 own secret and of another's, who returned to 
 Melbourne Hall, and, declining the attentions of 
 her servants, went straight up to her bedroom, 
 but not to sleep. Whatever danger threatened her 
 must speedily declare itself, she thought. It was
 
 84 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 even possible that the morrow would bring it to 
 her doors. 
 
 And if it came, her father would know that Etta 
 Eomney had been " presented " by Mr. Charles 
 Izard at a London theatre and that she was his 
 daughter. 
 
 He would never forgive her, she thought. It 
 might even be that he would call her his daughter 
 no more.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE THIRD EAEL OF MELBOURNE 
 
 THERE is hardly a pleasanter room in all Eng- 
 land than the old Chamber of the Tapestries they 
 use as a breakfast room at Melbourne Hall. Situ- 
 ated in the west wing of the great quadrangle, 
 and giving off immediately from the famous long 
 gallery, its tiny latticed casements permit a view 
 which reveals at once all the cultivated beauty of 
 the gardens and the wild woodland scenery of 
 the park beyond, in a vista which never fails to 
 win the admiration of the stranger, as it has won 
 the love of many generations who have inhabited 
 that historic mansion. 
 
 It is not a large room, but it tells much of the 
 story of the house, its triumphs, its misfortunes, 
 and its glories. Here you have the tune-stained 
 arms of John, the first baron, whose cinquefoil 
 azure upon a crimson banner had been carried 
 high at Agincourt ; here were the crosslets fitchee 
 of the House of Mar, whose feminine representa- 
 tive had come south to wed the third baron in 
 the days of good King Hal. Fair fingers had 
 worked these tapestries long ago, waiting, per- 
 chance, for news of husband or lover whom the 
 wars had claimed, or fighting for a King whose 
 son would laugh at their story of. fidelity. It had
 
 36 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 been my lady's bower then, and knights and 
 squires had doffed their caps as they passed its 
 doors. To-day they gave it no nobler name than 
 breakfast room, and therein, at half-past eight 
 every morning, the Earl of Melbourne, more 
 punctual than the clock itself, sat down to break- 
 fast. 
 
 Now, here was a man who had been an adven- 
 turer all his life, a man of the field, the forest, and 
 the sea ; a bluff bearded man, not unrefined in face 
 and feature, but utterly unsuited by the disposi- 
 tion of his will to the dignity which accident had 
 thrust upon him, and resenting it every hour that 
 he lived. 
 
 " What are we but slaves of our birth? " he 
 would ask his daughter passionately. ' * Why am 
 I cooped up in this old house when I might be on 
 the deck of a good ship or under canvas in the 
 Alleghany Mountains? You say that nothing for- 
 bids my doing it. You know it isn't true. 'ne 
 world would cry out on me if I cut myself adrift. 
 And you yourself would be the first to complain 
 of it. We owe it to society, Evelyn, to make our- 
 selves miserable for the rest of our lives. They 
 call it ' station ' in the prayer-book, but the man 
 who wrote that had never shot big game on the 
 Zambesi or he 'd have sung to a different tune. ' ' 
 
 Sometimes when Evelyn protested that society 
 would really remain indifferent whatever they 
 did, he would reply, a little brutally, that when 
 she had found a husband it would be another 
 matter. 
 
 ' ' There will be two of you then to stand for the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 87 
 
 cinquef oil, ' ' he observed cynically. ' * I shall shake 
 the handcuffs off and get back to the East. A 
 man lives in the sunshine. Here he scarcely vege- 
 tates. When they inquire, in ten years' time, 
 where the Earl of Melbourne is, you'll send them 
 to the Himalayas to begin with, and there they 
 can ask again. Don't lose time about it, Evelyn. 
 You know that young John Hall is head over ears 
 in love with you." 
 
 Evelyn's face would flush at this; and there 
 had been an occasion when she answered him with 
 the amazing intimation that she would sooner 
 marry Williams, the groom, than the young baro- 
 net he spoke of. This frightened the old Earl ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 " Her mother's blood runs in her veins," he 
 said to himself. " By heaven, she'd marry a 
 stable-boy if I thwarted her." 
 
 Here was the spectre which haunted him con- 
 tinually. He feared to read the story of his 
 own youth and marriage in the youth and mar- 
 riage of his daughter. Notwithstanding his jests, 
 his love for her was passionate and dominated 
 every other instinct of his life. " You are all 
 that I have in the world, my little Evelyn," he 
 would confess in gentler moods. He desired her 
 affection in like measure, but had never wholly 
 won it. Perhaps instinctively she understood that 
 some barrier of the past interposed itself between 
 them. Her father's defects of character could not 
 be absolutely hidden from her. She feared she 
 knew not what. 
 
 And if this were her normal mood, what of the
 
 88 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 Evelyn who had gone to London at the bidding of 
 a mad desire; who had become Etta Romney 
 there ; who had returned at the dead of night and 
 awaited her father 's home-coming with that trem- 
 ulous expectation which at once could dread ex- 
 posure and yet delight in the peril of it? When 
 her first alarm had passed and quiet days had 
 led her to believe that she dreamed the story of 
 espionage, Evelyn could await the issue with no 
 little confidence. After all, why should Count 
 Odin betray her, even if he had her secret? He 
 was a man of the world and had nothing to gain 
 by dealing treacherously with a woman. Her 
 father went to London so rarely that she might 
 well deride the danger of his visits. Nothing but 
 a clumsy accident could write that story so that 
 the Earl might read it, she thought. And so she 
 welcomed him home with all her habitual com- 
 posure, and upon the morning of the second day 
 of July she found herself seated opposite to him 
 in my lady's bower, listening to his stories of Italy 
 and his plans for the summer and the autumn 
 months to come. 
 
 " We ought to give some parties, I suppose," 
 he said ; ' ' the servants expect it, and we must not 
 disappoint them. Ask all the people who don't 
 want to come and get rid of them as quickly as 
 you can. I have written to Colchester about the 
 yacht and we ought to get her in commission in 
 August. You always loved the sea, Evelyn, and 
 this will be a change for you. We can put into 
 Trouville and Etretat and see what the French- 
 women are wearing. I shall steam down to the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 89 
 
 Mediterranean later on; but that won't be until 
 December. We have the birds to kill first and 
 plenty of them. Of course, I know you wanted 
 to be in London this Spring, and it is not my fault 
 if you did not go. This copper mine in Tuscany is 
 going to make me as rich as Vanderbilt. I could 
 not neglect it just because a lot of fools were driv- 
 ing mail phaetons in Bond Street." 
 
 Evelyn smiled a little coldly. 
 
 " Men do not drive mail phaetons nowadays," 
 she said, " they drive motor-cars. Of course, it 
 is very necessary for us to keep the wolf from the 
 door we are so poor, father." 
 
 The Earl had grown accustomed to remarks 
 such as these, and had become skilful in evading 
 them. He understood perfectly well that Evelyn 
 expressed her own disappointment and that she 
 meant to remind him of his broken promises to 
 take a house in Mayfair for the season and to 
 sacrifice his own pleasures at least for a few brief 
 weeks. 
 
 " I am poor enough," he said, " to want all 
 the money I can get. This old place costs a for- 
 tune to keep up. I mean to do big things here 
 by and by, and twenty thousand won't be too 
 much when they are done. Besides, it is not 
 money that we men run after, but the gratification 
 of our own vanity in getting it. The claims on this 
 estate are heavy and they have to be met quickly 
 if it is to be cleared. I backed my own opinion 
 about this mine against the biggest house in Ger- 
 many and I am coming out top all the time. 
 If it put fifty thousand a year into my pocket^
 
 90 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 who'll benefit by it but you? Think of that when 
 you talk about the little crowd of paupers you 
 want to see in London. Money's money. And 
 precious glad some of them would be to see the 
 color of it." 
 
 Evelyn did not contradict him. She was too 
 weary of the subject to wish to revive it. Imitat- 
 ing others, whose youth had been one of 
 far from splendid poverty, the Earl permitted 
 money to become the guiding principle of his 
 life in the exact ratio of its acquisition. An ex- 
 ceedingly rich man when he inherited the bank- 
 rupt estates of the Melbournes, each year found a 
 waning of his natural generosity, a growth of 
 unaccustomed meanness, and a diligence in the 
 quest of fortune which the circumstances made 
 almost pathetic. On her part, Evelyn was per- 
 fectly well aware that he would give no parties 
 at the Hall this year, would not take her to Trou- 
 ville, nor visit the Mediterranean in the winter. 
 Each season found its own excuses for delay. The 
 wretched mine in Tuscany was a very godsend 
 when postponements of any kind troubled the 
 Earl for a good excuse. 
 
 11 I am glad you are going to do something to 
 the Hall, ' ' she said evasively ; * ' at least there will 
 be the painters' society to enjoy. After that I 
 suppose I may go to Dieppe, as Aunt Anne wishes. 
 It will be quite a dissipation under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 He looked at her rather sharply. 
 
 " So you went to London after all? " he said. 
 " I thought you meant to put it off I "
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 91 
 
 * * To put it off ! That would have been a famil- 
 iar task. I live to put things off. There is no one 
 in all Derbyshire who has so many excuses to 
 make as I have." 
 
 1 ' My dear Evelyn, you know perfectly well why 
 I dislike all this kind of thing. ' ' 
 
 " Indeed, I know nothing, except that you dis- 
 like it. This is the third year that you promised 
 to take me to London and have disappointed me. 
 If there is any reason that keeps us prisoners 
 when others are free, would you not wish me to 
 know of it? I am your daughter, and surely, 
 father, you can speak to me of this." 
 
 11 My dear little Evelyn," he said, hiding his 
 embarrassment as well as might be, ' ' you are talk- 
 ing the greatest nonsense in the world. If you 
 want to go to London, you shall go to-morrow. 
 Take a house, a flat, an hotel, anything you like 
 only don't ask me to go with you. I am past all 
 that sort of thing. A city stifles me; the fools 
 I find in it make me angry. If you like them, go 
 and see them. I have been alone enough in my 
 life not to mind very much being alone again. ' ' 
 
 This quasi-appeal to her pity was his invariable 
 argument. He would havejbeen embarrassed had 
 she accepted his proposals ; but he knew full well 
 that she would not accept them. And so he made 
 them with a generosity which cost him nothing 
 but a momentary tremor of doubt lest her answer 
 should disappoint him. 
 
 11 Oh," she said, rising from the table and going 
 to the window to look across the park, " I am 
 satiated with gayety and Aunt Anne is a very
 
 92 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 paragon of giddiness. We went to bed every 
 night at half -past nine and got up at six; and, 
 of course. Eichmond is quite Mayfair when you 
 learn to know it. ' ' 
 
 The Earl, rising also, would have laughed it 
 off, despite the ridiculous nature of the effort. 
 
 " Poor old Anne is not as young as she was," 
 he exclaimed lightly. ' ' I dare say you found her 
 a little tiresome. Well, I suppose you came home 
 when you were tired of it? " 
 
 1 ' Yes, ' ' said Evelyn, without turning round, ' ' I 
 came home when I was tired of it." 
 
 He could not see the deep blush upon her cheeks, 
 nor would he have understood it had he done so. 
 Indeed, she was truthful so far as the letter of 
 the truth went. A visit to Richmond had been 
 the excuse which carried her from Melbourne Hall. 
 Three dreary days she had spent in a prim house 
 overlooking the Thames. The home of the skit- 
 tish Aunt Anne, whose sixty years did not forbid 
 her still to look out, like Sister Mary, for an 
 heroic " Him " upon her horizon. From Eich- 
 mond, Evelyn had gone to the Carlton Theatre; 
 and now, for an instant, even here in her own 
 home, the Etta Eomney could return to delight in 
 her adventure. 
 
 What a sensation had attended her disappear- 
 ance from London? Safely guarded in her jewel- 
 case upstairs were cuttings from the newspapers 
 of the days succeeding that mad flight. Be sure 
 that the great Charles Izard made the most of 
 his misfortune. He had believed that Etta Eom- 
 ney left him at the bidding of caprice and at the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 93 
 
 voice of caprice would return to him again. His 
 shrewd mind instantly perceived that the truth 
 would best serve him on this occasion ; and though 
 he was not on very good terms with truth, the 
 quarrel was soon patched up. To all the reporters 
 he told the full story* of this captivating romance. 
 
 " The girl came to me from nowhere," he said 
 frankly, " and where she has gone God knows. 
 I gave her a hearing because she wrote me the 
 cleverest letter I have read for many a long day. 
 Her home was in Derbyshire, and this was a 
 Derbyshire play. I saw her act one scene in my 
 theatre and said that she was * bully. ' She had the 
 best send off I can remember. Then comes the 
 night when I am strung up on my own hook. She 
 expresses her trunks and quits. About that I 
 know as much as you do. Her traps were left at 
 St. Pancras station, and a letter says that she 
 has given up the theatre. Well, I don't believe it. 
 A girl who can act like that will never give up 
 the theatre. In one month or six she'll be 
 starring in my plays. She cannot help herself; 
 she's got to do it." 
 
 Nothing whets the public's appetite so surely 
 as curiosity; and all London had grown curious 
 about Etta Eomney. Discerning men, who had 
 but half-praised her when she first appeared, has- 
 tened to declare that her loss was irreparable. 
 Less responsible journals gave coherent accounts 
 of the whole business, written in the back office 
 by gentlemen who knew nothing whatever about it. 
 The affair, at first but a nine days' wonder, became 
 a standing headline when the editor of a popular
 
 94 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 newspaper boldly offered a hundred guineas for 
 the discovery of Etta Bomney's whereabouts. 
 
 Etta read all about this in the brief days that 
 intervened between her own return and her 
 father's. While the woman in her rejoiced at the 
 success they spoke of, the child failed to perceive 
 the danger of this undue publicity or to guard in 
 any way against it. It is true that she had been 
 very much alarmed upon the night she fled from 
 London; but as the weeks went by and neither 
 word nor message reached her from Count Odin, 
 or indeed from any of the friends she had made at 
 the theatre, a new sense of security came to her 
 and compelled her to delight in what appeared to 
 be the final success of her escapade. Surely now 
 her father would remain in ignorance of it to the 
 end, she argued. She believed that it would be 
 so, though whether the Etta Romney within her 
 were really dead, she did not dare to say. 
 
 The spirit of her mad desire; the passionate 
 longing for liberty and triumph before the world ; 
 the knowledge of the rare gifts she possessed and 
 of the future they might win for her, were these 
 to be forever shut behind the gates of her silent 
 house, however beautiful that house might be? 
 She knew not. The future alone could tell her 
 whither the voice of her destiny would call her.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ACCIDENT UPON THE KOAD 
 
 WAS Etta Eomney dead or would the months 
 recreate her? 
 
 Evelyn believed that they would. The intoler- 
 able ennui of her life at Melbourne festered the 
 atmosphere in which such dreams as hers were 
 born and reared. She had that in her blood which 
 no make-believe could prison. Had the whole 
 truth been told, it would have set her down for 
 a gypsy of gypsies a true child of the roadside 
 and the caves. But the truth was just the one 
 thing her father hid from her. 
 
 " I met your mother at Vienna," he had told 
 her once when an illness had moved him to that 
 affectionate confidence which weakness is apt to 
 provoke. " She was Dora d'Istran, the most beau- 
 tiful woman in the city and one most run after. 
 You are like her sometimes, Evelyn ; you have her 
 eyes and hair, and just such a manner. She un- 
 derstood me as no one else in the world has 
 ever done, not even my little daughter. I married 
 her in the face of my family and never regretted 
 the day. She died when you were eleven months 
 old. I live again through that hour which took 
 her from me every day of my life. ' ' 
 
 Here was no weak confession. Throughout his
 
 96 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 life this man had been seeking a good woman's 
 love. Knowing in his heart that he had done 
 things unworthy of it, he sought it yet more ar- 
 dently for that very reason. One woman, his wife, 
 had understood him and given him of her whole 
 soul generously. Her death left him a vagrant 
 once more. In vain he, a miser to others, lavished 
 generous gifts upon Evelyn, his child. " She 
 would love me if she could, ' ' he told himself, l ' but 
 there is a chord in her nature I cannot strike." 
 A keen observer of intuitive faculty would have 
 said that the man's nature, not the woman's, in 
 Evelyn Forrester forbade her to respond to his 
 affection. 
 
 Of this Evelyn herself remained quite uncon- 
 scious. Fret as she might against her father's 
 unjust and inexplicable treatment of her, she 
 would have resented hotly the suggestion that she 
 had not a daughter's love for him. Her very 
 obedience, she thought, must be sufficient witness 
 to that. Though he made a prisoner of her, she 
 rarely uttered a complaint. His varying moods, 
 now of doting affection, now of irritation and 
 temper, found her patient and silent. When he 
 did a mean thing she shuddered, but rarely spoke 
 of it, because she knew that words would not help 
 her. Her own life had been lived so far apart 
 from his. She wished with all her heart that it 
 had not been so; but she could not justly blame 
 herself for circumstances she was in no way able 
 to control. 
 
 This had been her attitude before her great 
 escapade in London ; it remained her attitude upon
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 97 
 
 her return to Derbyshire. She met her father 
 each morning at the breakfast table; dined with 
 him in solemn state at night occasionally re- 
 ceived visits from their neighbors, and was some 
 times the guest of the vicar of the parish, a pleas- 
 ant old Cambridge Don, by name Harry Fillimore. 
 But in the main Evelyn lived alone, in the wild 
 glades of the beautiful park, down by the silent 
 pool of the river just as she had lived and 
 dreamed in the old days of the longing for the 
 world, its glamour and its glories. And now she 
 had a great secret to take to the green woods with 
 her. Day by day, as some sylph of the thickets, 
 the true Eomany child reacted the thrilling scenes 
 of the brief weeks of triumph in London. Her 
 hair wild about her shoulders, her eyes reflecting 
 the dreams, she would crouch by the river's bank 
 and play Narcissus to the reeds. 
 
 " It was I, Etta . . . yes, yes . . . just 
 the little Etta looking up from the waters I went 
 to London I played at the theatre they said I 
 was a success they offered me money to Etta 
 Eomney, just little Etta Bomney. And now it's 
 all over. Etta is dead, and Evelyn has come back. 
 I shall never go to London again I shall die, per- 
 haps, down there among the reeds in the river. 
 Oh, if some one only would love me, some one un- 
 derstand me. And it's for ever in this lonely 
 place for ever for ever." 
 
 Such regrets were neither hysterical nor un- 
 usual. She knew that there was some great void 
 in her life, some desire ungratified, which must 
 haunt her to the end; and this knowledge drove
 
 98 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 her day by day along those paths of solitude which 
 her father wished her to tread, though never 
 would he have confessed as much. His lavish gifts 
 to her scarcely won a word of thanks. When she 
 rode a horse, it was madly, defying convention, 
 helter-skelter across the grass lands like a Mexi- 
 can flying over the prairie. She bathed in the 
 deepest, most dangerous pools ; went shooting but 
 shot little, because her will revolted from the 
 purposes of slaughter ; would picnic in the darkest 
 thickets and had even set up a tent and slept in 
 it, far from house or cottage, at the height of the 
 summer glory. 
 
 11 A little madcap," the bland vicar said when 
 he heard of it, " a regular brick of a girl, though 
 who'd believe it when he saw her at her father's 
 dinner table. Why, last night, sir, she sat in 
 the drawing-room just for all the world a paragon 
 of propriety with ten generations of grand dames 
 to her name. I didn't dare to take a second glass 
 of port for fear I should be jocular. And to-day 
 I saw her flying toward Derby in the new car at 
 thirty miles an hour. Away went my straw hat 
 just like a cricket ball. Now, what are you to 
 make of a young lady like that? ' 
 
 Doctor Philips, the person addressed upon this 
 occasion, confessed that you might make many 
 things of her. 
 
 " She could earn a good living at steeplechas- 
 ing, and I would pay her five pounds a week to 
 be my chauffeur/' he said quite seriously, " and 
 please don't forget the ball she drives at golf.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 99 
 
 Why, vicar, she'd give the pair of us a half. It's 
 no ordinary woman could do that." 
 
 They agreed that it could not be, and having dis- 
 cussed the Lady Evelyn at great length were about 
 to sit down to lunch together, individuals aware 
 of their own humility in the face of a superior in- 
 tellect, when Williams, the groom, came flying 
 over from the Hall and demanded to see the Doc- 
 tor instantly. 
 
 " There's bin a haccident on the road, sir," he 
 cried breathlessly, " please come over at once 
 the gentleman's up at the house and the Earl 
 away. ' ' 
 
 The doctor, wasting no words, set out with a 
 sigh and a backward glance at the inviting table. 
 
 The Vicar said: 
 
 " Thank God I thought that she had come to 
 grief. ' '
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A EACE FOR LITE 
 
 THE Vicar declared that he met Evelyn upon 
 the road to Derby, * * going like a volcano at thirty 
 miles an hour; " but this was a mere figure of 
 speech, for her little car, being of no more than 
 ten horse-power could not possibly accomplish 
 such speeds; nor would the winding roads about 
 the Hall have permitted them to a larger motor. 
 A reckless driver, if recklessness were love of the 
 delight of fast travel, Evelyn loved horses too 
 well to frighten them ; and rarely did a coachman 
 complain or such wayfarers as she met upon her 
 journey do anything but applaud her. Indeed, 
 Derbyshire had no more enchanting picture than 
 that of this dark-haired girl, superbly gowned, as 
 she sat at the wheel of her crimson car; while 
 Bates, the proud chauffeur, gazed disdainfully, 
 from the dicky behind, upon all the world, as 
 though to say, " You can't beat her." And this 
 was the more noble on Bates' part because Evelyn 
 had twice deposited him in the ditch since the car 
 came home. " The horrid thing will go round 
 the corners so fast " had been her lament after 
 these mishaps. Bates added the pious prayer that 
 he might go round with the car on the next occa- 
 sion-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 101 
 
 Sometimes, of course, it would be Etta Romney 
 who drove and not my Lady Evelyn at all. These 
 were mad, wild moods and came mostly at twilight 
 when the gloom of day crept upon the fields and 
 the sun went down in crimson splendor. Then the 
 wild, mad dash down tempting hills would scare 
 the loiterers and send the jogging laborer to the 
 shelter of the hedges. Then a cloud of dust envel- 
 oped the flying car, and the figure at the wheel 
 might have stood for Melpomene with vine leaves 
 in her hair. * * A rare 'un she be, ' ' the countrymen 
 would say; " went by me like a railway engine, 
 dang 'un, her did. ' ' 
 
 Evelyn had been into Derby on the day the Vicar 
 narrated the misfortunes of his straw hat. Hav- 
 ing done a little shopping, she set out for the Hall 
 a few minutes after the hour of twelve, by which 
 time the day had turned gloriously fine with a 
 light wind from the east and a bank of white 
 clouds high beneath the azure, which promised 
 welcome interludes of shade. She had a journey 
 of twenty-three miles before her (for Melbourne 
 Hall lies far from the little town of that name 
 and knows it not), and leisure enough in which 
 to do it. Business, she knew not of what nature, 
 had carried her father to London nearly a week 
 ago. She would be alone until to-morrow, her own 
 jailer, she said with a pout, the mistress of hours 
 by which she could profit so little. Her mood, 
 indeed, had become one of cynical indifference, 
 tempered by the reflection that this was the first 
 visit the Earl had paid to London since her esca- 
 pade. What, she asked, if a word of that story
 
 102 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 came to his ears even now? The weeks of safety 
 inspired a sense of security which circumstance 
 hardly justified. She paled and trembled when 
 she asked herself what such a passionate man as 
 her father would do if the truth were discovered 
 by him. 
 
 Here, truly, was no impulse to the delights of 
 speed or to that recklessness which the Vicar 
 chided. Evelyn drove slowly, her thoughts va- 
 grant and wayward, her attitude that of one who 
 has not pleasure awaiting her at her journey's end. 
 She had traversed over twenty miles of the dis- 
 tance and was just looking out for that well-known 
 landmark, the spire of the village church, when 
 a startled cry from the usually phlegmatic Bates 
 aroused her attention and called upon a self- 
 possession which rarely failed her. 
 
 ' ' A horse and carriage bolting behind us, your 
 ladyship put her on the fourth my God, he's 
 coming right on top of us quick, your ladyship 
 a horse bolting " 
 
 He stood up in the dicky and waved his arms 
 and continued to cry, " A horse bolting! " as 
 though by repetition alone he would bring her to 
 a sense of danger. Evelyn, upon her part, cast 
 one startled glance behind her and instantly be- 
 came aware of the situation. For down the road, 
 which sloped slightly toward them, a horse bolted 
 madly in their direction, swinging a light 
 brougham from footpath to footpath and leaving 
 a dense cloud of dust to bear witness to the speed. 
 So mad was the gallop that the frightened beast, 
 seen first at a distance perhaps of six hundred
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 10& 
 
 yards, was no more than three hundred yards 
 from them when Evelyn opened the throttle of her 
 car to the full and sent it racing down the incline 
 as it had never raced before. Fifteen, twenty, 
 twenty-five miles an hour the speed indicator 
 registered, and still the car appeared to be gain- 
 ing speed. Behind, as though in vain pursuit, 
 the thundering sound of hoofs waxed louder ; and 
 once or twice in the interludes of sounds, a man's 
 voice could be heard crying to the horse and to 
 those in the car incoherent words in an unknown 
 tongue. 
 
 * ' Let her go for. God 's sake, your ladyship let 
 her go he's coming up keep to the right don't 
 mind the corner we'll do it yet " These and 
 many another exclamation fell from Bates' vol- 
 canic lips as he clung to the dicky for dear life 
 and tried to drive the mad horse into the hedge 
 by the wild waving of a spasmodic arm. His 
 appeal to her to keep to the right showed that he, 
 at any rate, had not lost his head. Instinctive 
 habit sent the animal flying to the left-hand side 
 of the road as he would naturally be sent by any 
 coachman. Though the brougham lurched wildly, 
 the terrified horse returned to his accustomed 
 place again and again, taking the corners in wide 
 sweeps and increasing his speed with his terror. 
 A great raw bony brute that had been ridden to 
 hounds the previous winter, his gallop was that 
 of a thoroughbred over good grass lands. Even the 
 ten horse-power car could not keep its lead. Eve- 
 lyn knew that he was overtaking her. The shadow 
 of catastrophe seemed to creep over her very
 
 104 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 shoulders. " Is he far off. now? " she would ask 
 Bates despairingly. 
 
 The answer, many times repeated, began to be 
 monotonous. 
 
 " Keep to the right, milady don't mind the 
 corner I'll blow the horn for you now you're 
 gaining a bit oh, that's fine let her go we'll 
 do it yet, milady." 
 
 Evelyn, it may be, realized her own peril less 
 than that of those in the brougham. A man's cry, 
 whatever reading of character might be placed 
 upon it, seemed to her an evidence of grave danger 
 and piteous fear. But for this, her own courage 
 would have almost delighted in the rare sensa- 
 tions of speed and flight and all the doubt of the 
 ultimate issue. Guiding her car with a brave 
 hand, she was conscious of a rushing wind upon 
 her face ; of hedges, fields, trees approaching, dis- 
 appearing, during that ominous race; of a voice 
 speaking to her; of a question many times re- 
 peated' How will it end 1 Will they be killed ? ' 
 And yet the speed of it both excited and sustained 
 her. She swung round the corners as an arm 
 upon a pivot ; hugged a difficult path with the skill 
 of an old mecanicien, nursed her engine perfectly, 
 was nover flurried, never hesitating, never fearful. 
 That which she dreaded was the long incline lead- 
 ing up to the gates of Melbourne Hall. The mad 
 horse would beat the car upon that, she thought. 
 The threatened thunder of his hoofs seemed so 
 near to her now. She could hear the man's voice 
 plainly, and the tongue he spoke had a more famil- 
 iar sound.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 105 
 
 The moment was critical enough. A gentle hill 
 lay before her. She knew that a horse galloping 
 blindly would make nothing of it, but that the 
 little car must be slowed down sufficiently to 
 render escape out of the question. Had there 
 been a footpath, she would have mounted it and 
 dared the consequences; but of path there was 
 none. A man in her place might have bethought 
 him of slacking speed gradually and blocking the 
 road to the flying carriage. But Bates, her chauf- 
 feur, had never been upon a horse in his life. He 
 thought only of himself and the car. 
 
 " I could feel his nose down my back," he told 
 the Servants' Hall afterwards to which the cook 
 replied " Lor', Mr. Bates, how you must have 
 suffered ! ' ' He admitted that he had done so. 
 
 " She turned into the field better than Thery 
 himself could have done," he declared, speaking 
 of the driver of the Gordon Bennet car. " Just 
 when I was asking myself who'd come in for my 
 Sunday clothes, round she goes like a top and the 
 carriage went flying by us at a jiffy." 
 
 The kitchen listened in awe. 
 
 " I always said as she was a thoroughbred," 
 Williams, the groom, remarked; and this opinion 
 appeared to be general. 
 
 Evelyn had saved her car just as the excellent 
 Bates described it. Losing ground steadily upon 
 the hill, the end of it all seemed at hand, when she 
 espied the open gate of a hay-field upon her right 
 hand; and taking her courage and the wheel in 
 both her hands, she just touched the car with the 
 foot-brake and then swung it boldly through the
 
 106 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 opening. A terrible lurch, a great bump over 
 wagon-ruts and they were at a standstill in grass 
 growing to the height of their axles. The bolting 
 horse meanwhile went by like a shot from a bow, 
 straight up the hill which leads to the Hall. A 
 turn of the road hid him from their sight. They 
 heard a loud crash and then all was still. 
 
 Evelyn sat, very pale and frightened, and trem- 
 bling visibly at the thought of that which must 
 have happened on the hillside above them. The 
 engine of her car had stopped as they ran into the 
 field and the imperturbable Bates immediately 
 leaped down from the dicky and made a wild at- 
 tempt to restart it. 
 
 1 ' There wasn 't a driver on the box, milady, ' ' he 
 said, as though it were the most natural remark 
 in the world to make. 
 
 Evelyn answered by ordering him, almost an- 
 grily, to start the engine. 
 
 " We must go to them," she said, her heart 
 beating fast as she spoke. " I am sure there has 
 been a dreadful accident. Be quick, Bates ! Why 
 are you so foolish! Please start the engine at 
 once. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I was thinking of you, milady, ' ' the man said 
 a little sullenly. ' ' There was two gents in the car- 
 riage. You mightn't like to see what somebody 
 will see when they go up there." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense," she said firmly. " I am 
 not a child, Bates. You would make a coward of 
 me. Let us go at once ! ' 
 
 Bates said no more but started the engine at 
 once. Evelyn backed the car from the field and
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 107 
 
 drove slowly up the hill. She was greatly excited 
 and afraid, but her resolution to proceed re- 
 mained unshaken. 
 
 Who had been in the carriage? What harm had 
 befallen him or them? The turn of the road an- 
 swered her immediately. For there, white and 
 insensible by the side of the shattered brougham, 
 lay Count Odin, the Roumanian, and by him there 
 knelt young Felix Horowitz, his friend, ready to 
 tell everyone that the Count was dead. Evelyn, 
 however, knew that he was not dead. 
 
 And tragedy, she said, had followed her even to 
 the gates of Melbourne Hall.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE UNSPOKEN ACCUSATION 
 
 COUNT ODIN had been three days at Melbourne 
 Hall when the Earl returned. For thirty hours 
 he did not recover consciousness; the second day 
 found him restless and but dimly aware of the 
 circumstances of his accident ; the third day, how- 
 ever, recorded such an improvement that, as the 
 evening drew on, he sent the maid, Partigan, to 
 my Lady Evelyn begging that she would come to. 
 him. 
 
 There had been wild excitement in the house, to 
 be sure. Tragedy is ever the delight of the ser- 
 vants' hall; nor was it less delightful because 
 memorable days were few at the Manor. History 
 has recorded that Partigan, the maid, shed tears 
 when she heard that the young man upstairs was 
 a foreigner and exceedingly handsome. Mr. 
 Griggs, the butler, felt it necessary to sample 
 divers vintages of wine and to ask repeatedly what 
 the Earl would think of it. The maids whispered 
 together in corners ; the grooms discussed the err- 
 ing horse with straws protruding from the cor- 
 ners of their mouths. To these worthies and to 
 others the daily bulletin, which the shrewd, side- 
 whiskered Dr. Philips delivered each morning as 
 he climbed into his motor-car, became as the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 109 
 
 tidings of a horse-race or of a royal wedding. 
 Kumor had said that the young Count was dead 
 when they carried him to the house. Dr. Philips 
 declared that he would have him dancing before 
 the month was done. 
 
 " Fracture, pshaw! " exclaimed that knowing 
 practitioner ; * ' they might tell you that in Harley 
 Street, but in Derbyshire we know better. He 
 has a skull as thick as a water-butt. Con-cuss-ion, 
 sir, that is the matter. You may tell her ladyship 
 so with my compliments. Con-cuss-ion is what 
 Dr. Philips says, and if there is anyone who dis- 
 putes his word, he'd like to see the man." 
 
 They carried the news to Evelyn, who had 
 scarcely left her room since this amazing adven- 
 ture befell her. A brief account of the accident 
 obtained from the lips of young Felix Horowitz, 
 Count Odin's friend, narrated the simple circum- 
 stance that they had been driving from Moretown 
 to Melbourne Hall and had collided upon the way 
 with a hay-cart, whose driver, as the drivers of 
 hay-carts so frequently will, had been taking his 
 siesta during the heat of the day. Thrown from 
 the box into the gutter, the coachman dislocated 
 his shoulder and had many bruises to show ; while 
 his horse, terrified at the absence of control, in- 
 stantly bolted in one of those blind panics which 
 may overtake even the most docile of animals. 
 
 Such a story Felix Horowitz had told, but more 
 he could not tell. Evelyn's anxious question as 
 ; to the purport of Count Odin's visit remained 
 unanswered. It was possible, the youth said, that 
 the Count drove out to see Lord Melbourne.
 
 110 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " But I should not be surprised," he added 
 naively, ' ' if there were a better reason which you 
 must not expect me to confess." 
 
 She was afraid to press the point, nor dare she, 
 at present, invite the confidence of one who was 
 so great a stranger to her. Sooner or later it 
 would be necessary to abase herself before this 
 man who had thrust himself unluckily into her 
 life and made such quick use of his advantages. 
 Evelyn perceived immediately that she must go 
 to Count Odin and say, ' ' My father does not know 
 that I am Etta Bomney. Please do not tell him. ' ' 
 And this was far from being the whole penalty of 
 the accident. A glimmer of the truth could come 
 to her already as a spectre which henceforth must 
 haunt her life. She knew that her father had 
 spent some years in Boumania, and that nothing 
 would induce him to revisit that country wherein 
 he had married Dora d'Istran. In the same 
 breath, she told herself that this man was a Bou- 
 manian and acquainted with her father's story. 
 
 Had she been entirely honest with herself she 
 would have gone on to admit a certain fascination 
 in the mystery which she could neither account 
 for nor take arms against. Count Odin was like 
 no other man she had known. She had tried to 
 deceive herself in London with the imagined be- 
 lief that she never wished to see him again. Many 
 times, however, since she had returned to Derby- 
 shire this very desire would assert itself. She 
 found herself, against her will and reason, cov- 
 ertly hoping that she might hear his story from 
 his own lips. A psychologist would have held that
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 111 
 
 there was a certain affinity between the two, and 
 that she had become the victim of it unconsciously. 
 Her fear was of a splendid fascination she had 
 become aware of and could not resist. She im- 
 agined that she would obey this man if he com- 
 manded her, despite her resolute will and almost 
 eccentric originality. And this she feared even 
 more than her own secret. 
 
 It is to be imagined how the suspense of Count 
 Odin 's illness tried nerves as high strung as those 
 of Evelyn, and with what expectation she 
 awaited the hour when he would recover con- 
 sciousness. Her desire had become that of know- 
 ing the worst as speedily as might be; and the 
 worst she certainly would not know until con- 
 sciousness returned and some good excuse might 
 admit her to the sick man's room. Hourly, almost, 
 she asked the news of Dr. Philips and received the 
 strictly professional answer: 
 
 " An ordinary case no cause for worry at all 
 don't think about it." 
 
 To the Doctor 's inquiry what she knew of Count 
 Odin she merely said that she had heard of him 
 in London and believed that his father had been 
 the Earl's friend many years ago. This did not 
 in any way disguise her unrest, and the Doctor 
 would have been more than human had he not put 
 his own construction upon it. 
 
 * ' Head over ears in love with him, ' ' he told the 
 Vicar that night ; " why, sir, she would not deceive 
 a blind man. She's met this fellow in London and 
 bagged him like a wounded pheasant. I shouldn't 
 wonder if it hadn't been all arranged between
 
 112 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 them bolting horse and all. There he is, in the 
 chaplain's room, rambling away in a tongue a 
 Hottentot would be ashamed of, and she's waiting 
 for me always on the stairs just ready to hug me 
 for a good word. What do you make of it ? You've 
 married a few and ought to be an expert. ' ' 
 
 The Vicar shook his head at the compliment and 
 declared that it would never suit the Earl. 
 
 ' * He hopes that she will never marry, ' ' he said ; 
 " he has told me so himself more than once. If 
 she does marry, he has great ambitions. After 
 all/she may only be naturally anxious. I dare say 
 she's asking herself whether her own car did not 
 do some of the mischief. ' ' 
 
 The Vicar 's wife, on her part, declared the situ- 
 ation to be exceedingly distressing. 
 
 " There's no other lady in the house," she said 
 aghast. " I think the Earl should be advised to 
 return. It is so very unusual." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the Earl came home on the 
 evening of the third day, exactly one hour after 
 Evelyn had been sent for to see Count Odin for 
 the first time since the tragedy. The meeting took 
 place at the Count's request, as it has been said. 
 Eeturning consciousness brought with it a full re- 
 membrance of the circumstances of the accident 
 and a desire to thank his hostess for that which 
 had been done. So Evelyn went to him, deter- 
 mined to throw herself upon his pity. No other 
 possible course lay before her. 
 
 Dr. Philips was in the room when she entered 
 it; but his belief that this was an affaire de cceur 
 remained obdurate, and he withdrew into an al-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 113 
 
 cove, when the first introductions were over, and 
 made a great business there of discussing the 
 patient's condition with the nurse who had come 
 over from Derby. Thus Evelyn found her op- 
 portunity to speak freely to the young Count. 
 Each felt, however, that the need of words be- 
 tween them was small. 
 
 " My dear lady," he began, " how shall I apol- 
 ogize for what has happened to me ? Three days in 
 your house and not a word of regret that I intrude 
 upon you. Ah, that clownish fellow of a coachman 
 and the other who was asleep upon the imperial. 
 "Well, I shall long remember your English horses, 
 and, dear lady, I am not ungrateful to them. ' ' 
 
 He held out his hand and Evelyn could not with- 
 hold her own, which he clasped with warm fingers 
 as though to draw her nearer still toward him. 
 
 "It is impossible to speak of gratitude under 
 such circumstances, ' ' she said in a low voice. ' ' My 
 father will approve of all that has been done, 
 Count. He is returning to-night from London." 
 
 She paused and looked round the room, anxious 
 that Dr. Philips should not hear her. The Count, 
 in his turn, smiled a little maliciously as though 
 fully aware of her thoughts. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said again. " I came to see 
 your father, but I did not know that he was the 
 Earl of Melbourne. Will you not sit down, dear 
 lady? You make me unhappy while you stand." 
 
 He touched her hand again and indicated a low 
 chair facing his bed. Evelyn, whose heart beat 
 quickly, sat without protest. The minutes were 
 brief; she had so much to tell him.
 
 114 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 11 You knew my father in Koumania, did you 
 not? " she asked in a tone that could not hide her 
 curiosity. The Count answered her with a kindly 
 smile. 
 
 " He was my father's friend," he exclaimed, 
 raising himself a little upon the pillow; " that 
 would be more than twenty years ago. So much 
 has happened since then, Lady Evelyn. Twenty 
 years in a man's life and a woman's ah, if we 
 could recall even a few of them : 
 
 " Even the weeks," she said meaningly, " when 
 we were not ourselves, but another whom we wish 
 to forget. Our friends can help us to recall those 
 weeks, Count." 
 
 Evelyn had not understood the difficulty of con- 
 fession until this moment. Her visit to London 
 had been so entirely of her own planning, she had 
 locked the dreams of her life so surely in the 
 secret chambers of her heart, that this man was 
 the first human being with whom she had shared 
 so much as a single word of them. Secret actions 
 and secret thoughts alike shame us when we speak 
 of them aloud. Nothing but a dire dread of dis- 
 covery would have induced her to face the humili- 
 ations of this avowal had it not been that silence 
 must have meant discovery and discovery might 
 mean disaster beyond any she could imagine. 
 Count Odin, a trained man of the world, had per- 
 ception sufficient to read her story instantly and 
 to understand its full significance. Here was a 
 woman who put herself into his power without a 
 single thought of the consequences. He rejoiced 
 beyond words at the circumstance, but had the wit
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 115 
 
 to conceal his pleasure when he replied with an 
 apparent generosity which earned her gratitude: 
 
 ' ' Those are the weeks when our friends should 
 be blind, Lady Evelyn. I am glad that you tell 
 me this. Frankly, I, too, am an artist, and can 
 understand your father's objection to the theatre. 
 Let us forget that the most charming Etta Eom- 
 ney has existed. She came from nowhere and has 
 gone away as she came. We shall be so ungallant 
 that we go to forget her name and the theatre and 
 all her cleverness. Please to speak no more of it. 
 I am your servant, and my memory is at your com- 
 mand. If we have met in London, so shall it be. 
 If we are strangers when your father is come 
 back, that also I will be ready to remember. Com- 
 mand my silence or my words as you think for 
 the best." 
 
 He accompanied the words with a gesture which 
 would have made light of the whole affair as 
 though to say, ' ' This is a little thing, let us speak 
 of something more important. The act, however, 
 did not deceive Evelyn. Her former distrust of 
 this man returned with new force. She felt in- 
 stinctively that she must pay a price for his 
 silence; though she knew not, nor could she im- 
 agine, what that price must be. And, more than 
 this, she rebelled already against the penalties of 
 deception. The net in whose meshes her daring 
 had caught her was a net of equivocation which 
 must degrade while it endured. 
 
 " It is for my father's sake," she said quietly, 
 believing it at the moment really to be so. " He 
 knows little of the theatre and dislikes it in con-
 
 116 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 sequence. Of course, Count, I had no intention of 
 remaining in London. If you have any love for 
 the stage yourself, you will understand why I 
 went. ' ' 
 
 " No one so sympathetically, dear lady. You 
 were born an artiste ; you will die one, though you 
 never again shall go upon the stage. Here is our 
 friend, Dr. Philips, coming with the medicine to 
 make us happy. Is it that we have met in London 
 or are we to be strangers I Speak and I obey you, 
 now and always. ' ' 
 
 " There is no necessity to say anything about 
 it," she exclaimed, flushing as she stood up. " I 
 do not suppose my father will ask the question. 
 .Your visit to Derbyshire was in his interests, I 
 understand, Count." 
 
 He turned a swift keen glance upon her far 
 from a pleasant glance. 
 
 * * I came to ask a question of him, lady. I came 
 that he shall tell me whether my own father is a 
 free man or a prisoner. He will not answer that 
 question willingly. But until it is answered, I 
 remain the guest of your house. Silence, if you 
 please. This also is my secret and to-day is not 
 the time to speak of it." 
 
 He raised a hand warningly and Evelyn turned 
 about to find Dr. Philips at her side. The little 
 man seemed more amused than ever. His idea 
 that this was a lover's meeting, brought about by 
 the laborious device of a bolting horse and a 
 smashed carriage, could not be put aside. 
 
 " Doing capitally, I perceive," he remarked in 
 that professional tone of voice which no human
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 117 
 
 ill, whatever it may be, appears able to modulate 
 or alter. " Out in a bath-chair to-morrow and 
 steeplechasing the next day. Well, well, if we 
 could only put youth into our bottles, what magi- 
 cians we should be ! Now, sir, if I had been in the 
 carriage, the Lady Evelyn, here, would have been 
 asking herself what she would wear at the funeral 
 to-morrow. But I am an old man and you are a 
 young one, and there is nothing like youth in all 
 the world." 
 
 " A most excellent sentiment," said the Count, 
 " and one I take to mean that I may return to 
 London before the end of the week if the Lady 
 Evelyn will graciously permit me to go. ' ' 
 
 Dr. Philips looked at both of them and smiled. 
 
 " You must speak to the Earl about that," he 
 exclaimed. " Why, there is his carriage. I must 
 go and break the news to him. ' '
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 PREMONITION is an odd thing enough and no dis- 
 tant relative of that sister art of prophecy which 
 the ancients so justly esteemed. Evelyn knew no 
 reason whatever why her father should be of- 
 fended by the presence of Count Odin at the 
 Manor, but none the less premonition warned her 
 that the meeting would not be unattended by con- 
 sequences of some import. In this fear she had 
 quitted the Count's room directly Dr. Philips 
 warned her that the Earl's carriage was in the 
 courtyard; and going out to the head of that 
 short flight of stairs by which you reach the ban- 
 queting hall, she waited there in no little expecta- 
 tion, afraid she knew not of what, and yet quite 
 sure that she had good reason to be afraid. Down 
 below, in the great hall itself, she heard a sound 
 of voices for the Doctor had already begun his 
 tale and she tried to catch the sense of it, lis- 
 tening particularly for any mention of Count 
 Odin's name, which must, she believed, be the 
 key to this strange riddle of her adventure. When 
 her father approached her, smiling and not ill- 
 pleased, she was quite sure that the Count 's name 
 had not been mentioned; nor was her surmise in 
 any way incorrect.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 119 
 
 The Earl came up the stairs with the air of 
 a man who is glad to get home again and has 
 heard a good jest upon the very threshold of his 
 house. He wore a dark tweed suit and his bronzed 
 face, if slightly drawn by the fatigues of travel, 
 wore, none the less, that benevolent air of con- 
 tent which invariably attended the assurance that 
 all was well at Melbourne Hall. Stooping to kiss 
 Evelyn, he told her in a word that he was aware 
 of the adventure and found it amusing enough. 
 
 " Yes, the Doctor has told me," he began; " a 
 man and a horse and a flying machine ! My dear 
 girl, you must be careful. What will the county 
 say if we go on like this the second spill in a 
 couple of months. Why, I'll have to endow an 
 hospital for your victims ! Evelyn, my dear " 
 
 She interrupted him almost hotly. 
 
 " Doctor Philips should write books," she said 
 quickly. " We had nothing whatever to do with 
 it. The horse bolted from Moretown and raced 
 up behind us. I turned into a field and saved the 
 car. What nonsense to say that it was our fault ! 
 Ask the Count's friend how it happened. He has 
 been to London, but he will return to-morrow. 
 He can tell you all about it, father. I was too 
 frightened at the time to know exactly what did 
 happen. ' ' 
 
 The Earl, still believing that the Doctor's in- 
 coherent jargon must have some truth in it, 
 paused, nevertheless, at the word " Count." 
 
 1 ' Is the man a foreigner ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " He will tell you for himself," she replied 
 evasively. " We have given him the Chaplain's
 
 120 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 Room. Please go there and ask him how it was. 
 Dr. Philips has been romancing as usual. ' ' 
 
 The Doctor came up to them while they spoke 
 and looked foolish enough at overhearing her 
 words. He certainly was a poor hand at a narra- 
 tive, and his incoherent account of the tragedy had 
 left the Earl with no other idea than that of 
 Evelyn's recklessness and the consequences which 
 had attended it. 
 
 " It 's just like me, ' ' he exclaimed meekly, i i al- 
 ways putting my foot in it somewhere. And a 
 great big flat foot too, my dear. What did I tell 
 him now? I said you were returning from Derby 
 and the horse bolted and your car ran into a field. 
 That's it, wasn't it now? Dear me, how very 
 foolish! " 
 
 Evelyn did not hear him. They had strolled 
 together down the corridor and witnessed the 
 Earl enter the sick man's room, and now a sharp 
 sound of voices almost in anger came up to them. 
 On his part, Dr. Philips remained convinced that 
 the Count had come into Derbyshire to see Evelyn 
 and that the Earl had some knowledge of the cir- 
 cumstances. Evelyn's abstracted manner seemed 
 to bear him out in this ridiculous idea. Pale and 
 silent and agitated, she waited for the result of 
 that momentous interview. What had the two 
 men to say to each other? How much she would 
 have given to be able to answer that question ! 
 
 * ' Your father knows something of the Count, I 
 think? " the Doctor ventured at a hazard while 
 they waited.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 121 
 
 She answered that she was unaware of the 
 circumstance. 
 
 " I have only seen this man twice in my life," 
 she exclaimed with growing impatience. * ' If you 
 are writing his biography, Doctor, I really am 
 worse than useless." 
 
 He looked at her amazed. ' ' This man. ' ' Surely 
 there was nothing romantic about that. 
 
 " Writing his biography. My dear Lady Eve- 
 lyn, what an idea ! I quite thought he was an old 
 friend of yours. But everyone we know is an 
 old friend of ours nowadays," he said somewhat 
 solemnly, as though grieved that his anticipations 
 should thus be disappointed. ' ' I know absolutely 
 nothing of the Count," he went on, " except that 
 he is a Roumanian, a country, I believe, in the 
 south-east of Europe, with Bukharest for its 
 capital. I remember that from my schooldays. 
 The Roumanians shoot the Bulgarians on half- 
 holidays, and the Bulgarians burn the Rouman- 
 ians alive after they have been to church on Sun- 
 days. Evidently a country to which one should 
 send their relatives the elderly ones who have 
 made their wills satisfactorily." 
 
 Evelyn was too kind to embarrass him by the 
 declaration that her mother had been a daughter 
 of the country he esteemed so lightly. His readi- 
 ness to apologize upon every occasion was typical 
 of a kindly man who believed that all the world 
 was ready to find fault ,with him. His livelihood 
 depended upon his recognition of the fact that 
 illness itself is sometimes little better than a 
 vanity and that when an obstinate man tells you
 
 122 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 that He is an invalid, his pride is hurt if you tell 
 him that he is not. 
 
 " My father spent many years in Eoumania 
 when he was a young man," Eyelyn said, in an- 
 swer to the Doctor's tirade. " Those are years he 
 does not often speak of. I can't tell you why, 
 Doctor, but he dislikes anyone even to remind 
 him that he was once an attache at Bukharest. 
 Perhaps he will not welcome Count Odin here. I 
 imagine it may be so. ' ' 
 
 "I'm quite certain of it," said the Doctor with 
 a dry smile. " People who are glad to see each 
 other do not talk like that of course we must not 
 listen," he added, drawing her away toward the 
 Long Gallery ; " we are not supposed to be present 
 at all." 
 
 A sound of voices raised almost as though in 
 anger warned him that this was no common affair. 
 Every doctor is curious, and Dr. Philips had no 
 merits above the common in this respect. He 
 knew that he would narrate the whole circum- 
 stance to the Vicar later on in the evening, and 
 that two wise heads would be shaken together over 
 this amazing discovery. For the moment he 
 watched Evelyn narrowly and, perceiving her 
 agitation, found himself asking how much of her 
 story was true. Had she, indeed, met this in- 
 truder but once in London; and was she in ig- 
 norance of the Earl's past, so far as Eoumania 
 had written it? He doubted the possibility it 
 seemed to him prudent, however, not to remain 
 longer at the Hall. 
 
 " I shall run over in the morning," he said
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 123 
 
 blandly; " you can tell me anything I ought to 
 know then. There is nothing much the matter 
 with the man, and a bump may have knocked 
 some good sense into his head. Don't allow him 
 to worry the Earl I don't want another patient 
 iii the house, and your father has not looked very 
 well lately. Send for me again if you have any 
 trouble, and I'll be back as soon as the mes- 
 senger. ' ' 
 
 He would much have liked to stop, but that, he 
 realized, was out of the question. Here was some 
 private page from the life-story of a man whose 
 actions had ever mystified both his friends and 
 neighbors. An old woman in his love of a scandal, 
 Dr. Philips had the Earl's displeasure to set in 
 the other pan of the social balance; and that was 
 something not to be lightly weighed. Taking 
 leave of Evelyn at the western door of the Long 
 Gallery, he left her with many protestations of his 
 interest, and the repeated assurance that his morn- 
 ing visit should be an early one. 
 
 " I'll look in first thing," he exclaimed; " don't 
 let that man worry the Earl, my dear. There's a 
 hang-dog look about him I never liked. Keep 
 your eyes on him and take my advice, the advice 
 of an old friend get rid of him." 
 
 Anxious as she was, she could not but smile at 
 this volteface. An hour ago, believing that Count 
 Odin had come to Melbourne because he was her 
 lover, the Doctor was ready to declare him a very 
 Adonis, a prodigy of charm and valor and all the 
 graces. Now he had become ' ' that man, ' ' a term 
 human nature is ready enough to apply to stran-
 
 124 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 gers. Evelyn, left alone in the gallery, fell to 
 wondering which was the truer estimate. Why, 
 she asked, had she any interest in this stranger at 
 all ? Did the appeal he made to her speak to Etta 
 Romney or to Evelyn, my lord of Melbourne's 
 daughter? Was there not a subtle idea that this 
 man could speak for the glamour and the stir of 
 that world she craved for and was denied. Even 
 at this early stage, she did not believe that the 
 influence was for good, though she forbore to 
 name it as utterly evil. Agitation, indeed, and a 
 curiosity more potent than any she had ever sub- 
 mitted to, now dominated her to the exclusion of 
 all other thoughts. Why did her father delay? 
 Of what sometime forgotten day of the dead 
 years were the two men now speaking in a tone 
 which declared their anger? She could not even 
 hazard an answer. The gong for dressing sounded 
 and still the Earl did not leave the Count's room. 
 Dinner was served he did not appear at the table. 
 Greatly distressed and afraid, Evelyn waited until 
 nine o'clock, when a message came down to tell 
 her that he had gone to his room and would dine 
 alone. 
 
 * ' I must go up, Griggs, ' ' she said firmly ; ' ' my 
 father cannot be well." 
 
 " My lady," he said, " the Earl was firm on 
 that. He will see no one, not even you to-night. ' ' 
 
 The intimation astounded her, and yet had been 
 expected. Destiny spoke to her plainly since the 
 day the Count had come to Melbourne Hall. For 
 what else had it been but Destiny which brought 
 her face to face with this man in London, sent her
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 125 
 
 almost into his arms and revealed her name to 
 him? But for that chance encounter, her secret 
 might have remained her own to the end. She did 
 not fear her secret now, but a great mystery, the 
 story of her father's life (she knew not what it 
 might be), told abroad to the world, to his shame 
 and her own. Not in vain had she lived these 
 years of a close intimacy with one who could not 
 so much as bear the word ' ' youth ' ' mentioned in 
 his presence. There had been a past in the Earl's 
 life, of that she was convinced and this man, she 
 said, had come to the Manor to accuse him. It 
 remained for her to take up arms against him = 
 she, my Lady Evelyn, the recluse, the captive of 
 a selfish idea. 
 
 And that was in her mind already the per- 
 sonal issue between herself and the Count. She 
 would not shrink from it, although she realized its 
 perils. 
 
 " Not Evelyn, but Etta," she said, " yes, yes, 
 and that is Destiny also. And now the world is 
 all before me and I am alone." 
 
 Alone! Truly so, for my Lady Evelyn knew 
 not one in all the world to whom she might speak 
 in that hour of awakening.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 INHERITANCE 
 
 ALONE in his own room, high up in the northern 
 tower of Melbourne Hall, the Earl locked the door 
 and turned up the lights with the air of a man 
 who has a considerable task before him and must 
 make the most of the hours of grace remaining. 
 
 He was very pale and greatly changed since he 
 had returned from London three hours ago. Some 
 would have perceived in his manner, not the evi- 
 dences of fear but of displeasure, and such dis- 
 pleasure as events bordering upon tragedy alone 
 could provoke. Uttering but one harsh instruc- 
 tion to the servant who answered his bell, he sat 
 at his writing table and for a full hour turned over 
 the pages of a diary which had not seen the light 
 for twenty years or more. 
 
 Georges Odin ! How the very name could seize 
 upon his mind to the exclusion of all other 
 thoughts. Sitting there with the time-stained 
 papers before him, the Earl was no longer in 
 Derbyshire but out upon the Carpathians, a youth 
 of the West craving for the excitements of the 
 East; a hunter upon a brave horse, the friend of 
 brigands and of outlaws drinking deep of the 
 intoxicating draughts of freedom and debauch. 
 "Well and truly had this young Count, whom Fate
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 127 
 
 had sent to his door, reminded him of these scenes 
 he had made it his life's purpose to forget. 
 
 ' ' Zallony, my lord, ' ' he had said, ' ' Zallony still 
 lives and you were one of Zallony 's band. They 
 tell of your crimes to this day. The mad English- 
 man who carried the village girls to the hills the 
 mad Englishman who drank when no other could 
 lift the cup the mad Englishman who rode out 
 of Bukliarest in a bandit's cloak and lived the 
 Bohemian days of which the very gypsies were 
 ashamed. Shall I tell you his name? It would be 
 that of my father 's murderer. ' ' 
 
 And the answer had been a cringing evasion. 
 
 " I met Georges Odin in fair fight* He was 
 the better man. I could show the scars his sword 
 left to this day. Of what do you accuse me? They 
 sent him to prison well, I did not make their 
 laws. He died there, a convict laborer in the salt 
 mines. Was it my doing? Ask those at the Min- 
 istry. We moved heaven and earth to save him. 
 The Government's reason was a political one. 
 They sent your father to the mines because the 
 Kussian Government then all powerful at Buk- 
 harest believed him to be its most dangerous 
 enemy. His affair with me was the excuse. What 
 had I to do with it? " 
 
 But the Count persisted. 
 
 11 Your influence would have saved him. You 
 preferred to keep silent, my lord. And I will tell 
 you more. It was at your instigation that the 
 Roumanian Government arrested my father in 
 the first place. You wished for revenge I think 
 it was more than that. You were afraid that the
 
 128 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 woman you married would find you out if Georges 
 Odin regained his liberty. You were not sure that 
 Dora d'Istran did not love him. And so you 
 left Eoumania and took her with you luckily for 
 you both to die before she had read her own 
 heart truly. That's what I have come this long 
 way to tell you. To Eobert Forrester I said. 
 How should I know that in England they would 
 make a lord of such a man! I did not know it; 
 but that to me is the same. You shall answer my 
 question or pay the price. My lord, I have brains 
 of my own and I can use them. You shall pay me 
 what you owe you will be wise to do so. ' ' 
 
 The Earl did not wince at the threat, nor did 
 his habitual self-control desert him. His insight 
 would have been shallow indeed if he had not 
 perceived that he was face to face with a danger- 
 ous enemy, and one with whom he might not trifle. 
 
 ' ' Put your question to me and I will answer it, ' ' 
 he said doggedly. " Eemember that we are not 
 in Eoumania, Count. A word from me and my 
 men would set you where questions would help 
 you little. Speak freely while I have the patience 
 to hear you. ' ' 
 
 " As freely as you could desire, my lord. A 
 wise man would not utter a threat at such a time. 
 Do you think that I, Georges Odin's son, do you 
 think that I come to England alone? Ah, my 
 lord, how little you know me ! Open one of your 
 windows and listen for the message my friends 
 will deliver to you. I come to you with white gloves 
 upon my hands. It is to ask you, my lord, in what 
 prison my poor father is lying at this moment.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 129 
 
 Tell me that, help me to open the gates for him, 
 and we are friends. It will be time to utter threats 
 when you refuse." 
 
 The Earl's face blanched at the words, but 
 he did not immediately reply to them. The story 
 which the young man told was too astonishing 
 that he should easily understand it. 
 
 " You father died in the fortress of Krajova," 
 he said at length. " I remember that it was in 
 the month of November in the year 1874. Why 
 do you speak of the gates of his prison? It is 
 incredible that you should bring such a story 
 to me." 
 
 " As little incredible as your own ignorance, 
 my lord. I thought as you did until the day, five 
 years ago, which released Zallony's brother from 
 Krajova. He brought the news to us. My father 
 lives. But he is at Krajova no longer. The Rus- 
 sian Government never forgets, my lord. It re- 
 members the day when Georges Odin was its 
 enemy. My own people fear that my father's 
 liberty would awaken old affairs that had better 
 sleep. He is the victim of them. Yours is the 
 one hand in all Europe that could set him free. 
 My lord, the world must know his story and you 
 shall write it. And if not you then my Lady 
 Evelyn, your daughter. Do you think I am so 
 blind that I do not read the truth? The blood that 
 ran in the mother's veins runs in the daughter's. 
 Open the doors of this house to her and she will 
 go to the hills as her mother went. The desire of 
 life throbs in her veins. When I speak to her, I 
 witness the struggle between th3 old and the
 
 130 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 new; faith and joy; the convent and the theatre; 
 love and the prison. Your pride, your fear, have 
 made a captive of her but I, my lord, may yet 
 cut her pretty bonds. As God is in heaven, I will 
 not spare her one hour of shame if you do not 
 give my father back to me. Think of that before 
 you answer me. The girl or the man. Your shame 
 or her freedom. My lord, you have not many 
 iiours in which to choose. ' ' 
 
 Such an alternative the Earl carried with him 
 to his own room ; such an alternative spoke to him 
 from every page of the diaries his hand turned 
 so painfully. It was as though the dead had 
 risen to accuse him. Yonder, in a great clamped 
 drawer of the bureau, were the letters he had re- 
 ceived from his dead wife in the days when he 
 contended with Georges Odin for the love of that 
 mad, wild girl of the Carpathians. How ardently 
 he had loved her ! What mad hours they had lived 
 amid the gypsy children of Eoumania! And yet 
 in heart and will she was another 's. He had long 
 known she loved the prisoner at Krajova. And 
 the one supremely cowardly thing he had done 
 in the course of his life had been done at the 
 dictation of an uncontrollable passion which 
 ^would sacrifice even honor for her sake. Georges 
 Odin, the Count 's father, had met him in fair fight 
 the better swordsman had won. Never would he 
 forget the day the snow-capped hills, the white 
 glen in which they fought ; the keen sword lightly 
 engaging his own ; then the swift attack, the mas- 
 terly reposte and that sensation as of red-hot 
 iron passing tc his very heart. No shame here,
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 131 
 
 it is true; but there were days of shame after- 
 ward when the story came out and King Charles 
 himself asked the question, was it so! A word 
 from Robert Forrester would have saved his 
 enemy from the mines. He never spoke it. The 
 man disappeared from his ken, and he believed 
 that he was dead. He could scarcely deny the jus- 
 tice of the retribution which now overtook him. 
 
 Georges Odin alive and a prisoner still in some 
 unknown fortress citadel. How the very name 
 could awaken forgotten sensations! It seemed to> 
 the Earl as though the madness of his youth strug- 
 gled once more for mastery with the finer 
 impulses and desires which a later day had in- 
 spired. Yesterday he had been a country gen- 
 tleman, seeking to cast behind finally that cloak 
 of unconventionality he had worn with such 
 pleasure in his youth. He had meant to white- 
 wash the sepulchre ; to take his seat in the Lords ; 
 to equip himself for the great honors thrust upon 
 him; to marry Evelyn sedately to a son of a 
 noble house and then, as it were, to convince him- 
 self that the abnormal had been purged out of 
 him and would afflict him no more. These am- 
 bitions, however, were powerless now to combat 
 the more natural instincts which the story of his 
 youth could recreate for him. Once more in im- 
 agination he rode the hills of Koumania as a free 
 adventurer, submitting to the laws neither of God 
 nor of man. Once more the sensuous voluptuous- 
 ness of the Earl dominated him, and the spirit 
 within him rebelled at its captivity. He must 
 escape convention, he thought, become a wanderer
 
 132 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 once more. And Evelyn! Had he not feared to 
 read in her acts this very inheritance his own 
 nature cried out for. He shuddered when he 
 thought of Evelyn. Who would save her in the 
 hour of cataclysm? 
 
 Such were the thoughts of that night long drawn 
 and terrible. In moments of revulsion against 
 those who had thus brought him to bay, there 
 were mad whisperings which reminded him that 
 Georges Odin's son was the prisoner of his house 
 and that, as he would, he might readily be de- 
 tained there until some understanding had been 
 come to. This was a thought the Earl could recall 
 again and again. The man was alone and helpless 
 in his hands. It would be folly to open the doors 
 and to say, " Go out and tell the story to the 
 world." Melbourne Hall had harbored greater 
 secrets before that day, and might witness them 
 again. Why should he stand irresolute ; what for- 
 bade him to save Evelyn from all that revelation 
 must mean to her I He knew not it remained for 
 the house to answer him, silently and finally, with 
 the answer of one who has set out upon no idle 
 mission but is well aware of the danger he must 
 face. 
 
 This was at the hour of dawn. Unable to sleep, 
 the Earl sat by his open window watching the chill 
 gra> light creeping over the dew-laden grass and 
 disclosing the trees one by one as though an un- 
 seen hand drew back the curtain of the night from 
 the stately branches. A thrush with a STT3et note 
 heralded the day the deer began to browse be- 
 neath the great avenue of yews. Anon, a sweet 
 fresh air, invigorating as a very draught of life
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 133 
 
 itself, came down from the hills and sent the rip- 
 ples leaping and splashing beneath the arches of 
 the old bridge, as though the river also had 
 awakened from a lover's dreams. And now all 
 stood revealed as in a picture of a forest land; 
 the vast spaces of ripe green grass, delicious vis- 
 tas of wood and thicket; home scenes, and scenes 
 of Nature untrammelled. Upon other days, often 
 at such an hour as thu, the Earl had looked down 
 upon them and said, " Mine mine . . .all 
 these are mine." To-day he viewed them with 
 heavy eyes. Something unfamiliar in the land- 
 scape attracted his attention and roused him from 
 his musings. 
 
 A loom of heavy white smoke floating upward 
 from the glen! Nothing but that. A drift of 
 smoke and anon the figure of a man seen between 
 the trees! Another would hardly have remarked 
 the circumstances, but Robert Forrester became 
 awake in an instant and as vigilant as one who 
 dreads that which his eyes discover. 
 
 " They are gypsies, by ' he said, " and 
 they have come at this man's bidding." 
 
 He knew the meaning of their presence without 
 words to tell him. They had come to demand the 
 freedom of their old master, Georges Odin, whose 
 son had carried them across the seas with him. 
 
 1 1 I must answer them, ' ' the Earl said, ' * and if 
 I answer them, what then? Will the other be 
 silent? " 
 
 He turned away and shut the window violently, 
 as though to shut the spectre out. 
 
 " He would kill me," he said; " the world is not 
 big enough to hide me from Georges Odin."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE PRICE OF SALVATION 
 
 y *~ 
 
 EVELYN met her father r,t the breakfast table 
 on the following morning ; but their brief conver- 
 sation in no way enlightened her. The Earl, in- 
 deed, appeared to be entirely wrapped up in his 
 own thoughts, and the few questions he put to her 
 iwere far from being helpful. 
 
 " You have seen my friend, Count Odin," he 
 remarked abruptly, " what is your opinion of 
 Mm? " 
 
 " He interests me, but I do not like him," she 
 replied as frankly. 
 
 " A first impression," the Earl continued with 
 a note of annoyance but ill-concealed. ' ' You will 
 get to know him better. His father was my oldest 
 friend. ' ' 
 
 * * In which case the son is sometimes an embar- 
 rassment, ' ' she said naturally, and with no idea of 
 the meaning of her words? 
 
 The Earl looked up quickly. 
 
 ' ' Has he told you anything, ' ' he asked with lit- 
 tle cleverness, " spoken of Bukharest, perhaps? 
 iYou must have been a good deal together while I 
 w&s away. What did he say to you? A man like 
 that is never one to hold his tongue." 
 
 She smiled at the suggestion.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 135 
 
 " He was unconscious for thirty hours. My 
 store of small talk did not come up to that. Why 
 do you ask me, father? Don't you wish me to 
 talk to him? " 
 
 " My dear child, I wish you to like him if you 
 can. His father was my friend. We must show 
 him hospitality just for his father's sake." 
 
 " Oh, I'll take him in the park and flirt with 
 him if you wish it. The nuns did not teach me 
 how I suppose flirtation was an extra." 
 
 Again he looked at her closely. This flippancy 
 veiled some humor he could not fathom. Was it 
 possible that the girl had been fascinated already 
 by a man well schooled in the arts of pleasing 
 women. And what solution of his trouble would 
 that be? If he gave Evelyn to the son of Georges 
 Odin a coward's temptation from which he 
 shrank immediately, but not so far away that he 
 put the thought entirely from him. 
 
 " I mean nothing so foolish," he exclaimed 
 sharply; " the Count is our guest and must be 
 treated as such. I understand that he is allowed 
 to go out to-day. If you have any wish to accom- 
 pany him in the car, he will consider it a cour- 
 tesy. ' ' 
 
 " Thank you," she said in a hard voice*; " I 
 should really be frightened of the Vicar's wife." 
 
 Her raillery closed the conversation. The Ear! 
 went upstairs to his guest. Evelyn, at a later 
 hour, caught up a straw hat and ran off by herself 
 to the little boat-house by the river. She was a 
 skilful canoeist and there was just water enough 
 for the dainty canoe her father had bought in.
 
 136 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 Canada for her. Never was she so much alone 
 as when lying, book in hand, beneath the shelter of 
 some umbrageous willow; and to-day she wel- 
 comed solitude as she had never welcomed it since 
 first they came to Melbourne HalL One refuge 
 there was above others Di Vernon's Arbor, they 
 called it, where the willows spread their trailing 
 branches upon the very waters; where the banks 
 were so many couches of verdant grass, the iris 
 generous in its abundant beauty, the river but a 
 pool of the deepest, most entrancing blue water 
 this refuge she had named the Lake of Dreams, 
 and to this to-day she steered her frail craft, and 
 there found that solitude she prized so greatly. 
 
 What did her father mean by wishing her to be 
 gracious to Count Odin! Had he so changed in a 
 night that he would sacrifice his only daughter to 
 atone for some wrong committed in his own boy- 
 hood? Her passionate nature could resent the 
 mere idea as one too shameful to contemplate. 
 But what did it mean then, and how would she 
 stand if the Count presumed upon her father's 
 acquiescence? The fascination which this stran- 
 ger exercised did not deceive her ; she knew it for 
 the spell of evil, to be resisted with all her heart 
 and soul. Was she strong enough, had she charac- 
 ter enough, to resist it? She would be alone against 
 them both if the worst befell, she remembered, 
 and would fight her battle unaided. Others might 
 have been dismayed, but not Evelyn, the daughter 
 of Dora d'Istran. She was grateful perhaps that 
 her father had declared his preference so openly. 
 A veiled hostility toward their guest might have
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 137 
 
 provoked her to show him civilities which were 
 asked of her no longer. As it was, she understood 
 her position and could prepare for it. 
 
 To this point her reverie had carried her when 
 she became aware that she was no longer alone. 
 A rustling of leaves, a twig snapping upon the 
 bank, brought her instantly to a recognition of the 
 fact that some one watched her hiding-place be- 
 hind the willows of the pool. Whoever the in- 
 truder might be, he withdrew when she looked up, 
 and his face remained undiscovered. Evelyn re- 
 sented this intrusion greatly, and was about to 
 move away when some one, hidden by the trees, 
 began to play a zither very sweetly, and to this the 
 music of a guitar and a fiddle were added pres- 
 ently, and then the pleasing notes of a human 
 voice. Pushing her canoe out into + the stream, 
 Evelyn could just espy a red scarf flashing be- 
 tween the trees and, from time to time, the dark 
 face of a true son of Egypt. Who these men were 
 or why they thus defied her privacy, she could not 
 so much as hazard ; nor did she any longer resent 
 their temerity. The weird, wild music made a 
 strange appeal to her. It awakened impulses and 
 ideas she had striven to subdue; inspired her im- 
 agination to old ideals excited and troubled her 
 as no music she had heard before? The same mad 
 courage which sent her to London to play upon 
 the stage of a theatre returned to her and filled 
 her with an inexplicable ecstasy. She had all the 
 desire to trample down the conventions which 
 stifled her liberty and to let the world think as it 
 would. Etta Romney came back to life and being
 
 138 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 in that moment Etta speaking to Evelyn and 
 saying, " This is a message of the joy of life, 
 listen, for it is the voice of Destiny. ' ' 
 
 The music ceased upon a weird chord in a minor 
 key; and, when it had died away, Evelyn became 
 aware that the men were talking in a strange 
 tongue and secretly, and that they still had no 
 intention of declaring their presence. With the 
 passing of the spell of sweet sounds, she found 
 herself not without a little alarmed curiosity to 
 learn who they were and by whom they had been 
 permitted to wander abroad in the park, appar- 
 ently unquestioned and unknown. Disquiet, in- 
 deed, would have sent her to the house again, but 
 for the appearance of no other than Count Odin 
 himself, who came without warning to the water 's 
 edge and laughed at her evident perplexity. 
 
 " My fellows annoy you, dear lady," he said. 
 " Pray let me make the excuses for them. You 
 do not like their music is it not sol ' 
 
 * * Not at all, I like it very much, ' ' she said, not 
 weighing her words. " It is the maddest music I 
 ever heard in all my life." 
 
 " Then come and tell young Zallony so. I 
 brought him to England, Lady Evelyn. I mean to 
 make his fortune. Come and see him and tell him 
 if London will not like him when he scrapes the 
 fiddle in a lady's ear. It would be gracious of you 
 to do that these poor fellows would die if you 
 English ladies did not clap the hands for them. 
 Come and be good to young Zallony and he will 
 never forget." 
 
 He helped her ashore with his left hand, for his
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 139 
 
 right he carried in a silken scarf, the last remain- 
 ing witness to his accident. His dress was a well- 
 fitting suit of gray flannels, with a faint blue 
 stripe upon them. He had the air and manner of 
 a man who denied himself no luxury and was per- 
 fectly well aware of the fascination he exercised 
 upon the majority of women he met, whatever 
 their nationality. Had Evelyn been questioned 
 she would have said that his eyes were the best 
 gift with which Nature had dowered him. Of the 
 darkest gray, soft and languishing in a common 
 way, they could, when passion dominated them, 
 look into the very soul of the chosen victim and 
 leave it almost helpless before their steadfast 
 gaze. To this a soldier's carriage was to be 
 added; the grand air of a man born in the East 
 and accustomed to be obeyed. 
 
 ' ' This is Zallony, ' ' he said with a tinge of pride 
 in his voice, " also the son of a man with whom 
 your father was very well acquainted in his 
 younger days. Command him and he will fiddle 
 for you. There are a hundred ladies in Bukharest 
 who are, at all times, ready to die for him. He 
 comes to England and spares their lives. Admit 
 his generosity, dear lady. He will be very kind to 
 you for my sake. ' ' 
 
 Zallony was a Romany of Romanies: a tall, 
 dark-eyed gypsy, slim and graceful, and a musi- 
 cian in every thought and act of his life. He wore 
 a dark suit of serge, a broad-brimmed hat, and a 
 bright blue scarf about his waist. With him were 
 three others; one a very old man dressed in a 
 bizarre fashion of the East, and at no pains to
 
 140 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 adapt it to the conventions of the West ; the rest, 
 dark-visaged, far from amiable-looking fellows, 
 who might never have smiled in all their lives. 
 Zallony remained a prince .among them. He 
 bowed low to Evelyn and instantly struck up a 
 lively air, which the others took up with that verve 
 and spirit so characteristic of Eastern musicians. 
 When they had finished, Evelyn found herself 
 thanking them warmly. They had no English, 
 and could only answer her with repeated smiles. 
 
 " How did these people come here? " she asked 
 the Count, as they began to walk slowly toward 
 the woods. 
 
 His reply found him once more telling the truth 
 and astounded, perhaps, at the ease of a strange 
 employment. 
 
 " By the railway and the sea, Lady Evelyn. 
 They are my watch-dogs you would call them 
 that in England. Oh, yes, I am a timid traveller. 
 I like to hear these fellows barking in the woods. 
 So much they love me that if I were in prison they 
 would pull down the walls to get me out. Your 
 father, my lord, does not forbid them to pitch 
 their tents in his park. Why should he? I am 
 his guest and shall be a long time in this country, 
 perhaps. These fellows are not accustomed to 
 live in houses. Dig them a cave and they will 
 make themselves happy they are sons of tents 
 and the hills; men who know how to live and 
 how to die. The story of Roumania has written 
 the name of Zallony 's father in golden letters. 
 He fought for our country against the Russians 
 who would have stolen our liberty from us. To
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 141 
 
 this day the Ministry at Petersburg would hang 
 his son if he was so very foolish as to visit that 
 unfortunate country. Truly, Zallony has many 
 who love him not he is fortunate, Lady Evelyn, 
 that your father is not among the number." 
 
 He meant her to ask him a question and she did 
 not flinch from it. 
 
 " Why should my father have any opinions 
 upon the matter I Are these people known to him 
 also? " 
 
 * ' My dear lady, in Roumania, twenty years ago, 
 the bravest men, the biggest hearts, were at Zal- 
 Jony's command. His regiment of hussars was 
 the finest that the world has ever seen. Bukharest 
 made it a fashion to send young men secretly to its 
 ranks. The name of Zallony stood for a brother- 
 hood of men, not soldiers only, but those sworn 
 to fidelity upon the Cross; to serve each other 
 faithfully, to hold all things in common the poor 
 devils, how little they had to hold ! such were Zal- 
 lony 's hussars. Lady, your father and my father 
 served together in the ranks ; they took a common 
 oath they rode the hills, lived wild nights on 
 desolate mountains, shared good fortune and ill, 
 until an unlucky day when a woman came between 
 them and brotherhood was no more. I was such 
 a little fellow then that I could not lift" the sword 
 they put into my hands; but they filled my body 
 up with wine and I rode my pony after them, 
 many a day that shall never be forgotten. This 
 is to tell you that my mother, a little wild girl of 
 the Carpathians, died the year I was born. Her 
 I do not remember a thing to be regretted, for
 
 142 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 who may say what a mother 's memory may not do 
 for that man who will let it be his guiding star. 
 I did not know her, Lady Evelyn. When they car- 
 ried my father to prison, the priests took charge 
 of me and filled my head with their stories of 
 peace and good-will the head of one who had 
 ridden with Zallony on the hills and heard the call 
 to arms as soon as he could hear anything at all. 
 They told me that my father was dead five years 
 ago I learned that he lived. Lady Evelyn, he is 
 a prisoner, and I have come to England to give 
 him liberty." 
 
 He looked at her, waiting for a second question, 
 nor did she disappoint him. 
 
 " Can my father help you to do that, Count? " 
 ' ' My dear lady, consider his position. An Eng- 
 lish noble, bearing his honored name; the master 
 of great riches what cannot he do if he will? 
 Let him say but one word to my Government and 
 the affair is done. I shall see my dear father 
 again the world will be a new world for me. My 
 lord has but to speak. ' ' 
 
 11 Is it possible that he could hesitate? ' 
 " All things are possible where human folly is 
 concerned. ' ' 
 
 11 Then there would be a reason, Count? ' 
 " And a consequence, Lady Evelyn." 
 " Oh," she said quickly, " you are not frank 
 with me even now. ' ' 
 
 ' ' So frank that I speak to you as I never spoke 
 to another in all my life. You are the only person 
 in England who can help me and help your father 
 to do well. I have asked him for the liberty of a
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 143 
 
 man who never did him a wrong. He has refused 
 to answer me, yes or no. Why should I tell you 
 that delay is dangerous 1 ? If I am silent a little 
 while, do you not guess that it is for your sake 
 that I am silent! These things are rarely hidden 
 from clever women. Say that Count Odin has 
 learned to be a lover and you will question me 
 no more." 
 
 They were in a lonely glade, dark with the shade 
 of beeches, when he made this apparently honest 
 declaration; and he stood before her forbidding 
 her to advance further or to avoid his entreaty. 
 Her confusion, natural to her womanhood, he in- 
 terpreted in its true light. " She does not love 
 me, but there is that in her blood which will give 
 me command over her," he said. And this was 
 the precise truth. Evelyn had, from the first, 
 been fully aware of the strange spell this man 
 could put upon her. His presence seemed to her 
 as that of the figure of evil beckoning her to wild 
 pleasures and forbidden gardens of delight. 
 Strong as her will was, this she could not combat. 
 And she shrank from him, helpless, and yet aware 
 of his power. 
 
 " You are speaking to me of grave things," 
 she said quietly. " My own feelings must not 
 enter into them. If my father owes this debt to 
 you, he shall pay it. I will be no part of the price, 
 Count Odin." 
 
 " Car a mia," he said, taking both her hands 
 and trying to draw her close to him, " I care not 
 how it is if you shall say you love me. Do not 
 hide the truth from yourself. Your father is in
 
 144 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 great danger. You can save him from the penal- 
 ties of wrong. Will you refuse to do so because 
 I love you love you as I have never believed a 
 man could love ; love you as my father loved your 
 mother so many years ago with the love of a 
 race that has fought for women and died for 
 them; a race which is deaf when a women says 
 no, which follows her, cara mia, to the end of the 
 earth and has eyes for nothing else but the house 
 which shelters her? Will you do this when your 
 heart can command me as you will saying, 
 speak or be silent, forget or remember? I know 
 you better; you love me, Evelyn; you are afraid 
 to tell me, but you love me. That is why I remain 
 a prisoner of this house because you love me r 
 and I shall make you my wife. Ah, cara mia, say 
 it but once I love you, Georges, the son of my 
 father's friend I love you and will not forbid 
 your words. ' ' 
 
 A strange thrill ran through Evelyn's veins as 
 she listened to this passionate declaration. The 
 frenzied words of love did not deceive her. This 
 man, she thought, would so speak to many a 
 woman in the years to come. A better wit would 
 have concealed his purpose and rendered him less 
 frank. ' ' He would sell his father 's liberty at my 
 bidding," she said, and the thought set her strug- 
 gling in his arms, flushed with anger and with 
 shame. 
 
 " I will not hear you, Count," she cried again 
 and again. " I cannot love you you are not of 
 my people. If my father has done wrong, he shall 
 repay. He is not so helpless that he cannot save
 
 1 Oh please let me go ; your hands hurt me. I can never be your 
 wife, never, never!" Chap. 15.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 145 
 
 me from this. Oh, please let me go; your hands 
 hurt me. I can never be your wife, never, 
 never! ' 
 
 He released her reluctantfy, for his quick ear 
 had caught the sound of a horse galloping upon 
 the open grass beyond the thicket. 
 
 * ' You will answer me differently another day, ' > 
 he said smilingly; " meanwhile, car a mia, there 
 are two secrets to keep yours and mine. If the 
 charming Lady Evelyn will not hear me, I must 
 remember Etta Romney, a young lady of my 
 acquaintance ah, you know her too; and that is 
 well for her. Let us return to the house. My lord 
 will have much to say to me and I to him. ' ' 
 
 They went up to the Hall together in silence. 
 Evelyn knew how much she was in his power and 
 how idle her veiled threats had been. 
 
 She could save her father from this man truly. 
 But at what a price ! 
 
 " Etta Romney would marry him," she said 
 bitterly; " but I Evelyn God help me to be 
 true to myself ! ' '
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A GAME OF GOLF 
 
 GOLF at Moretown is * ' by favor of the Lord of 
 the Manor " played across a corner of the home 
 park, so remote from Melbourne Hall that you 
 have a vista of that fine old house but rarely from 
 the trees, and nowhere at all if you be an ardent 
 player. 
 
 Such a description could in all sincerity have 
 been applied to either of our old friends Dr. Phil- 
 ips and the Rev. Harry Fillimore, the vicar of the 
 parish. They played the game as though all their 
 worldly hope depended upon it. The best of 
 friends at common times, difficulty could provoke 
 them to such violent hostilities that they did not 
 speak a word to each other until the after-luncheon 
 glass of port had been slowly sipped. Intimate in 
 their knowledge each of the other, the Vicar knew 
 exactly when to cough that the Doctor's forcible 
 exclamations might not be overheard by the cad- 
 dies. The Doctor, upon his part, sympathized 
 very cordially with the Vicar when that worthy 
 found himself in a bunker. ' ' Harry, my dear boy, 
 pray remember where you are," he would say, 
 and to give him his due, the Vicar rarely forgot 
 the number of strokes necessary to extract him-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 147 
 
 self from one of these many vales of tears which 
 abounded at Moretown. 
 
 Other moments, it should be observed, were 
 those of mutual admiration. 
 
 " If you could only putt as well as you can 
 drive, you might play Vardon," the Vicar would 
 tell the Doctor. 
 
 To which the reply would be: 
 
 " My dear Harry, Taylor could not play a bet- 
 ter approach than that. You '11 be down to scratch 
 if you go on improving in this way." 
 
 Needless to say, such enthusiasm demanded 
 complete absorption in the game and tolerated no 
 liberties. If anyone had told the Doctor of the 
 fall of Port Arthur at the moment of his playing 
 an approach, that man assuredly would have de- 
 served any fate that overtook him. When the 
 stove in the vestry set fire to the chancel roof and 
 did five hundred pounds worth of damage to More- 
 town Church, no one had the courage to tell the 
 Vicar until he had holed out on the eighteenth 
 green. " Words won't put the roof on again,'* 
 the sexton wisely said, " and a precious lot of 
 words you'll get from 'ee while 'ee's playin' with 
 his ball." So the doleful news was reserved for 
 the Club House. * ' I really fear I ought not to play 
 a second round," the Vicar exclaimed when he 
 heard it; " most vexing, I must say." 
 
 These being the circumstances of the weekly 
 duel a entrance, it certainly was astonishing to 
 discover the Vicar and the Doctor talking of any 
 other subject but golf on a day of July some three 
 weeks after Count Odin's arrival at Melbourne
 
 148 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 Hall. Strange to say, however, they discussed 
 neither the merits of the cut nor the doubtful wis- 
 dom of running up approach; but playing their 
 strokes with some indifference as to the attending 
 consequences, they spoke of my -lord of Mel- 
 bourne and of the turn affairs at the Hall were 
 taking. To be entirely candid, the Vicar left the 
 main part of the talk to the Doctor ; for the secret 
 which he carried he had as yet no courage to tell 
 to anyone. 
 
 " Most extraordinary not the same man, sir, 
 by twenty years. If he were a woman, I would 
 call it neurasthenia and back my opinion for a 
 Haskell. What do you think of a sane human 
 being letting a lot of dirty gypsies have the free 
 run of the Hall ; in and out like rabbits in a warren 
 drinking his best wines and riding his horses, 
 and lots more besides that the servants hint at 
 but won 't talk about f Why, they tell me that he 's 
 up half the night with the scum sometimes, as 
 wild as the rest of them when they fiddle and caper 
 in the Long Gallery. What's common sense to 
 make of it? What do you make of it, leaving com- 
 mon sense out of the matter? ' 
 
 The Vicar looked somewhat askance at the 
 dubious compliment; nor did it encourage him to 
 tell of the strange sights he had seen in Melbourne 
 Park some twelve hours before this epoch-making 
 encounter. 
 
 " I hear the men are Eoumanians," he said, 
 taking a brussie from his bag and making an 
 atrocious shot with it. " Of course the Earl 
 this is miserable the Earl was in Eoumania as a
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 149 
 
 young man. Perhaps he is returning some cour- 
 tesy these wild fellows showed to him. You play 
 the odd, I think." 
 
 * * Odd or the like, I don 't care a that is to say, 
 it is most extraordinary. Why, they're bandits, 
 Harry bandits, I tell you, and, unless Mrs. Filli- 
 niore looks out, they'll carry her off to Matlock 
 Tor and hold her out to ransom perhaps while 
 we're on the links. A pretty advertisement you'd 
 get if that came off. A Vicar's wife stolen by 
 brigands. The Reverend Gentleman on the Q. 
 Tee. Think of it in the evening papers! How 
 some of them would chaff you! ' 
 
 The Vicar played an approach shot and said, 
 "This is really deplorable." He would have pre- 
 ferred to talk golf; but the Doctor gave him no 
 rest, and so he said presently: 
 
 " I wonder what Lady Evelyn thinks of it all! 
 She went by me in the car yesterday and Bates 
 was driving her. Now, I've never seen that be- 
 fore. . . . God bless me, what a shocking 
 stroke! " 
 
 He shook his head as the ball went skimming 
 over the ground into the deepest and most terrible 
 bunker on Moretown Links the Doctor following 
 it with that sympathetic if hypocritical gaze we 
 turn upon an enemy's misfortunes. Impossible 
 not to better such a miserable exhibition, he 
 thought. Unhappy man, game of delight, the two 
 were playing from the bunker together before a 
 minute had passed! 
 
 " You and I would certainly do better at the 
 mangle if this goes on," the Doctor exclaimed
 
 150 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 with honest conviction; " the third bunker I've 
 found to-day. A man cannot be well who does 
 that" 
 
 " Eheumatism, undoubtedly," the Viear said 
 slyly. 
 
 A boyish laugh greeted the thrust. 
 
 " Shall we call it curiosity? Hang the game! 
 What does it matter? You put a bit of india- 
 rubber into a flower-pot and think you are a bet- 
 ter man than I am. But you're not. I'd play you 
 any day for the poor-box. Let 's talk of something 
 else Lady Evelyn, for instance. ' ' 
 
 " Will she marry him, Frederick? ' 
 
 " Him the sandy-haired foreigner with the 
 gypsy friends? ' 
 
 " Is there any other concerned? ' 
 
 11 Oh, don't ask me. Do I keep her pocket- 
 book? " 
 
 " I wish you did, my dear fellow. From every 
 point of view, this marriage would be deplorable. ' ' 
 
 11 From every point of view but that of the 
 two people concerned, perhaps. She is a girl with 
 a will of her own do you think she would marry 
 him if she didn't like him? " 
 
 " She might, from spite. There are better 
 reasons, perhaps worse. You told me at their first 
 meeting that you believed her to be in love with 
 him." 
 
 " I was an idiot. Let's finish the round. The 
 man will probably live to be hanged what does 
 it matter? " 
 
 " Well, if it doesn't matter to you, it matters 
 to nobody. I'll tell you something queer a thing
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 151 
 
 I saw last night. It's been in my head all day. 
 I'll tell you as we go to the next green." 
 
 They drove a couple of good balls and set out 
 from the tee with lighter hearts. As they went, 
 the Vicar unburdened himself of that secret which 
 golf alone could have prevented him disclosing 
 an hour ago. 
 
 " I told you that I dined with Sir John Hall last 
 night, ' ' he said in a low voice ; ' ' well, young John 
 drove me home, and, of course, he went through the 
 Park. Poor boy, his case is quite hopeless. He 
 drives his horse to death round and round the 
 house on the off chance of seeing the flash of her 
 gown between the trees. Well, he drove me 
 home and just as we entered the Park, what do 
 you think why, three or four men passed us at 
 the gallop soldiers, I say, in white uniforms with 
 gold sashes and gold sword-hilts. I saw them as 
 plainly as I see you now the Earl was one of 
 them the young Count another. Now, what do you 
 think of it? Are they mad, or is some great jest 
 being played? I give it up. This sort of thing is 
 beyond my experience it should be a case for 
 you, Frederick, though if you can make anything 
 of it, I'm a Dutchman." 
 
 The Doctor shook his head. He did not doubt 
 the truth of the Vicar's story, but he made be- 
 lieve to doubt it. 
 
 " You dined with John Hall, Harry? " 
 
 " I have told you so." 
 
 " Sixty-three port, I suppose, on the top of 
 champagne? " 
 
 " That is mere foolishness, Frederick."
 
 152 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 ' ' Admittedly, forgive me I can be serious and 
 am. Here's an affair which a man might write 
 about in text-books. This grown man puts on a 
 coat he may have worn in his youth and rides 
 like a steeplechaser through the Park. Why does 
 he do it? What's he after? I'll tell you, his lost 
 youth, that 's what he 's after. Trying to catch up 
 Time and give the fellow the , go-by. I Ve seen 
 that disease in many shapes, but this is a new 
 one. Try to think it out. This young Count comes 
 over from Roumania; he brings these gypsy ras- 
 cals with him. Their tongue, their dress, their 
 music, speak to the Earl as his youth used to speak 
 to him. He's living for a moment a life he lived 
 thirty years ago. I can see him grasping at the 
 straws of youth every time I go up to the Hall. 
 These midnight carousals are so much midnight 
 madness. The man is saying to Age, you shall 
 not have me. Ten years of respectability go at 
 one fell swoop. He'd sell those he loved best on 
 earth to win back one year of the days which have 
 been. That's my diagnosis. The bacillus, La 
 Jeunesse! And that's a bacillus you cannot cure, 
 Harry." 
 
 He was in deadly earnest and the Vicar looked 
 grave enough. In his dim way, he understood the 
 Doctor and believed him to be speaking the truth. 
 Lord Melbourne had been an enigma to him from 
 the first; an aristocrat and not an aristocrat; 
 one of the Melbournes and yet an alien; a man 
 whose mask of reservation the keenest eyes could 
 not pierce; a silent man when one asked for that 
 key by which alone the secret chambers of his
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 153 
 
 mind could be entered. Of such a one any fable 
 might be told and believed. The Vicar under- 
 stood that he had come face to face with some 
 mystery; but of its witnesses he could make 
 nothing. 
 
 ' ' I do believe you are right, ' ' he said at length ; 
 " there have been tales as strange in the story of 
 the house generally concerning a lady, I fear 
 At least Evelyn can know nothing of this," he 
 added a little thoughtfully; " it would be a great 
 misfortune for her." 
 
 " Heritage has little regard for the fortunes of 
 others," said the Doctor. " I don't suppose she 
 would have married an Englishman she's not 
 the girl to do it. That comes of educating them 
 abroad I would sooner send a daughter of mine 
 to fight the Russians than to a school in Paris. 
 Make Englishwomen of them, I say, and leave the 
 fal-de-lals alone. What's it worth to a girl if 
 she can jabber French and has lost her English 
 heart? No, my dear Vicar, England for me and 
 English roses for my home. Evelyn will marry 
 this man because France taught her to think well 
 of foreigners. If she had gone to a Derbyshire 
 school, he might as well have proposed to Cleo- 
 patra's monument on the Thames Embankment. 
 I'm sorry for her, truly, but words won't change 
 the thing, and that's the end of it. Let's go and 
 lunch. We have done nothing ill for one morning, 
 any way. 
 
 They went to lunch and afterward to the busi- 
 ness of a common day. As it fell out, they did 
 not meet again until after church upon the fol-
 
 154 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 lowing Sunday, when the Vicar, still wearing his 
 surplice as he crossed from the vestry to the par- 
 sonage, found the Doctor waiting for him with 
 the air of one who has important tidings and 
 must impart them quickly. 
 
 11 No bad news from the Hall? " he exclaimed, 
 so much was that great house now in his mind. 
 
 The Doctor, however, drew him aside and told 
 him in a word. 
 
 " The Count's gone," he said quickly. " He 
 comes back in October. The Earl told me so him- 
 self. She 's to marry him in the winter, and that 's 
 the end of it, Harry." 
 
 The Vicar shook his head gravely. 
 
 " The beginning of it, Frederick, the begin- 
 ning, ' ' he said wisely.
 
 BOOK II 
 THE ENGLISHMAN 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 GAVIN OKD BEGINS HIS WOEK 
 
 IN what manner Gavin Ord arrived at Mel- 
 bourne Hall and took up his residence there has 
 already been recorded in the early pages of this 
 narrative. 
 
 He came upon a night in August, three weeks 
 precisely after the departure of Count Odin for 
 Bukharest. Of the people of the Hall he knew 
 little save that which common gossip and the 
 tittle-tattle of the newspapers had taught him; 
 nor was his the temperament to be troubled over- 
 much by the strange hallucination which had at- 
 tended his journey from Moretown to the Manor. 
 That which some people would have called an 
 apparition, he attributed to fatigue and the hour 
 of the night; and while an uneasy feeling that 
 this simple account of it might not ultimately sat- 
 isfy him was not to be lightly dismissed, the hos- 
 pitalities of the great house and the work to which 
 he had been called there quickly dispelled the im- 
 pression of it, and left him with some shame that 
 he had been such an easy victim to a vulgar de-
 
 156 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 lusion. For the rest, curiosity remained the only 
 intruder between him and the work he had been 
 summoned to do. 
 
 The Lady Evelyn! Where had he seen her 
 before? How came it that her face was so famil- 
 iar to him? 
 
 Every hour that he lived at the Hall quickened 
 this impression of familiarity. Her very voice 
 could make him start, as though one whom he knew 
 well were speaking to him. Her stately move- 
 ments, her gestures, tormented his memory as 
 though inciting it to recall forgotten scenes for 
 him. At the luncheon table, upon the second day, 
 he made bold to tell her of his immovable idea. 
 
 " We have met somewhere, Lady Evelyn," he 
 said, ' * I cannot tell where ; but it was in some such 
 house as this in the gardens of such a house. 
 And that is odd, for to my knowledge I was never 
 in a Tudor house before. Now, say that I am 
 dreaming it; that it is just one of those foolish 
 ideas which come to one in sleep and are remem- 
 bered when waking. It could hardly be anything 
 else, of course." 
 
 Evelyn flushed crimson while he was speaking; 
 but she retained her composure sufficiently to de- 
 clare that she had no recollection of such an 
 occasion. 
 
 ' ' We rarely go from here, ' ' she said evasively. 
 11 I cannot recollect visiting any Tudor house in 
 England you see so many, Mr. Ord. It would 
 be natural to have such an idea, I think. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, perfectly and perhaps foolish. Our 
 brains play us strange tricks, and, often enough,
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 157 
 
 the wildest of them have the least meaning. I 
 know a man in Paris who dreamed three nights 
 running that he would be thrown out of a motor- 
 car on his way to Monte Carlo. He put off the 
 visit in consequence and was knocked down next 
 day by a cab in the Rue Quatre Septembre. I 
 don't mean to say that he was killed, but he had 
 a nasty fall, and that was the price he paid for 
 dreaming. I try to dismiss these things as soon 
 as they come to me. Here's a case in point. You 
 and I clearly have never met unless it were in 
 London," he added, with another keen glance at 
 her. 
 
 Evelyn could not suppress the high color in her 
 cheeks, and they were crimson when she found her 
 father's eyes watching her curiously as though 
 some train of thought had been set in motion by 
 the argument. Perfectly well did she know that 
 Gavin Ord had seen her in London, on the stage 
 of the Carlton Theatre; and that discovery had 
 looked her in the face twice in as many months 
 This time, however, she feared it less ; for she had 
 come to believe by this time that she would pres- 
 ently be compelled to tell her story to all the 
 world before many weeks had passed. 
 
 " We are not often in London," the Earl said 
 dryly; " with such a house as this, why should 
 we be f Lady Evelyn cares nothing for society. I 
 regard it as the refuge of the mentally destitute. 
 If I travel, it is from one solitude to another. A 
 man is never so much master of himself and of 
 the world as when he is alone. Can we consider 
 the modern life as anything but a glorification of
 
 158 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 the aggregate and not of the individual! Your 
 profession is the best friend you have, Mr. Ord. 
 Those who follow noble ends establish nobility 
 in their own characters. That's a creed I wish I 
 had known twenty years ago. You are a young 
 man and should recite it every day while your 
 youth remains to you." 
 
 Gavin replied that a man was neither older nor 
 younger than his ideas; and the drift of the con- 
 versation being changed, to Evelyn's evident re- 
 lief, they fell again to their plans for the restora- 
 tion of the Hall and that which must be done 
 before the wet weather set in. Until this time, 
 Evelyn had scarcely noticed Gavin or taken any 
 interest in his coming to the Manor. The truce 
 between her father and herself left her in a dream- 
 world from which there appeared to be no gate 
 of escape whatever. She had neither counsellor 
 nor friend. To Count Odin she had said, " You 
 shall have my answer in three months' time." 
 Her father's almost passionate desire for this 
 marriage, which his own youth had contrived, 
 won from her no promise more definite than that 
 which she had given to the Count. The time had 
 passed for any but the frankest expressions upon 
 either side. In the plainest words, the Earl told 
 her that this Roumanian had crossed Europe to 
 demand the liberty of a man who had long been 
 but a number in a prison upon the shores of 
 the Black Sea. 
 
 " Let Georges Odin be released," he had said, 
 " and unless you are his son's wife, he will kill 
 me."
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 159 
 
 Lady Evelyn knew this to be no chimera of 
 weakness or fear. The vengeance of the moun- 
 tains would follow Kobert Forrester even to the 
 glades of Derbyshire. Witnesses to the truth still 
 pitched their tents beneath the giant yews the 
 smoke of the gypsy camp drifted day by day, blue 
 and lingering over the waters of the river. From 
 these there was no escape, for they were the sen- 
 tinels of the absent Count's honor, and they 
 dogged the Earl's footsteps wherever he turned. 
 When Gavin Ord appeared at the Manor, their 
 suspicions were instantly aroused. They hid from 
 him, and yet watched him every hour. Who was 
 he; whence had he come? And was he also the 
 enemy of the man who had been Zallony's friend? 
 This they made it their purpose to discover, en- 
 tering even Gavin's bedroom for that purpose. 
 
 He was very far from being a timid man or the 
 episode referred to would quickly have driven him 
 from Derbyshire, despite the engrossing interest 
 of the work to which he had been called there. 
 This was the third day of his residence at the Hall. 
 Being left to himself immediately after dinner, he 
 continued to draw for an hour and to read for 
 another before courting sleep in the great black 
 bed which tradition, loving the slumbers of kings, 
 had allotted in its accustomed way to that very 
 wakeful person, James II. His bedroom was high 
 up in the northern tower of the house; a low- 
 pitched spacious apartment with some fine Chip- 
 pendale chairs in it and a dressing-table for which 
 any Bond Street dealer would cheerfully have 
 paid a thousand pounds. Gavin delighted in these
 
 160 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 things because he was an artist ; while the attend- 
 ant luxury, the service of man and valet, the 
 superb fittings of the bathroom adjoining his 
 bedroom, the fruit, the cigarettes, the books which 
 decorated the apartment, seemed in some way to 
 be the reward of his own labors, not to speak of 
 the attainments of long-cherished ambitions. 
 
 To this historic chamber he retired on the 
 evening of the third day, and having added a little 
 to his plans, read some pages of a county history 
 and smoked a final and contemplative pipe, he 
 undressed and got into bed, and for an hour or 
 more slept that refreshing sleep which attends 
 judicious success and a mind little given to trivi- 
 alities. From this, against all habit, he passed to 
 dreams, at first welcome and pleasing; dreams 
 of broad acres and sheltering trees and a land of 
 plenty then to visions. more disturbing, and to 
 one, chiefly of a storm passing over the woods and 
 his own spirit abroad in the storm and unable to 
 find harborage. As a weary bird that can reach 
 no shelter and is buffeted by every wind, so did 
 he, in his dream, appear to be cast out from the 
 world and unable to return to his home and kin 
 dred; a wanderer through a tempestuous night, 
 beyond whose horizon, far beyond it but ever 
 growing more distant, there arose the crimson 
 light of day and the dawning beams of the hidden 
 sun. Strive as he would he could not cast the 
 darkness from him or shut out the sounds of wild 
 winds blowing in his ears. Unseen hands held 
 him back; voices mocked him; he heard the rus- 
 tling of wings and was conscious of the movements
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 161 
 
 of unknown figures. And then he awoke to find 
 a light shining full in his face and to see two black 
 eyes peering down at him beyond it. But for an 
 instant he saw them ; then the light was blown out 
 swiftly and utter darkness fell. He knew that he 
 was not alone; but feared nothing, he knew not 
 why. 
 
 Some man had entered his room while he slept 
 and stood, he imagined, even at that moment so 
 close to his bedside that he had but to put out a 
 hand to touch him. Who the man was or what 
 his errand might be, Gavin did not attempt even 
 to guess. More by force of habit than from any 
 other reason, he asked aloud, ' ' Who is there, what 
 do you want? " but he did not expect to be 
 answered, nor did any sound follow his question. 
 Lying quite still upon the bed and beginning to 
 be a little alarmed as his senses came back to him, 
 he listened intently for an echo of footsteps 
 across the polished floor, arguing that the un- 
 known man would wear no boots and must turn the 
 handle of a door to go. This was no burglar, he 
 felt sure; and he was half willing to believe that 
 he had dreamed the whole episode when a footfall 
 made itself plainly audible, and was followed by 
 a deep breath as of one who until that time had 
 been afraid to breathe at all. Again Gavin asked y 
 " What is it, what do you want? " The silence 
 continued unbroken, and the fear of things un- 
 known robbed him for the moment of the voice 
 to repeat the question. This he set down after- 
 ward to the traditions of Melbourne Hall and his
 
 162 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 intimate knowledge of them. He would not have 
 been afraid in any other house. 
 
 Gavin stretched out his hand and tried to switch 
 on the electric light. A clumsy effort in an un- 
 familiar room found him passing his fingers idly 
 over a wainscoted wall; and when he felt for the 
 reading lamp by his bedside, he overturned it with 
 his elbow and could not replace the plug which 
 his maladroitness had detached. Alarmed now as 
 he never believed that any situation could alarm 
 him, he sprang from his bed and felt with both 
 hands extended for the figure which the room con- 
 cealed. Hither, thither, with an oath upon his 
 clumsiness, he sought the unknown, his hands 
 touching unfamiliar objects, the darkness seeming 
 almost to mock him. That the unknown man was 
 still in the room he had no doubt whatever; for 
 the interludes repeated the sound of quick breath- 
 ing and he heard a garment rustling just as he 
 had heard it in his sleep. Once, indeed, he felt 
 the warm breath upon his cheek and struck sav- 
 agely at an enemy of sounds, who still uttered no 
 word nor would acknowledge his presence. Had 
 he been calmer, he might have known that the 
 darkness also deceived the intruder and that he 
 too was at a loss to escape ; but this Gavin did not 
 discover until the door opened suddenly and a 
 flash of light from the corridor struck across the 
 room like a sunbeam suddenly admitted by a lifted 
 blind. Then he saw the face of the escaping man 
 for the second time and stood amazed at its 
 familiarity. 
 
 " The old gypsy I saw in the park yesterday
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 163 
 
 walking with the Earl," he said, astounded, and 
 then, " What in the devil's name is he doing 
 here? " 
 
 That should not have been a difficult question, 
 to answer, and Gavin instantly determined to 
 make no mention of it until the morning. The 
 fellow was probably a thief, who had the run of 
 the house and had taken advantage of its master's 
 forbearance. It would be sufficient to name the 
 circumstance at the breakfast table and to leave 
 the rest to the Earl, who could act in the matter 
 as he pleased. None the less, Gavin found his 
 nerves much shaken and sleep for the remainder 
 of the night was out of the question. Switching 
 on every lamp in his room, and locking and bolting 
 the heavy door, he sat by the open window and 
 asked himself into what house of mysteries he had 
 stumbled and what secrets it was about to reveal 
 to him. But chiefly he asked where he had met the 
 Lady Evelyn before . . . and memory be- 
 friending him suddenly, as memory will at a 
 crisis, he exclaimed aloud : 
 
 " The Carlton Theatre Haddon Hall Etta 
 Eomney, by all that's amazing! ' 
 
 Was the thought also a chimera of the night? 
 He knew not what to think. The dawn found him 
 still at his window debating it.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 A DUEL OVEE THE TEA-CUPS 
 
 GAVIN had always been an early riser and one 
 who flouted the modern idea that the world should 
 be aired before men went abroad. Faithful to 
 his habit, the following morning found him riding 
 in the park a little after seven o'clock; and not 
 until the sweet cold air of the highlands had 
 recompensed him for a waking night did he return 
 to the Hall and the generous breakfast table there 
 spread for him. A professed disciple of the sim- 
 ple life, Gavin confessed that the Earl's lavish 
 hospitalities were altogether too much for his 
 philosophy ; and he ate and drank with the hearty 
 relish of one to whom these unending luxuries 
 were both a revelation in the art of living and a 
 satire upon the habits of the rich. 
 
 What vast quantities of food were heaped upon 
 that priceless sideboard in dishes of shining sil- 
 ver, each warmed by the clear flame of a silver 
 lamp beneath. Lift a lid of one of those granaries 
 and there you would espy an omelet which none 
 but a man from Paris could cook. Peep into an- 
 other and there are eggs prepared so cunningly 
 that they would melt the heart of Master Fastidity 
 himself. Fish and fowl and flesh, great red joints 
 upon the buffet, exquisite peaches from the hot-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 165 
 
 houses, bunches of grapes that would have taken 
 prizes in any show how ironical to remember the 
 class of man who usually sat to such a table, his 
 ennui, his distaste, and the abstinence cure the 
 physicians compelled him to practise. Gavin was 
 just a hearty Englishman, fit and strenuous and 
 needing no " waters " to make life endurable. 
 He took what came to him and made no bones 
 about it. Had he been a rich man himself, he 
 would have done the same, he thought. Humbug 
 was no part of his creed, and he never mistook 
 necessity for self-sacrifice. 
 
 The Earl had not come down when he entered 
 the famous breakfast-room, and, not a little to 
 his satisfaction, he found himself alone with Lady 
 Evelyn for the first time since his arrival at the 
 Manor. A student of faces always, he studied 
 this face to-day with a curiosity which he set down 
 to his own delusions rather than to an absolute 
 interest in the personality of a stranger. A beau- 
 tiful woman he had admitted her to be when first 
 he saw her by her father's side upon the night 
 which carried him to the Hall. But now his 
 scrutiny went deeper, and, so far as opportunity 
 served, he looked at her as one seeking a woman's 
 secret, and seeking it with a man's desire to help 
 her. 
 
 And first he said that it was an English face in 
 repose, and yet not an English face when the re- 
 pose was lost. The masses of jet black hair would 
 have excited no surprise upon the Corso at Rome 
 or shining in an aureole cast out from a Floren- 
 tine window. Here, in England, the tresses spoke
 
 166 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 of the South and its suns and yet, in flat contra- 
 diction, the perfect skin, smooth and silky as the 
 leaf of a pink white rose, could tell of English 
 lanes and sunless days and the kinder climate of 
 the North. Character he read in the firm contour 
 of her chin romance and passion in the deep blue 
 of her eyes and the modulations of a voice whose 
 music had not been lost in the roaring Saturnalia 
 of the modern salon. That he himself had so 
 far failed to attract her notice was a fact which 
 neither wounded his vanity nor abated his interest. 
 It had been the first maxim of his life to hasten 
 slowly, and to no pursuit was this maxim more 
 necessary than to that of friendship. 
 
 This, then, was the estimate which one strong 
 personality formed of another ; the man saying to 
 himself, " I would read this woman's heart! " the 
 woman asking herself if she must talk architecture 
 until the Earl came to her assistance. Breaking 
 the ice with a common observation, she remarked 
 that she had seen him galloping across the park 
 and regretted the dilatory habit which kept her 
 in bed. 
 
 " Getting up is a foreign art," she said. " It 
 lives in kitchens and places where they scrub. The 
 doctors positively forbid it nowadays. And, of 
 course, life is too short to disobey the doctors." 
 
 Gavin looked at her with the air of a man who 
 has too much common sense to deal in frivolities 
 and rarely troubled to say the thing which was 
 not. 
 
 " They talk nonsense," he said quietly; " the 
 profession is becoming far too commercial. It lives
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 167 
 
 and thrives upon the credulity of fools. Just con- 
 sider man is the only animal which does not 
 glory in the Creator's gift, the dawning day and 
 all its wonders. For what do we change it? For 
 the electric light and the champagne which dis- 
 agrees with ur; * We borrow of the night and then 
 grumble because we have nothing to offer the day. 
 If men could get up at five o'clock and go to bed 
 at ten, they would begin to understand the reali- 
 ties of living." 
 
 Evelyn, much amused at his earnestness and 
 quite understanding that some pleasant original- 
 ity of character dictated the outburst, looked at 
 him a little mischievously from beneath her long 
 lashes while she said: 
 
 " In winter surely not five o'clock then, Mr. 
 Ord? " 
 
 " Not at all," was the quick reply; " we are 
 expected to use our common sense 'in the matter. 
 A winter's dawn is distinctly unpleasant; have 
 nothing to do with it. A true benefactor of man- 
 kind would help us to hibernate. Imagine how 
 splendid it would be to sleep from the twenty- 
 sixth day of December until the first day of April. 
 Those are the months of the income tax of no in- 
 terest to you, Lady Evelyn, but of great im- 
 portance to poor people who are unable to help 
 the Government to throw hay into the sea from 
 the shores of South Africa. Blot out the winter, 
 by all means ; but leave us the summer, and do not 
 expect us to spend the best hours of it in bed." 
 
 " Am I, then, personally guilty in the matter? 
 Frankly, you will never convert me. I am hateful
 
 168 
 
 before ten o'clock, and if I go riding before that 
 time, the very horses tremble. Consider what 
 .going to bed at ten o'clock would mean to us in 
 the season? " 
 
 " I have considered it often. We should be 
 spared a large number of very indifferent plays ; 
 a great many falsehoods would not be told to our 
 acquaintances; old gentlemen would not, under 
 such circumstances, need to go to Carlsbad to be 
 scrubbed. You would save vast quantities of good 
 food ; learn what the country is to those who really 
 know it ; and, perhaps, discover that strange per- 
 sonality, yourself. Why should we be so fright- 
 ened of such an excellent companion? Men and 
 women tell you that they do not like to be alone. 
 Is not that to say that they desire to keep self 
 at a distance. The fellow would be troublesome, 
 ask questions, and that sort of thing. But let 
 others always be shouting in our ears (and modern 
 society has excellent lungs), then we keep the 
 stranger out and are glad to be quit of him. Some 
 achieve the same end by work. I am one of them. 
 When my work gets hold of me I cannot answer a 
 common question decently. Sometimes I wake up 
 suddenly and say, ' My dear Gavin, how are you 
 getting on and what have you been doing all this 
 time? ' I become solicitous for the fellow and 
 want to peep into his private books. That is often 
 at dawn, Lady Evelyn, just when the sun is shoot- 
 ing up over the horizon. Then a man may not be 
 ashamed to meet himself. For the rest of the 
 time he is often play-acting. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 169 
 
 'A faint blush came to her cheeks and she 
 turned away her head. 
 
 " Why not if play-acting amuses us? Perhaps 
 we are not all contented with that amiable stran- 
 ger, ourselves. Some other figure of the present 
 or the past may seem more desirable as a friend. 
 Is there any law of Nature which compels us to 
 take one personality rather than another? Can- 
 not you imagine a man or a woman living years 
 of make-believe play-acting always, if by play- 
 acting they can discover a world more desirable 
 than the one they live in? We speak of imagina- 
 tion as a rare gift. I doubt if it is so. Even little 
 children have their dream-worlds, and they are 
 more remarkable than any books. I would say 
 that your outlook is too limited. You see one side 
 of life, Mr. Ord, and quarrel with those who can 
 look tolerantly upon both." 
 
 Gavin was honest enough to admit that it might 
 be so. 
 
 ' * Yes, ' ' he said, ' ' I grant you that the world is 
 sometimes better for make-believe. If we did not 
 deceive ourselves, some of us would commit sui- 
 cide. The age is to blame for the necessity. We 
 have not color enough in our lives, and even our 
 devotions are often entirely selfish. Witness the 
 case of a modern millionaire who is proud of being 
 called * a hustler.' This rogue tells his friends 
 that he has no time for ordinary social intercourse. 
 My answer is that he ought to be hanged out of 
 hand. Such a fellow never comes face to face with 
 himself once in twenty years. Men envy him and 
 yet despise him. Take the meanest hero of mediae-
 
 170 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 val fiction and place him side by side with a Gould 
 or a Vanderbilt. What a very monarch he be- 
 comes! Total up the riches of a trust and re- 
 member Mozart died of starvation. Vulgarity 
 everywhere none of us is free from it. Our very 
 ambitions are advertised." 
 
 * ' And we have not even the courage to hide our- 
 selves in nunneries." 
 
 ' ' They would come here with cameras and pho- 
 tograph our habits. No, we must accept the posi- 
 tion frankly and make the best of it. That carries 
 me round the circle. By getting up with the sun 
 we see something of ourselves sometimes. Our 
 work is not then the whole occupation of the day. ' ' 
 
 " But yours, surely, is not work you despise, 
 Mr. Ord! " 
 
 " So little that I fear it on that very account, 
 Just imagine how this house is going to make a 
 captive of me. I shall know every stone of it 
 before a month has passed. I will tell you then 
 all its truths and all its fables. The dead will 
 become my intimate friends. I shall reconstruct 
 from the beginning. I must do it, for how shall I 
 dare to touch the hallowed walls unless something 
 of the builder's secret is known to me. In six 
 months' time I will show the harvest of dreams. 
 In six months' time " 
 
 " In six months' time! What an age to wait! 
 I may not be in England then. ' ' 
 
 " You will return to be my critic." 
 
 1 ' I may never return. ' ' 
 
 " Never return! my dear lady, you could not
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 171 
 
 possibly desert Melbourne Hall. The very stones 
 [would cry out upon you." 
 
 " Oh," she said, looking straight into his face; 
 " my husband may not like England, you know." 
 
 " I will believe it when he has the courage to 
 tell me so." 
 
 " Men are generally courageous when it is a 
 question of telling a woman what they do not like. 
 I am to live in Bukharest, be it known. My sum- 
 mers will be spent in the Carpathians. I shall be- 
 come a child of the primitive colors the red, the 
 blue, and the orange which Menie Muriel Dowie 
 tells us are an eternal delight to the eyes. I am 
 promised glorious weeks on the Black Sea, and 
 more glorious weeks on seas which are not black. 
 The sun is always shining there why should one 
 want to come back to England? " 
 
 Had anyone asked Evelyn why she spoke in 
 this way to a stranger, a man of whose existence 
 she had hardly been aware yesterday, she would 
 certainly have been unable to give a satisfactory 
 answer. To no other in all her life had she spoken 
 so openly and so readily as to this fair-haired, 
 blue-eyed Englishman, who did not appear to 
 have one grain of humbug in all his body. Her 
 surprise was not greater than her pleasure; she 
 would not deny that it pleased her thus to confess 
 intimate thoughts which she had not shared even 
 with her own father. Gavin, upon his part, a 
 servant of candor always, observed nothing un- 
 usual in her freedom; but he could ask himself 
 already if she were in love with the man to whom 
 her future was pledged.
 
 172 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " We are forgetting how to be serious," he re- 
 joined; " that is also one of the vices of the age. 
 People chatter away as though words were enough 
 and the truth of words nothing at all. You do 
 not mean anything you say, and you expect me 
 to listen to you in the same spirit. I decline to do 
 so. If you go to Bukharest, you will come back 
 again before the year is out. As for the blue, red 
 and orange, well, I could as soon imagine you 
 buying an early Victorian sideboard. That is my 
 frank opinion. You must forgive me if it of- 
 fends? " 
 
 He looked straight into her eyes and she did not 
 turn away. Gavin Ord was unlike any man she 
 had known not by mere cleverness alone, but 
 by that strength of will and character which could 
 not fail to assert itself in any company, whatever 
 its nature. Here sat one whom, were he to com- 
 mand her, she would certainly obey. Such a pos- 
 sibility of docility astonished Evelyn beyond 
 measure but it also encouraged her to put a 
 question to him. 
 
 " Frank opinions need no forgiveness," she 
 said. " I am longing for more, Mr. Ord. You 
 told me last night that you believed you had met 
 me in London. Please tell me where it was. ' ' 
 
 She asked the question with some pretty pre- 
 tence of indifference which did not deceive him 
 for an instant. It is better, he thought, that I 
 should tell her, and so he said, without any affec- 
 tation whatever: 
 
 " I am quite wrong, of course; but when I 
 thought the matter over I remembered that a
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 173 
 
 young actress, who made a great sensation at the 
 Carlton Theatre in May, might have been named 
 for your own sister. That is what gave me the 
 idea that I had seen you before." 
 
 " How strange! Do you also remember the 
 lady's name? ' 
 
 " Perfectly. All London went mad over her. 
 She called herself Etta Komney, and the play 
 showed just such a house as this. It was the old 
 story of Di Vernon retold, Lady Evelyn." 
 
 " You were much taken with the play, it ap- 
 pears? ' 
 
 "Not with the play at all. But I thought Etta 
 Komney one of the cleverest women I have ever 
 seen on the stage. ' ' 
 
 " Is she playing still, may I ask? ' 
 
 " You know that she is not, Lady Evelyn." 
 
 " I know it are you serious? " 
 
 ' * So serious that I shall forget the subject until 
 you choose to speak of it again." 
 
 " But it interests me greatly," she pleaded, 
 with that insistence which often attends the dis- 
 cussion of things better avoided. ' Mf I am really 
 so like somebody else, ought I not to be curious? 
 You say " 
 
 ' ' Indeed, I say nothing, ' ' he exclaimed quickly, 
 and then in a lower voice " at least until the 
 Earl has breakfasted." 
 
 She did not reply. The Earl entered the room 
 and began at once to speak of Gavin's work and 
 the arrangements which must be made for -it.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 FROM THE BELFRY TOWER 
 
 little band of workmen ran up a light 
 scaffold of ladders and boards for him against the 
 belfry tower, and had it finished upon the morning 
 of the conversation with the Lady Evelyn. To 
 this height he climbed early in the day. when 
 began an examination of the decaying fabric and 
 set down the first lines of the report he had to 
 make to the Earl. The old building was in a 
 shocking state certainly; the plumb-line declared 
 surprising departures from that stately grace of 
 perpendicularity the text-books had taught him to 
 esteem. Gavin should have taken the greatest 
 interest in all this, but he did not. Had you 
 spoken to him yesterday, he would have been 
 ready to declare that nothing on earth could be 
 more fascinating than the very task he now pre- 
 tended to be engaged upon; but his habitual can- 
 dor came to his rescue to-day and he now pro- 
 nounced the work to be almost distasteful. For, 
 in truth, he had discovered a secret as old as 
 man, and the delight of that new knowledge sur- 
 passed the worker's dreams by far. 
 
 He stood upon a dizzy height, but custom had 
 staled the peril of his employment, and, in this 
 aspect, fear was unknown to him. A high trem-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 175 
 
 bling ladder permitted him to climb up to a couple 
 of boards suspended from the parapet above by 
 frail ropes cunningly wound about the embrasures 
 of the battlements. He stood with his back to a 
 mossy wall; beneath him lay the fair domain of 
 Melbourne Hall; its ancient trees so many chil- 
 dren's fretted toys; its grass lands supremely 
 green; pool and lake and river ablaze with the 
 golden light of an Autumn sun. But more to 
 Gavin than these was the figure of the Lady 
 Evelyn herself, clearly to be seen in the glade 
 where the gypsies had pitched their camp the 
 figure of an English girl divinely tall, of one whom 
 the splendid woods might well choose for their 
 divinity. 
 
 She rode through the glade and by her side their 
 walked a rough fellow, who, Gavin thought, would 
 have been much better in Derby jail than idling 
 in the home park at Melbourne. Some chance ob- 
 servations which had fallen from servants' lips 
 had made him acquainted with the circumstances 
 under which these apparent vagrants had come to 
 Derbyshire ; and he was quick enough to perceive 
 the connection between the Earl's younger days 
 and this odd visitation. 
 
 ' ' He knew these fellows in Eoumania and they 
 have come here to blackmail him," was the un- 
 spoken comment. * * Their master is a shady Rou- 
 manian Count one of the long-haired brand, who 
 ogle the women. I take it that she had promised 
 to marry this man, not altogether at her father's 
 bidding, but just because he is romantic liar 
 enough to appeal to one side of her imagination.
 
 176 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 That's what sent her to London play-acting. She 
 had to escape from this monotony or it would 
 have killed her. Well, I think I know the tem- 
 perament a very dangerous temperament which 
 has sent many a woman the wrong way and will 
 send many more before the world is done with. ' ' 
 
 He turned again to the crumbling stone work 
 and passed his hand idly over it. This old house, 
 how many women's hearts had it not imprisoned 
 and stilled! What stories of woman's love and 
 passion could it not unfold if these rotting stones 
 might speak? Many a Di Vernon had gone forth 
 from secret doors to meet her lover; many a one 
 had lived and died with her girlish secret un- 
 spoken. Study in those records and the true story 
 of Evelyn, my Lord of Melbourne's daughter, 
 would be read. A brave girl, a lonely girl, full of 
 the stuff of which dreams are made, such he be- 
 lieved her to be. And she had come suddenly into 
 his life, bidding him turn from his work to gaze 
 after her, impotently as a man may look upon a 
 precious thing he may never possess. For even 
 if she loved him, what right had he to speak to 
 her; what position or name had he to give her? 
 He was a worker in clay. Bricks and mortar were 
 not the tokens in which a woman 's imagination 
 deals. 
 
 * ' If I built a cathedral, ' ' he said to himself iron- 
 ically, ' ' she would merely say, ' How draughty ! ' 
 It is necessary to be a brigand or a musician to 
 reach the heart of her desires. ' ' 
 
 So the work went on a little savagely. He had 
 the scaffold shifted to the tower of the chapel
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 17T 
 
 where the clock face records the deeds of that 
 Lord of Melbourne who fell with Picton's troop 
 at Waterloo. " Time passed above his head but 
 will turn to look at him . . ." the inscription 
 went. Gavin was cleaning the dust of the century 
 from it when he heard a voice upon the parapet 
 above, and looking up he perceived my Lady Eve- 
 lyn there, standing by the battlement and watch- 
 ing him curiously. 
 
 ' ' Is not that dreadfully dangerous ? ' ' she asked 
 him, indicating the frail scaffold upon which he 
 stood. 
 
 He answered at once by another question. 
 
 " Do you refer to Time? If so, yes, it is always 
 dangerous. Time never sleeps, remember." 
 
 She laughed and leaned over, a little afraid of 
 the height, but desiring, she knew not why, to hear 
 him talk. 
 
 " You will not look Time in the face, then? ' 
 she said; " or does the bell of Time speak to youT 
 I know people in France who always cross them- 
 selves when the clock chimes the hour. ' ' 
 
 4 * The bells chime eternity oh, yes. Time rarely 
 laughs if it is not ironically. Here's a clock which 
 tries to tell all the world how a brave man died. 
 Time passed him by, but returns twice a day to 
 have a look at him. The dirt of nearly a hundred 
 years is cast upon his monument by Time. The 
 ages used to be cleaner, Lady Evelyn. Nowadays 
 we trample mud on every tomb. There is always 
 an * if ' for the best of our friends." 
 
 " Meaning that some disappointment has made 
 a cynic of you, Mr. Ord? "
 
 178 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 ' ' Perhaps, I cannot tell you. What is the good 
 of ideals in this twentieth century? We have 
 learned to scoff at simple things, faith, honesty, 
 even courage. Eich men try to believe that they 
 were never poor and the poor believe that they 
 are rich and go through the Bankruptcy Court 
 accordingly. I could do great work in the world, 
 but my enemy is an estimate. A man no longer 
 builds a temple to the glory of God; he builds it 
 to the memory of John Snooks, hog-merchant. 
 Most of our ailments are the penalty of soulless- 
 ness. If we lived and strived toward an end, the 
 mind would not smart so often as the body. That 
 saps our courage as well. I can work upon a 
 scaffold like this because I have the past all round 
 about me. But directly I cease to work I become 
 a coward. Time is dangerous because Time is 
 truth; one of the few truths our modern life per- 
 mits us to recognize." 
 
 " Then you do really believe that the old glory 
 of achievement lingers somewhere? ' 
 
 11 In the imagination of men who would be 
 artists but remain the servants of Mammon. Let 
 me interrupt you to beg a favor. Your arm is 
 shifting the rope and if it gave way " 
 
 " The rope the one I am leaning against? 
 Does that go down to your scaffolding? I never 
 noticed it." 
 
 " There is no damage done," he said quietly; 
 " please pull it down over the stone-work. No, 
 hardly that way. Let me come up and show you. ' ' 
 
 A short ladder led up from the scaffold to the 
 roof of the clock tower. The foothold of planks
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 179 
 
 was held up by stout ropes wound about the em- 
 brasures of the parapets. Unconsciously as she 
 talked to him, Evelyn had shifted the right-hand 
 rope from its place and Gavin's heart leaped when 
 he perceived that in another instant boards and 
 man and ladder must go headlong to the stone 
 terrace below. In truth, the climax came while 
 the light words were still upon his lips, and the 
 rope, slipping away from the girl's weak hand, 
 the scaffold swung out in an instant and Gavin 
 was left above the abyss, his fingers twined about 
 the second rope and his feet vainly seeking a hold 
 against the time-worn stone. 
 
 Men fight for their lives in many ways the 
 cowards desperately and without reason, brave 
 men with a quick apprehension of the circum- 
 stances and a bold course from which fear does 
 not divert them. Desperate as Gavin's situation 
 had become, he realized the whole truth of it in 
 an instant. Forty feet below him was the square 
 flagged pavement built about the belfry, door. 
 Above him a single rope swayed and strained 
 against the stone of the parapet, here bulging out- 
 ward and difficult to climb. If the rope held, 
 Gavin believed that he might touch the parapet, 
 but to mount it would be an acrobat's task. Other 
 help seemed impossible to bring. His assistants 
 had gone down to the outer stables to load up the 
 permanent scaffold. His quick eye could not de- 
 tect the presence of a single human being in the 
 vicinity of the gardens. Evelyn herself stood as 
 one petrified by the battlements, afraid for the 
 instant to lift a hand or utter a word lest the spell
 
 180 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 ef his momentary safety would be broken. She 
 had never possessed that particular courage which 
 stands upon a height unflinchingly, and this 
 dreadful accident found all her nervous impulse 
 paralyzed and shattered. She listened, as in a 
 trance of terror beyond all words to describe, for 
 the broken cry which would speak of death; for 
 the sound of a body falling upon the flags below. 
 Infinitely beyond Gavin Ord's, her imagination 
 added its darkest picture to her handiwork. She 
 clinched her hands, fearing their clumsiness, and 
 with eyes half-closed drew back from the battle- 
 ments. Never until this day had she seen a man 
 die; never had she been asked to take an instan- 
 taneous resolution wherein the measure of her 
 own peril might be the measure of another man's 
 safety. If for the briefest instant she failed t6 
 answer the call, cowardice had no part in her 
 irresolution. Few would have acted otherwise. 
 
 Gavin climbed the rope almost inch by inch, 
 seeking as he did so a foothold upon the rotting 
 stone and careful always to bring no sudden jerk 
 upon the trembling cord. It seemed an eternity 
 before he reached the forbidding parapet where 
 the graver danger must be faced ; but when he did 
 so and tried to put an arm over the bulging stone, 
 then he understood that if none came to his as- 
 sistance, he was most certainly doomed. Beneath 
 him, the crumbling cornice became so much pow- 
 dered dust whenever his feet touched it he could 
 find no foothold there, nor so much as feel a single 
 projection upon the buttress by which he might 
 pull himself up to safety. And his wrists now
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 181 
 
 ached with a pain which threatened to become in- 
 toleraL-'.e, the rope cut his hands until drops of 
 blood trickled from them to his face. Salvation 
 depended upon that which he could do while a 
 man might count twenty, and with death looking 
 up at him exultingly, he made a last effort to 
 surmount the bulging parapet and in the same 
 instant told himself that it was impossible. 
 
 " My God," he cried aloud; " I cannot do it 
 I cannot do it! " 
 
 Perhaps he no longer feared death. There is. 
 this merit of exhaustion in danger that it blinds 
 the imagination and leaves indifference to the 
 ultimate issue. Gavin was just at that point when 
 a man is incapable of further effort, even in the 
 cause of his own safety, when, looking up, he 
 perceived Evelyn at the balustrade, her face 
 deathly white, her eyes shining terror; but her 
 acts were as cool and collected as they had been 
 when first he met her in the long gallery of Mel- 
 bourne Hall. Waked from the trance of fear by 
 the words he had spoken, she cast one quick glance 
 at the figure swaying upon the rope; then turned 
 about her and, stooping, she picked up the long 
 rope which her own maladroitness had displaced 
 from the battlements. Methodically and without 
 a blunder, she made a noose in this and passed 
 it over the parapet. 
 
 " Slip your arm over it," she said, in a voice 
 that betrayed no emotion whatever. " I will tie 
 it to the weather-vane please, please try. I can 
 help you I am very strong, Mr. Ord. Yes, that
 
 182 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 is the way now take my hand don't *je afraid 
 to hurt me yes, yes, like that." 
 
 He slipped one arm over the noose and chang- 
 ing hands cleverly upon the other rope and 
 digging his feet deep into the rotting stone, he 
 drew the noose around his body while she caught 
 up the slack of the cord and bound it round and 
 round the great iron pillar of the weather-vane 
 which crowns the Belfry Tower of Melbourne 
 Hall. His position was such in this instant that he 
 hung out clear above the abyss with his face upon 
 a level with the parapet and his body backward 
 to the flags below. All depended upon the iron 
 pillar of the weather-vane and the stuff of which 
 the rope was made. Gavin had no alternative but 
 to trust to it, and he swung himself out fearlessly 
 with one earnest prayer for safety upon his lips. 
 So near to him that he wondered that his arms 
 could not touch her was the figure of Evelyn, 
 seeming to beckon him to salvation. He felt the 
 noose draw tight about his body, and for some 
 instants he swung to and fro almost with the 
 content of one who has waged a good fight and 
 would sleep. Then her voice came welcomely to 
 his ears once more, bidding him make an effort; 
 and at this he pulled himself up almost with 
 superhuman will and touched the round of the 
 stone-work with his hands laid flat upon it and his 
 knees bent upon the balustrade. Would he fall 
 back once more or had she the strength to save 
 him? Her little hands had caught him by the 
 wrists now; and, kneeling, she exerted a strength 
 she had never known herself to possess. Must
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 183 
 
 they go crashing together to the flags shining in 
 the sunlight below? In vain he supplicated her 
 to release her hold and leave him to do battle 
 for himself. 
 
 " I shall pull you over," he cried madly. " For 
 God's sake, leave me to myself! " 
 
 She scarcely heard him; her eyes were closed, 
 her lips were hard set ; she had thrown her whole 
 weight backward from the hips and with every 
 muscle straining, every danger forgotten, but 
 that of the man whose safety she had imperilled, 
 she drew him to her side and fell fainting before 
 him. 
 
 Gavin was dizzy and sick from fear. His hands 
 were cut and bleeding ; his clothes torn to ribbons ; 
 he could hear the heavy pulsation of his heart 
 when he bent to lift Evelyn in his strong arms 
 as one who, henceforth, had some right to do so. 
 
 " The worst may become the best," he said to 
 himself quietly ; ' ' she will tell me her story now. ' ' 
 
 And so he carried her down to the Long Gal- 
 lery and Melbourne Hall heard of the accident 
 for the first time.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LOVERS 
 
 GAVIN 's belief that Evelyn would now make a 
 confidant of him rested largely upon a knowledge 
 of human nature, which the great and successful 
 school of endeavor had revealed to him. Nor 
 was he in any way mistaken. The intimacy of 
 <a peril, mutually dared and overcome, brought 
 the man and the woman together as years of 
 social intercourse could not have done. That 
 very night they walked in the Italian Gardens 
 of Melbourne Hall and spoke as freely as brother 
 and sister might have done. 
 
 " I like your guest," Gavin began and he re- 
 ferred to a young solicitor by name Gilbert Bay, 
 -who had come down from London by the after- 
 noon train " I like your guest The fact that 
 he is losing his hair is a point in his favor. When 
 you think how much the head of a prosperous 
 lawyer must carry, it is a wonder that there is 
 room for any of the commoner emotions at all. 
 Not a month ago, Sir Francis Button told me that 
 he could lock up half the great people in town, 
 politicians included, by one turn of a little key in 
 his safe. My fingers would be itching all day 
 to open that safe if I were he. Just think of the 
 .blessings I should confer upon the halfpenny
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 185 
 
 papers. A Cabinet Minister in the police court. 
 They would leave the war out altogether next 
 day. After all, the world takes nothing very 
 seriously nowadays. ' ' 
 
 " Not even itself," said Evelyn, almost as one 
 speaking with regret. * ' We are growing too cyn- 
 ical even to deceive ourselves, and that used to 
 be the most pleasant of all amusements. But I 
 agree with you about Mr. Bay. His face is an 
 honest one. I wonder if it is any drawback to 
 him in his business." 
 
 Gavin laughed, wondering perhaps at the flip- 
 pancy of their talk and their mutual desire to 
 avoid any reference to that which had befallen 
 them earlier in the day. By common consent they 
 would not speak of the accident; each believed 
 that some self-applause must attend the recital 
 of it, and, save for a few brief words when Evelyn 
 had recovered that morning, their resolution of 
 silence remained unshaken. Out here upon the 
 open lawns with the deep crimson shades of the 
 dining-room making a fairy scene behind them; 
 out here where the night breeze was like a breath 
 of a tired sleeper and the river below droned a 
 lullaby, it was difficult enough to realize that death 
 had been so recently their neighbor. Nor had they 
 the desire to do sot This new intimacy of associ- 
 ation was a gracious gift to them both; and 
 Evelyn, not less than he, understood that it might 
 yet influence the years to come. 
 
 ' ' Honesty is always a drawback in certain pro- 
 fessions," Gavin said, as they wandered away 
 from the open windows to the darker shades be-
 
 186 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 neath the yews; " an honest doctor would be in 
 danger of starving, while an honest photographer 
 would certainly go to the workhouse. Mr. Bay, 
 at least, was honest in his desire to get rid of us. 
 His remarks upon the beauty of the evening I 
 found quite superfluous." 
 
 " My father is very anxious to talk to him," 
 Evelyn said quickly. " I am sure you have re- 
 marked his abstracted manner since you came 
 here. A stranger would notice such things at 
 once. He is not well, and I fear is in great trouble, 
 Mr. Ord. Perhaps he will tell Mr. Bay. I hope 
 sincerely that he will do so. ' ' 
 
 " Then he has said nothing to you, Lady 
 Evelyn? " 
 
 " He has said that which I find great difficulty 
 in understanding. I wish it were otherwise. A 
 woman is never able to estimate a man's danger 
 correctly. There are so many things of which she 
 takes no account." 
 
 " When she will not permit a man to help her. 
 I am asking you to tell me the story, you see. It 
 has been in my mind to do so for some hours past. 
 Of course, I have known that there is a story. I 
 should never regret coming to Melbourne Hall if 
 I could be of the slightest use to you, Lady Eve- 
 lyn. Will you not make me your friend? ' 
 
 He drew her still farther apart, down to that 
 very bridge he had crossed the night he came to 
 the Hall; that night of weird hallucination and 
 childish phantoms. Standing by the low balus- 
 trade (she half-sitting upon it and watching the 
 eddies in the pool below), she spoke of Etta Bom-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 187 
 
 ney and of a young girl whose dreams had sent 
 her to London. 
 
 " I have always delighted to live in a world of 
 my own making," she said frankly. " There are 
 days together when I believe myself to be some one 
 else and act and do that which I believe they 
 would have acted and done. The theatre stood to 
 me for a very heaven of self-deceptions. I read 
 of it in books, dreamed of it in my sleep, tried to 
 picture it as it must be. Oh, yes, I have spoken 
 my own plays aloud beneath the trees of this Park 
 so many days. I was Di Vernon, my Lady Bea- 
 trice, Viola, Desdemona, all the young girls you 
 can name in the books. Sometimes I had the idea 
 to run away and hide myself from everyone in 
 that great picture land my visions showed to me. 
 No one here could share my thoughts. My father 
 adored me, but has n3ver understood me. To him, 
 I am the child of the Toman he loved beyond 
 anything on parth. He guards me as though some 
 change would come upon me if he ceased his vig- 
 ilance. Then irony appears and says it is my 
 father who is changing. I have been aware of it 
 ever since Count Odin visited us. These wild men 
 have brought misfortune to our house and God 
 knows where we are drifting. I thought at one 
 time that if I married the Count that would be 
 the end of everything. I can believe it no longer. 
 My father is tempted to sacrifice me; but he 
 would regret it all his lite if he did so. Can you 
 blame me if I think of London again seriously 
 and forever? ' 
 
 Gavin answered her with difficulty. He knew
 
 188 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 so few of the facts of her story as yet that his 
 common sense warned him to speak guardedly. 
 
 " I should be the last to blame you," he said 
 slowly; " but surely there is an alternative? We 
 take a desperate step when other and wiser roads 
 are closed to us. Let me try to understand it 
 better. Count "Odin, you say, has some hold upon 
 your father " 
 
 11 I did not say so, surely " 
 
 " Then I imagine as much. He has some hold 
 upon your father, obtained by that which hap- 
 pened in Bukharest many years ago. Do you 
 know precisely what his claim is? ' 
 
 " His father's liberty. The old Chevalier 
 Georges Odin is a prisoner in one of the mines on 
 the borders of the Black Sea. The Count declares 
 that this is my father's work. I cannot tell you 
 if it be true or false. If it is true, I will see that 
 we leave no stone unturned to set Georges Odin 
 free. I wish I could be so sure that his liberty 
 will bring no peril upon my father." 
 
 " The men were enemies, then? ' 
 
 ' ' I have understood as much. They were rivals 
 for my dead mother's hand." 
 
 11 And your father profited by his enemy's 
 political misfortune? ' 
 
 " I must believe it, since he is afraid to give 
 this man his liberty." 
 
 ' * A natural fear in Eoumania ; not, I think, in 
 England. Will you let ine ask how your marriage 
 with the young Count would help your father in 
 his difficulty? " 
 
 " I do not know, unless it is assumed that as
 
 TfiE LADY EVELYN 189 
 
 Georges Odin's daughter-in-law, I should pay the 
 debt my father owes. ' ' 
 
 " And save him from a purely imaginary dan- 
 ger? ' 
 
 " Would you think it purely imaginary when 
 you remember the guests we entertain in our 
 Park? " 
 
 " The gypsies could the police say nothing to 
 them? Remember we are living in England, 
 where all the fine sentiments preached in Southern 
 Europe are so many heroics to be laughed at. If 
 a Roumanian were to challege me to avenge the 
 honor of my ancestors by cutting his throat in 
 the Carpathians, I should put his letter among my 
 curiosities. Vendettas and secret societies and 
 such absurdities have no place among us outside 
 the theatre. That's why I say that this matter 
 should be dealt with in an English way. If your 
 father has done any man a wrong, he, as an Eng- 
 lish gentleman, will do his best to put it right. 
 All the rest is merely tall talk. It should not 
 even be taken into account, and would not be, I 
 think, unless there are circumstances of which I 
 know nothing. That is why I speak with reserva- 
 tion. I know so little of your father, and he is one 
 of the most difficult men to know that I have met. ' ' 
 
 Evelyn shook her head. 
 
 " Every man is difficult to know and every 
 woman," he said philosophically; " those who 
 seem most superficial are often the people we 
 understand least. Here am I talking to you as 
 I have never talked to anyone in all my life, and 
 yet you know nothing about me whatever. ' '
 
 190 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " I differ from that entirely." 
 
 " Indeed, it is true. If it were not, yon would 
 not have asked me why I let them say that I am 
 going to marry Count Odin. ' ' 
 
 " You let them say it because it is too foolish 
 to contradict." 
 
 ' ' Nothing of the kind. I let them say it because 
 my mother would have married his father had 
 her wishes been consulted. Oh, I know that so 
 well. Every day my inheritance speaks to me. I 
 am afraid of him, and yet am drawn toward him. 
 I detest him and yet go to him. Do you wonder 
 that London seems my only way of escape the 
 theatre where Etta Romney can come to life again 
 and Evelyn be forgotten? ' 
 
 She spoke with some excitement as she always 
 did when the silent voice within told her again of 
 those triumphs awaiting her upon the stage in 
 London whenever she had the mind to seek them. 
 Gavin thought that he understood her; but her 
 confession troubled him none the less. Almost 
 formal as their conversation had been, there was 
 that in the timbre of their voices, in their steps, 
 their gestures, their looks, which declared the 
 pleasure of their intimacy and would have be- 
 trayed the mutual secret to any who might have 
 overheard them. Love, indeed, laughed aside at 
 the prim phrases and the mock sophistries and 
 none realized this more surely than Gavin. 
 
 " I hope it would be as a last resource," said 
 Gavin presently, still thinking of her threat to 
 return to the theatre. " You must not forget
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 191 
 
 that your friends may have something to say in 
 the matter."' 
 
 " My friends! Who are my friends? " she ex- 
 claimed hotly. " The chattering doctor, who is 
 always looking for an excuse to feel my pulse. 
 The vicar, who is so dreadfully afraid of his wife 
 hearing the nonsense he talks to me. Young John 
 Hall, who can speak of nothing else but Yorkshire 
 cricket scores. I have no friends unless it be 
 the dogs. ' ' 
 
 Gavin drew a little nearer to her, and con- 
 fronting her suddenly, he said : 
 
 " Then here is a new breed of hound and one 
 that will be faithful." 
 
 She turned away her head, forgetting that the 
 darkness hid her crimson cheeks from him. 
 
 " I must not listen to you I, who am to be 
 Count Odin's wife," she said. 
 
 " You will never be Count Odin's wife," he re- 
 joined. " I forbid it, you have given me the 
 right. Listen to me, Evelyn. The night I came 
 to Melbourne Hall, I heard a voice calling to me 
 as I crossed this very bridge. It was your voice. 
 I looked over and I saw a face down there in the 
 river and it was your face. That night I did not 
 know why Destiny had sent me to this house. But 
 I know it now, and it makes me say to you, 
 ' I love you I love you, Evelyn, and my love will 
 save you.' When you tell me that you must not 
 hear me, it is not yourself speaking but another. 
 I love you, and, before God, I will not rest day 
 or night until I have saved your father and you 
 from this shadow which has come upon your lives.
 
 192 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 It is yours to give me the right to do so here and 
 now, the right your heart bids you give me and 
 you will not deny." 
 
 He took her hands in both of his and drew her 
 toward him. She resisted him a brief moment; 
 then suddenly, as though disguise were idle, she 
 lifted her lips to his and kissed him. 
 
 " From myself," she said; " save me from 
 myself."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ZALLONY'S SON 
 
 GAVIN permitted her to escape his arms when 
 he heard the Earl calling to them from the Italian 
 garden above the river. A sense of exultation, of 
 ecstasy no words could measure, possessed him 
 as he watched the slim white-clad figure, here dis- 
 appearing, there showing itself again between the 
 ramparts of the splendid trees. She was his, 
 henceforth and forever. All her beauty, her 
 charm, her intellect, every grace of speech and 
 manner had passed to his possession. 
 
 This stately girl of whom the countryside spoke 
 as of some wondrous divinity, she had promised 
 to become his wife; for him the warm kisses of 
 her lips, the declared secrets of her eloquent eyes, 
 the passionate ardor of her embraces. Yesterday 
 he would have called himself a madman to have 
 dared the meanest of the hopes which now might 
 be regarded with equanimity. To-night he could 
 recall them with that kind incredulity which even 
 attends the first hours of such an avowal as this. 
 What act or purpose of his life had brought him 
 such a reward; why had she deemed him worthy? 
 he asked himself. He was neither a vain man 
 nor a fool. If he contemplated his good fortune 
 with a just trepidation, none the less he believed
 
 194 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 himself to merit it. She loved him, and hence- 
 forth might claim his life. This was the whole 
 lesson of the first brief moments of delight. 
 
 Gavin was far too excited to think of returning 
 to the Castle; nor had he any wish to speak to 
 the Earl until his own story presented itself to him 
 in some reasonably plausible shape. Under other 
 circumstances, he could have understood the 
 anger and the impatience which such a declaration 
 might bring upon him ; but these he did not expect 
 at Melbourne Hall. Robert Forrester seemed to 
 him rather an aristocrat by accident than by birth. 
 He, himself, would not in any case consider the 
 dignity of his own life and calling as beneath that 
 of one whose ancestors had been the jest of Lon- 
 don in the days of the Stuarts. He had the right 
 of an honored name, of considerable achievement, 
 and of his youth; and by these he claimed her. 
 Moreover, the secrets of the Hall were now his 
 own; and he understood that the forgotten years 
 stalked as ghosts through the splendid chambers, 
 speaking of passions outlived and of the after- 
 math to be garnered from their fields. Father 
 and daughter alike were reaping that which had 
 been sown in Bukharest more than twenty years 
 ago. From his just judgment, from her birth- 
 right, it lay upon the stranger to save them. 
 Gavin determined to begin his work that very 
 night. 
 
 He had lighted a pipe when Evelyn left him, 
 and with this glowing in the darkness, he set out, 
 with no definite purpose in his mind, toward the 
 gypsy encampment down in the hollow by the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 195 
 
 river. Behind him, Melbourne Hall stood up 
 as a glittering palace of a wonder-world, its 
 windows casting out their brilliant jets to 
 make blacker darkness in the gardens, and 
 many a picture revealed to speak of ancient 
 centuries and the momentous history of the 
 house. Ahead of him lay the moonlit park, the 
 giant yews and elms, the matchless oaks, glades 
 and dells, where from the elves should come 
 unsurpassable avenues and all the beauty of the 
 forest scene. Gavin walked on, however, oblivious 
 of the night or its wonders. He had a vague idea 
 that he might learn something from the rogues 
 and vagabonds who had followed Count Odin to 
 Melbourne Hall ; and, with this idea indicating his 
 path, he came presently to the thicket beyond 
 which the encampment lay. There a sound of 
 voices arrested his attention. Plainly, he said, a 
 woman was speaking; and while the surprise of 
 this discovery was still upon him, the music of 
 a violin, weird and echoing, began to accompany 
 the speaker in a song so plaintive that the very 
 spirit of sorrow appeared to breathe in every note 
 of it. 
 
 Gavin listened to the music spell-bound, and yet 
 a little ashamed of his position. No possible ad- 
 vantage to himself or others would have induced 
 him to play an eavesdropper's part at Melbourne 
 or elsewhere. If he lingered in the shadow of 
 the thicket, it was because the music compelled 
 him and he could not escape its fascinations. 
 When the sound of the voice died away, he turned 
 about to come at the encampment by another
 
 196 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 road ; and then he became aware for the first time 
 that he did not stand there alone. A pair of black 
 eyes, shining like a cat's in the darkness, looked 
 up at him as it were from his very shoulder. Ee- 
 turning their gaze, but not without a quickening 
 pulse and some apprehension of danger, he could, 
 at length, outline the figure of a man, slim and 
 agile, and yet not without a certain grace to be 
 perceived even in such a light. That this fellow 
 was one of the gypsies he had no doubt at all. The 
 clear moonlit night revealed the oval face, the 
 restless eyes, the long, tapering hands of a Eo- 
 many. Gavin remarked the hands particularly, 
 for one of them was thrust into the bosom of a 
 spotlessly white and clinging shirt and that 
 hand, he said, covered the hilt of a gypsy's knife. 
 So it was to be a hazardous encounter after all. 
 He understood too well that if he moved so much 
 as a foot, this gypsy would stab him. 
 
 " Why do you watch us, sir? " 
 
 The English was execrable but the meaning 
 quite plain. Gavin answered as abruptly*: 
 
 " I am listening to your music." 
 
 The gypsy, utterly lost in his attempts to con- 
 tinue in a tongue of which he knew so little, stam- 
 mered for an instant and then asked curtly : 
 
 1 1 Do you speak German, sir I ' 
 
 1 ' Possibly as well as you do ; I have been three 
 years in that excellent country." 
 
 11 Please to tell me who you are, then, and why 
 you come to his Excellency's house? ' 
 
 Gavin laughed at the impertinence of it. Speak- 
 ing in fluent German, he said :
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 197 
 
 " I might very well put that question to you. 
 Shall I say, then, that I am not here to answer 
 your questions. Come, we had better be frank 
 with each other. I may be able to help you." 
 
 This was a new idea to the gypsy and one that 
 caused him some perplexity. A little reflection 
 convinced him that the stranger was right. 
 
 " Very well," he said, " we will talk about it. 
 Come to my tent and Djala shall make us coffee. 
 Why not be friends? Yes, we might help each 
 other, as you say Let us talk first and then we 
 can quarrel." 
 
 He led the way through a path of the dell, pow- 
 dering the ground with* the golden dust of wild 
 flowers as he went. The encampment had been 
 enlarged considerably since Evelyn discovered it 
 on the gypsies first coming to Moretown. There 
 were no less than seven tents ; and the biggest of 
 these, the one to which Gavin's guide now con- 
 ducted him, had been furnished with lavish gener- 
 osity. Old silver lamps from the Hall cast a 
 warm, soft light upon the couches and rugs about ; 
 there were old tapestries hung against the canvas ; 
 tables glittering with silver ornaments; a buffet 
 laden with bottles and silver boxes. But the chief 
 ornament was Djala, a little Hungarian girl, and 
 such a perfect picture of wild beauty that Gavin 
 stared at her amazed. 
 
 4 * Here is Djala, ' ' the guide said, with a gesture 
 of his hand toward her. " I am known as Zal- 
 lony's son. His Excellency may have spoken of 
 me." 
 
 * ' I know nothing, ' ' said Gavin simply. ' ' Per-
 
 198 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 mit me to tell the young lady that she has a 
 charming voice. I have never heard music that 
 fascinated me so much.'' 
 
 " It is the music of a nation of musicians, sir. 
 Please to sit down. Djala will serve us cigarettes 
 and coffee." 
 
 The girl laughed pleasantly, showing a row of 
 shining white teeth and evidently understanding 
 that a compliment had been paid her by the stran- 
 ger. When she had served the coffee and cigar- 
 ettes, she ran away with a coquette's step and 
 they heard her singing outside to the soft accom- 
 paniment of a zither. Zallony's son smoked mean- 
 while with the contemplative silence of the 
 Oriental; and Gavin, waiting for him, would not 
 be the first to break the truce. 
 
 ' ' So you have been in Germany, sir ? ' 
 
 11 I was there three years," said Gavin. 
 
 " You know Bukharest, it may be? " 
 
 11 Not at all, though a lady's book was on the 
 point of sending me to the Carpathians. ' ' 
 
 11 You should go and see my country; it is the 
 finest in the world. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I will take care to do so on the earliest oppor- 
 tunity. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Make friends with my people and they will 
 be your friends. We never forget, sir. That is 
 why I am here in this English country, because 
 we never forget." 
 
 11 The best of qualities. . . . They tell me 
 that your father was his Excellency's friend in 
 Boumania many years ago. ' ' 
 
 The gypsy looked at him questioningly.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 199 
 
 " It is as you say, sir. They were brothers of 
 the hills. When the houses burned and the women 
 ran from the soldiers, then men said it is Zallony 
 and the English lord. There was another with 
 them. He is in prison now he who was my 
 father's friend. Sir, I come to England to give 
 him liberty." 
 
 Gavin was greatly interested. He drained the 
 little cup of coffee, and, filling a pipe slowly, he 
 said: 
 
 1 1 'What forbids your success ? ' 
 
 Zallony 's son looked him straight in the face. 
 
 ' * A lady known to us she may forbid it, sir. ' * 
 
 " You cannot mean the Lady Evelyn? ' 
 
 11 We will not speak of names. You have her 
 confidence. Say to her that when she is false to 
 my friend, Count Odin, I will kill her. ' ' 
 
 " But that is nonsense. What has she to do 
 with it? Your affair is with the Earl, her father. 
 Why do you speak of her? ' 
 
 " Because there is only one door by which my 
 father's friend can win his liberty. Let Georges 
 Odin's son marry an Englishwoman and my Gov- 
 ernment will release him." 
 
 " That is your view. Do you forget his Excel- 
 lency's influence? Why should he not petition 
 the Government at Bukharest for this man's 
 liberty? " 
 
 " Because, in that case, his own life would be 
 in danger. We are a people that never forgets. I 
 have told you so. If Georges Odin were at liberty, 
 he would cross the world to find his enemy. That 
 is our nature. We love and hate as an Eastern
 
 200 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 people should. The man who does us a wrong 
 must repay, whoever he is. It would be different 
 if the young Count had an English wife. That 
 is why I wish it. ' ' 
 
 Gavin smiled almost imperceptibly. 
 
 " It is quite clear that you know little of Eng- 
 land," he said. " This language suits your own 
 country very well. Permit me to say that it is 
 ridiculous in ours. If Lord Melbourne had any 
 hand in your friend's imprisonment, which I 
 doubt, he is hardly likely to be influenced by 
 threats. I should say that you are going the 
 wrong way to work. As to the Lady Evelyn, I 
 will tell you that she will never be the wife of one 
 of your countrymen. If you ask a reason, it is 
 a personal one, and before you now. She is going 
 to marry me. It is just as well that we should 
 understand as much at once." 
 
 The gypsy heard the news as one who had ex- 
 pected to hear it. He smoked for a little while in 
 silence. Then he said : 
 
 " I appreciate the courtesy of your admission. 
 That which I thought it necessary to tell you at 
 first, I must now repeat . . . this lady is the 
 betrothed of my friend, Count Odin. I remain 
 in England as the guardian of his honor. If you 
 are wise, you will leave the house without further 
 warning. My friend is absent, and until he is 
 here I must speak for him. We do not know you 
 and wish you no harm. Let this affair end as it 
 l>egan. You would be foolish to do otherwise." 
 
 Gavin heard the threat without any sign of 
 resentment whatever.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 201 
 
 ;< You are talking the language of the Car- 
 pathians, not of London," he said, with a new note 
 of determination in his tone. * * I will answer you 
 in my English way. I have asked Lady Evelyn to 
 marry me, and she will do so before the year is 
 out. That is final. For the rest, I remind you 
 again that you are not in Bukharest." 
 
 He rose, laughing, and offered his hand. 
 
 ' ' Good-night, ' ' he said. ' ' They will be anxious 
 about me at the Castle." 
 
 It was the gypsy's turn to smile. 
 
 ' ' I have dealt fairly with you, ' ' he said ; ' ' for 
 that which is now to come, do not blame me when 
 it comes." 
 
 " Too late is often never," replied Gavin 
 lightly; and with that he left him. 
 
 The gypsy girl, Djala, had ceased to sing as he 
 quitted the tent and the rest of the encampment 
 was in darkness. But as he crossed the home 
 park, a burly figure upon a black horse loomed 
 up suddenly from the shadows and there was still 
 moonlight enough for him to recognize the Earl. 
 
 * * He is going to his gypsy friends, ' ' Gavin said 
 to himself. " Then he knows that this brigand's 
 son has spoken to me ah, I wonder ! '
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A SPY FBOM BUKHABEST 
 
 IT is an English characteristic to deride the 
 Europe code of social ethics and especially those 
 fine heroics which attended the vindication of 
 what is so often miscalled " honor." Whatever 
 else Gavin Ord lacked, sound common sense he 
 had abundantly; and that came to his aid when 
 he returned from the gypsy's tent to the Manor 
 and debated the odd interview which he had so 
 abruptly terminated. These men, he said, were 
 mere bravadoes; but they might be dangerous 
 none the less. Of Count Odin he knew nothing; 
 but his antipathy to all counts was ineradicable, 
 and he had come to number them together as so 
 many impostors, valiants, and bankrupts. This 
 habit of thinking first led him to the supposition 
 that Lord Melbourne, his host, had been the 
 victim of a little band of swindlers and was about 
 to be blackmailed by them as few even of the most 
 unfortunate degenerates are blackmailed, even in 
 this age of accomplished roguery. 
 
 1 i It is a hundred to one old Georges Odin is 
 dead," he argued; " this son of his got the story 
 somehow and came over here to make what he 
 could by it. The Earl has lost his-nerve, and his 
 love for Evelyn is betraying him into cowardice.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 20$ 
 
 I shall see him and tell him the truth. If they 
 fire off pistols at me, I must take my luck in my 
 hand. There may be a deeper story if so, I shall 
 find it out when the time comes. I am now to 
 act for Evelyn's sake and think of no conse- 
 quences which do not concern her. Very well, I 
 will begin to-morrow and the Earl is my first step. 
 He shall hear everything. When he has done so, 
 I shall know what to do. ' ' 
 
 He slept upon this, but it was a broken sleep 
 whose interludes found him sitting up in bed lis- 
 tening for any sounds in the house, and repeating 
 in spite of himself the gypsy threats. He could 
 not forget that some one had watched him in his 
 sleep when first he came to Melbourne Hall; and 
 this unforgotten figure his imagination showed ta 
 him again, telling him that it crossed the room 
 with cat-like steps or breathed upon his face 
 whenever his eyes were closed. His natural 
 courage made nothing of the darkness; but the 
 suggestion of unknown and undisclosed danger 
 became intolerable as the night advanced ; and at 
 the very first call of dawn, he drew the curtains 
 back and waited with a child's longing for the day. 
 When this at length broke above the night's mists 
 floating up from the river, Gavin rose and put on 
 his dressing-gown, being quite sure that sleep had, 
 for the time being, deserted him. True, his odd 
 hallucination that some one was in the room with 
 him no longer troubled him ; but certain facts dis- 
 quieted him none the less ; and of these, the belief 
 that his wallet and his papers had been ransacked 
 during the night was not the least alarming. He
 
 204 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 felt sure that lie could not be mistaken. A man 
 of method, he remembered clearly how he had 
 placed his papers and in what order he had left 
 them. Whoever had played the spy's part had 
 done so clumsily, forgetting to reclasp the wallet 
 and leaving the dressing-table in some disorder. 
 This troubled Gavin less than the knowledge that 
 some one had, after all, watched him while he slept 
 and that his dream had not deceived him. ' i They 
 take me for a spy from Bukharest, ' ' he said . . . 
 and he could laugh at the delusion. 
 
 It would have been about five o'clock of the 
 morning by this time ; a glorious hour, full of the 
 sweet breath of day and of that sense of life and 
 being which is the daydawn's gift. Gavin knew 
 little of the habits of grooms, save that they were 
 the people who were supposed to rise with the sun ; 
 but when an hour had passed he went out im- 
 patiently to the stables, and there the excellent 
 "William found him a " rare ould divil of a hoss ' 
 and one that " came just short of winnin' the 
 National, to be sure he did." This raw-boned 
 cantankerous brute carried him at a sound gallop 
 twice round the home park; and, greatly re- 
 freshed, he returned to the Hall and asked the 
 apologetic Griggs if the Earl were yet down. The 
 answer that " his lordship was awaiting him in 
 the Long Gallery," hardly surprised him. He 
 felt sure that the recognition last night had been 
 mutual. 
 
 " Zallony's son has told him," he said; " very 
 well, I will go and ask him to give me Evelyn. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 205 
 
 The Earl sat at a little table placed in one of 
 the embrasures of the Gallery. He had aged 
 greatly these last few weeks, and there were lines 
 upon his face that had not been there when Gavin 
 first came to Moretown. A close observer would 
 have said that the habit of sleep had long de- 
 serted him. This his eyes betrayed, being glassy 
 in their abstracted gaze and rarely resting upon 
 any object as though to observe it for more than 
 an instant. When Gavin entered, a tremulous 
 hand indicated a chair drawn up near by the table. 
 The Earl was the first to speak and he did so with 
 averted gaze and in a loud voice which failed to 
 conceal the hesitation of his words. 
 
 " I hear of your unfortunate accident for the 
 first time, Mr. Ord," he said slowly. " Let me 
 implore you to run no more risks of the kind. The 
 Belfry Tower is too old to write new histories." 
 
 Gavin replied with an immediate admission of 
 that which he owed to Evelyn's bravery. 
 
 " But for your daughter, my lord," he said, 
 " I should not be here this morning to speak to 
 you of very grave things. Please do not think 
 me insensible of your kindness if I mention that 
 at once. I have asked Lady Evelyn to be my 
 wife and she has given her consent. Naturally 
 I tell you of this upon the first possible occasion. 
 You know something of my story, or you .rould 
 not have paid me the compliment of asking me 
 here. I have an assured income of some two thou- 
 sand a year, and, with your friendship, I should 
 double it in as many years. That is a vulgar state- 
 ment, but necessary. My father was Lord Justice
 
 206 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 Ord, as you possibly knew ; my dear mother is the 
 daughter of Sir Francis Winnington, of Audley 
 Court, Suffolk. These things, I know, must be 
 talked about at such times, so please bear with me. 
 I am sure that Evelyn would wish me to continue 
 in the profession I have chosen; and, with your 
 consent, I shall do so. There is nothing else I 
 can tell you if it is not to say how very deeply I 
 love your daughter and that I believe her love for 
 me is not less." 
 
 The Earl heard him without remark. When he 
 had finished he made no immediate response, 
 seeming to lack words rather than decision. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Ord, ' ' he said at length, ' ' you had every 
 right to speak to Evelyn. I make no complaint 
 of it. But she cannot be your wife, for if she is 
 not already the betrothed of another, there is at 
 least an honorable understanding that she will 
 make no marriage until he has been heard again. 
 This affair must begin and end to-day. If I am 
 no longer able to ask you to remain my guest here, 
 you will understand my difficulty. I cannot an- 
 swer you in any other way. For your sake I wish 
 indeed that I could." 
 
 Gavin had fully expected this; but it did not 
 disconcert him in any way. The battle which he 
 must waee for Evelyn's sake had but begun. 
 Settling- nimself in his chair and looking the Earl 
 full in his face, he said : 
 
 " Does Lady Evelyn know of this, my lord? 
 Is this the answer she wishes you to give me? ' 
 
 ' ' In no sense. But I speak as one who consults 
 her interests before all things."
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 207 
 
 Gavin smiled perceptibly. 
 
 1 ' Forgive me, Lord Melbourne, ' ' he said ; ' 1 but 
 all this is so very characteristic of your house and 
 its history. A hundred years ago it would have 
 sounded well enough and I should have called a 
 coach obediently as any gentleman of those days 
 would have felt obliged to do. But we live in 
 the twentieth century, my lord, when men and 
 women have learned the meaning of the word lib- 
 erty . . . when the desires and schemes of 
 other people " 
 
 " Schemes, Mr. Ord " 
 
 * l No other word is possible. You do not desire 
 the marriage for purely selfish reasons. I am not 
 impertinent enough to inquire into them, but Eve- 
 lyn has told me something, and the rest I deduce 
 from the answer you have just given me. To 
 save yourself, my lord, you would marry your 
 daughter to a scoundrel, who is known for such 
 in his own country and ours ; and, when you did it, 
 some false logic would try to tell you that it was 
 for the sake of your home and name; while all 
 the time it is done to save you some inconvenience, 
 some penalty you should in justice pay to the past. 
 I am not so blind that I cannot see the things 
 which are happening all around me. Evelyn's con- 
 sent to my proposal gives me this right to speak 
 plainly to you, in her interests and my own. Would 
 you not be wiser, my lord, to deal with me as I 
 am dealing with you to tell me in a word why 
 this stranger can coerce you when an Englishman 
 is answered in a word? I think that you would. 
 I think it would be well if you said, ' Here is a man
 
 208 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 who wishes to be my friend and will be so re- 
 gardless of the consequences. ' ' ' 
 
 The boldness of his utterance found the Earl 
 altogether unarmed. Under other circumstances 
 he would have wrung the bell and ordered a car- 
 riage for Mr. Gavin Ord; but the whole problem 
 was too full of perplexities for that. It may be 
 that Lord Melbourne was fully alive both to the 
 truths and falsehoods of his position. He had 
 done a man a great wrong and that man's son 
 had crossed Europe to bid him right the wrong 
 and act justly. How easy would it all have been 
 if Evelyn had loved this son and married him! 
 No story then to delight a scandal-loving multi- 
 tude; no fear, growing upon weak nerves, that 
 the man who had suffered might avenge his 
 wrong. Yes, Evelyn could save him . . . and 
 here was a stranger who forbade her to do so. 
 
 " You speak very freely," he said to Gavin 
 presently. " I will do you the justice to believe 
 that you also speak honestly. If Evelyn has told 
 you anything, it will be that Count Odin is the 
 son of one of my oldest friends." 
 
 " I have learned that from two sources," said 
 Gavin. " Will you let me add, my lord, that you 
 are probably speaking of a man who is dead? " 
 
 The Earl started and looked up quickly. 
 
 " Have you any knowledge of that? ' 
 
 " None whatever, but I have heard of Count 
 Odin's story." 
 
 f ' He is as other young men, I suppose ; neither 
 better nor worse " 
 
 " .While, for the daughter you love, you would
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 209 
 
 have chosen just such a man. Is that so, my 
 lord? " 
 
 Here was a shrewd hit, going straight to the 
 heart of one who, for fifteen long years, had 
 striven to shield his daughter from that whichi 
 her dead mother's genius had bequeathed to her 
 the life and passion of the East; the nomad's, 
 craving for change and excitement; the gilt and 
 tinsel of the theatre. Yes, truly, they had beer* 
 years of self-sacrifice and of ceaseless vigil to> 
 end in this spectre of youth reborn and of ven- 
 geance awake. 
 
 " Mr. Ord," he said, " I perceive that my 
 story is known to you. Your judgment of me is 
 what the world's judgment would be if half the 
 truth were known and, remember, it is rarely 
 more than half a truth that the world comes to> 
 possess. I am acting, you say, not from a desire 
 to do the best for my daughter, but to shield my- 
 self. It may be so, for men are blind enough when 
 their own salvation is at stake. At the same time,, 
 there are reasons other than these, and such that 
 you will hardly discover. I believe it is very 
 necessary to Evelyn's happiness that this story 
 shall be hushed up, for the time being at any rate~ 
 But I have made no promise to Count Odin other 
 than those you know. If his father is still a pris- 
 oner in the mines at Yoliska, then I will do my 
 best to obtain his liberty when I have assurances 
 that such liberty will not be used to my disad- 
 vantage or to Evelyn's. I tell you upon iny word 
 as an Englishman that I am guiltless of such, 
 knowledge. When he fought with me in
 
 210 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 barest, more than twenty years ago, I met him 
 as a man of honor and nearly paid with my life 
 for the folly. They now assert that my friends 
 laid the complaint which induced the Roumanian 
 Government to arrest him. I do not believe it 
 to be true. Georges Odin, the records say, died 
 in the fortress prison of Krajova nearly ten years 
 ago. Prince Charles' Government arrested him, 
 I admit, on the score of the duel he fought with 
 me; but they had been trying to arrest him for 
 many years, and that was their excuse. Of the 
 rest I knew nothing. If he is dead " 
 
 ' ' My lord, have you taken no steps to ascertain 
 the truth of his death! ' 
 
 " My solicitors are now making all inquiries at 
 Bukharest and Krajova." 
 
 " I should have thought that solicitors were 
 scarcely the people to employ." 
 
 11 Who else is to be trusted with such a story 
 as this? " 
 
 11 I am, Lord Melbourne." 
 
 " You but you are a stranger to me and my 
 house." 
 
 * * A stranger who is willing to become a friend. 
 Say that you will put no opposition in my way 
 and I will begin my task at once. ' ' 
 
 11 I appreciate your offer, but must decline it. 
 [Acceptance would imply an obligation I am un- 
 willing to recognize." 
 
 " I ask for no recognition. To-night, my lord, 
 I leave London for Bukharest. In a month or 
 less I will return to tell you whether Georges 
 Odin is alive or dead. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 211 
 
 The Earl stared at him amazed. 
 
 " Bring me news of Georges Odin's death," 
 he said, " and you shall marry my daughter." 
 
 Gavin rose and offered him his hand. 
 
 " I will start directly I have seen the Lady 
 Evelyn," he said.
 
 BOOK III 
 THE LIGHT 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII 
 
 BUKHAEEST 
 
 " IN America, my dear Gavin, they would cer- 
 tainly name you for a very prince of hustlers. ' ' 
 
 The speaker, a lad of twenty-two years of age, 
 leaned back indolently in his chair and sipped a 
 tiny cup of Turkish coffee with lazy satisfaction. 
 Gifted with brown curly hair, ridiculously blue 
 eyes, and a beardless chin, Cambridge had named 
 him ironically " the Lamb." His name was Ar- 
 thur Kenyon, and there had been no prettier 
 athlete in all London when he was there, precisely 
 ten days ago. 
 
 " Yes," he went on, " you lure me to this place, 
 which might be half a mile at the most from the 
 infernal regions, and promise me a ripping holi- 
 day. I come like a sheep to the shearing and 
 what is my reward ? Hours of self -contemplation 
 long musings upon an innocent past, and the 
 thermometer at 112 Fahrenheit in the shade. Ye 
 gods, what a thing to be a travelling English- 
 man! " 
 
 They sat in the restaurant of the Hotel Mos-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 213 
 
 kowa at Bukharest, justly famous, as the English 
 boy had said, for its historic prices and ancient 
 meats, long matured. Gavin Ord, grown a little 
 older since he left Derbyshire some fifteen days 
 ago, had a map of Roumania before him and all 
 his intentions appeared to be concentrated upon 
 this. The restaurant, despite the season of the 
 year, could show a fair array of pretty women in 
 Vienna gowns and of little gold-laced officers who 
 chaperoned them. The heat of the night had be- 
 come intense and a great block of ice upon a mar- 
 ble pedestal melted visibly as though despairing 
 of the effort to exist. Energy might have been 
 deemed a forgotten art but for the frantic exer- 
 tions of a typical gypsy band which fiddled as 
 though its very salvation depended upon the mar- 
 vels of its presto. 
 
 * ' My dear Arthur, ' ' said Gavin at length, fold- 
 ing up his map and lighting a cigarette with the 
 air of one who is thinking of anything but a 
 smoker's pleasure, " I am a beast, certainly. 
 But. then, I am a successful beast." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have found 
 him? " 
 
 " Good Master Indiscretion I have found the 
 house which Cook built and I am going to visit 
 it to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course, that ancient and interest- 
 ing Roman building . . . well, I always 
 wanted to see Roumania, and, of course, we shall 
 do Buda-Pesth going back. By the way, do you 
 notice that acrobat playing the 'cello over there! 
 Don't turn round yet. He's been watching you
 
 214 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 ever since we sat down just as though he loved 
 you dearly." 
 
 Gavin smoked for a little while without shifting 
 his position in any way. Presently he said : 
 
 " I don't know why he should. Unless they 
 watched me from London, which is not improb- 
 able, they are hardly likely to know of my arrival 
 yet. When you have drunk your coffee, we'll go 
 and take a turn on the Corso. The 'cellist cer- 
 tainly likes me. I see what you mean." 
 
 Half Bukharest seemed to have flocked to the 
 Corso, or public park, by the time they arrived 
 there. Even the innumerable gaming tables, 
 which are the chief fame of the pretentious city, 
 were deserted upon such a night as this ; while the 
 open-air cafes were so many illuminated ice- 
 houses, thronged by perspiring civilians and 
 equally perspiring soldiers, whose talk began and 
 ended with an anathema upon the heat. Gavin 
 Ord had travelled but little; his one real friend, 
 Arthur Kenyon, had already been half across the 
 world and back ; but for both the interests of this 
 strange scene, with its babble of excited tongues, 
 its Hungarians, Servians, Bulgarians, Rouman- 
 ians, and by no means least numerous, its sallow- 
 faced Turks, were beyond any within their ex- 
 perience. 
 
 " No wonder the people at the Ministry tell you 
 to be careful," said Kenyon amiably, as he 
 pointed to a great Bashi-Bazouk whose very mus- 
 tache might have been inflammable. " I would 
 sooner meet a Chinese mandarin than that fellow 
 anywhere. And there are plenty more of the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 215 
 
 kind, you see. All sorts, shapes and sizes, ready to 
 cut your throat for a golden coin any day you may 
 be wanting the job done." 
 
 " All sham, my dear Arthur. Knives made in 
 Birmingham and pistols in Germany! Don't 
 worry your head about them. We start for Okna 
 at seven o'clock to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, you've found out where it is, then? " 
 
 " I wanted to tell you before dinner, but these 
 fellows were listening. Cecil Chesny was at the 
 Ministry to-day and he could not have done more 
 for me. Okna means a stiff ride into the moun- 
 tains and some hunting when we get there. If the 
 old man, Georges Odin, is alive, he is at Okna. 
 Our task is to persuade him that London is a 
 healthier place " 
 
 " And the son, this man they call the Count, 
 what of him! ' 
 
 " I can learn little. He has evidently been 
 living on his wits for a long time. He was here 
 a fortnight ago throwing promises to his cred- 
 itors right and left. The local papers announce 
 his engagement to Lord Melbourne's daughter 
 they spell it, " Sir Lord Milbawn," and declares 
 that he is going up to buy the old Castle at 
 Gravitza. I don't believe he is in Bukharest to- 
 day if he is, well, I must look out for myself, 
 and you must help to look out for me. The rest 
 depends upon his father. I could go back to 
 England to-night and tell the Earl that Georges 
 Odin was released four years ago from the mines 
 at Prahova, but that would not help me. The 
 Count would go back and blackmail them again
 
 '$16 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 on the score of what his friends, the gypsies, 
 meant to do. No, I shall bring the father if he 
 is to be brought, and carry my purchase back to 
 England. That's my plan, Arthur. Time will 
 prove whether it's clever or foolish." 
 
 Arthur Kenyon listened as one listens to the tale 
 of an Eastern romance. Gavin had told him the 
 ^rhole story before they left London; but here in 
 Bukharest it seemed so much easier to compre- 
 liend, amid a people Careless of life and little un- 
 jacquainted with death. All the gauds of passion, 
 of love, and hatred were known to this mean city. 
 Here, at least, it did not appear difficult to under- 
 stand how Count Odin, the adventurer, having 
 jheard the history of Eobert Forrester's youth 
 and of his present wealth, had set out for England 
 determined to profit by his knowledge. 
 
 ' ' We have no color in our roguery in London, ' ' 
 Arthur said presently. " It's all just one drab 
 tint the same color as the yellow press that de- 
 lights in it. Here one begins to understand why 
 the fittest survive. You are a pretty plucky chap, 
 Cravin, or you would not take it so easily ' 
 
 " Not for a woman's sake, Arthur? ' 
 
 " Oh, well, I suppose if one is sufficiently in 
 love, one would hack at Cerberus for a woman's 
 sake. I am less fettered. Here in Bukharest I 
 begin to wonder whether I shall die for the charm- 
 ing Lucy or the equally beautiful Lucinda. You 
 .have no doubts. My dear old fellow, I'm afraid 
 you're in deadly earnest." 
 
 " So much in earnest, Arthur, that if I cannot 
 I*
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 217 
 
 go back to make Evelyn my wife, I will never go 
 back at all." 
 
 " Eros living in a dirty Roumanian hotel on 
 ancient meats ! No, by all the gods. But, tell me, 
 does your friend Chesny think you are unwise 
 to go to Okna? " 
 
 " He says I am mad. I told him as much as I 
 had the right to tell. Odin, the son, is a swindler ; 
 but his gypsy friends are honest. They believe 
 that an Englishman shut up one of their heroes' 
 for twenty years; and if they can find the man 
 who did it, they will kill him. There's the Count's 
 chance. I am going one better by offering to take 
 his father to England to meet the man who 
 wronged him and say that the vendetta is at an 
 end. A mad scheme! Yes. Well, possibly, mad 
 schemes are better than the others sometimes, and 
 this may be the particular instance. I will tell 
 you when we get to Okna, if ever we get there." 
 
 ' ' Then you are plainly not an optimist. ' ' 
 
 11 Hush there's your old friend the 'cellist, 
 going home it appears. A gypsy to the finger 
 tips, Arthur. Let us talk of the weather! '
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE PEICE OF WISDOM 
 
 AN Eastern sun, monstrous and molten and 
 blinking tears of fire, dwelt an instant in the West 
 ere it sank beneath the rim of the mountains, be- 
 yond which lies the river Danube. Instantly, as 
 though by a wizard's enchantment, the heat spell 
 passed from the face of the withered land and the 
 sweetness of the night came down. All the woods 
 were alive now, as though the voice of Even had 
 bidden them rejoice. Birds appeared, flitting 
 from the swaying boughs of oak and elm and syca- 
 more. Springs bubbled over as though rejoicing 
 that their enemy slept. Life that had been dor- 
 mant but ten minutes ago answered to the reveille 
 of twilight and added a note musical to the song. 
 Men breathed a full breath of the soft breezes and 
 said that it was good to live. The very landscape, 
 revealing new beauties in the mellow light, might 
 have been sensible of the hour and its meaning. 
 
 It was the evening of the second day after 
 Gavin Ord and his friend Arthur Kenyon had 
 dined together in the Hotel Moskowa at Bukharest. 
 A railway and twelve hours ' abuse of its tardiness 
 had carried them a stage upon this journey. Will- 
 ing Hungarian ponies, mules, in whose eyes the 
 negative virtues might be read, brought them to
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 219 
 
 the foot of the mountains and left them there to 
 camp with what luxury they might. Attended by 
 a sleek Turk they had discovered in the Capital, 
 their escort boasted no less than four heroes of 
 the line for this had been Cecil Chesny's un- 
 alterable determination, that they should not go 
 to the mountains alone. 
 
 " It's a fool's errand and may be dangerous," 
 said he ; " these soldiers are thieves, but they will 
 see that no one else robs you. I will ask the Min- 
 istry to pick out as good specimens as he can. 
 Don't complain when you see them. They are 
 much less harmless than they look." 
 
 Gavin did not like the business at all, but as 
 Chesny's good- will was necessary to the expedi- 
 tion, he put up with it, and the four shabby sol- 
 diers accompanied him from Bukharest. They 
 were ill-mannered fellows enough, raw-boned, 
 high-cheeked, sallow-faced ruffians, whose " para- 
 dise enow ' ' could be found wherever good comely, 
 plump girls and bad tobacco might be found. 
 Their energy at meal-times became truly prodig- 
 ious. They were as ravenous wolves, seeking what 
 they might devour; and, as Arthur Kenyon re- 
 marked, they would have eaten his boots if he had 
 taken them off. 
 
 Now, this pretty company, Englishmen, Rou- 
 manians, a Greek and a Turk, encamped in the 
 woods together upon the evening of the second day, 
 and found what comfort they could beneath the 
 sheltering leaves of a spacious beech. It had been 
 Gavin's intention to put up at a guest-house 
 named by the guide-book he had purchased in
 
 220 THE .LADY EVELYN 
 
 Vienna; but when they came to the place where 
 the irm should have stood, they discovered nothing 
 but charred ruins and cinerous relics ; and, ' ' by 
 all the gods, ' ' said Arthur Kenyon, ' ' the red cock 
 has crowed here before us." A romantic ear 
 would have listened greedily at such a time to 
 the guide's tales of border pleasantries girls 
 carried shrieking to the mountains, roofs blazing, 
 priests burned in their holy oils, babes hoist on 
 bayonets for such they would have made a sim- 
 ple affair in which a drunken herdsman and a 
 paraffin lamp had figured notably ; but Gavin was 
 in no mood for narratives, and he sent them to 
 the right about, one for wood, another for water, 
 a third to hunt a cot or homestead, if such were 
 to be discovered. 
 
 " The Hotel of the Belle feoile after all," he 
 said gloomily; " well, it might have been worse, 
 Arthur. ' ' 
 
 " Just so. If I had not stocked your larder at 
 Slavitesti, you would now be doing what the ami- 
 able Foulon advised the French people to do a 
 hundred years ago eating hay with relish, my 
 dear boy. Well, there's red wine strong enough 
 to poison White Bull, and maize bread tough 
 enough for a guinea set of ready-made grinders, 
 to say nothing of cheese, sausage, and biscuits. 
 Fall on, Macduff, and damned be he who eats 
 enough! " 
 
 " I don't care twopence about the food," said 
 Gavin savagely; " it's the delay I fret over. We 
 may be within riding distance of the place for all 
 I know. They could have told us at this inn."
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 221 
 
 ' ' The boy on the burning deck grown eloquent. 
 We might have put out the fire for them or com- 
 forted some of the ladies. Are you really in such 
 a hurry, Gavin? " 
 
 ' ' Judge for yourself. From the Castle at Okna 
 I can write to Evelyn and tell her the truth. Until 
 it is told, she will be the daily victim of a rogue's 
 plausible suggestions. Why, the man may have 
 returned to Derbyshire by this time all that is 
 possible and more." 
 
 11 And there was a great square moon in the 
 sky and thereon the people read the story of the 
 Jaberwock. Tell me frankly, would Evelyn lis- 
 ten to the man now? ' 
 
 " Evelyn would not, but Etta Romney might. 
 Enigmas I shall not explain them. Let us go to 
 supper. The day will come after the centuries." 
 
 " Gavin, my dear fellow this is the ancient 
 fever. I bow to it. Pass the wine and I'll drink 
 to your enigma. We are people of importance 
 and our escort is a royal one. It is also musical. 
 That song suggests Seigfried or is it the * Belle of 
 New York "? My musical education was com- 
 pleted at Magdalen College within Cambridge and 
 is incomplete." 
 
 He frivolled on as young men will, not without 
 purpose, for Gavin's anxiety was potent to all 
 about him. It had seemed an easy thing in Eng- 
 land to visit the near East and learn for himself 
 the simple truth of Georges Odin's fate. Here 
 on the slopes of the mountains he began to under- 
 stand his difficulties, perhaps the danger, of his 
 pursuit. For this, he remembered, had been the
 
 222 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 scene of Kobert Forrester's youth, this the home 
 of Zallony, the revolutionary brigand upon whose 
 head three countries had set a price. Time had 
 not changed the disposition of the mountain 
 people, nor had civilization influenced its social 
 creeds. Beware of Zallony's gypsies, they had 
 said to him at Bukharest. This night had brought 
 him within a post of his goal. It would be hard 
 enough if any mischance should send him back to 
 England empty-handed; to say to Evelyn, " I 
 have failed; I can tell you nothing." 
 
 Arthur Kenyon, for his part, had begun to en- 
 joy the whole adventure amazingly. Especially 
 he liked the four merry soldiers who ate and 
 drank as though they had been fasting and athirst 
 for a week, and lay down afterwards to fall in- 
 stantly to sleep. In this the Greek muleteer and 
 the Turkish robber of all trades imitated them 
 without loss of time ; so that by nine o 'clock noth- 
 ing but the red glow of two English pipes and the 
 sonorous nasal thank-offerings of the sleepers 
 would have betrayed the camp or its occupants. 
 Such conversation as passed between Gavin and 
 Arthur was in fitful whispers, the talk of men 
 thoroughly fatigued and wistful for the day. 
 They, too, dropped to sleep over it at last, and 
 when they awoke it was to such a scene as neither 
 would ever forget, however long he might live. 
 
 Gavin slept without dreaming, the first night 
 he had done so since he left England. He could 
 remember afterwards that his friend's voice 
 awoke him from his heavy slumber; and that, 
 when he sat up and stared about him, Arthur Ken-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 223 
 
 yon was the first person his eyes rested upon. 
 Instantaneously, as one sees a picture in a vision, 
 the scene of the camp presented itself to his view 
 the great trunks of the oaks and beeches, the 
 hollow, wherein the horses were tethered, the tan- 
 gle of grass and undergrowth. Just as he had 
 seen it when he fell asleep, so the reddening em- 
 bers of the camp-fire showed it to him now un- 
 changed, and yet how different ! He was, for this 
 brief instant, as a sleeper who wakes in a familiar 
 room and wonders why he has been awakened. 
 Then, just as rapidly, the scales fell from his eyes 
 and he knew. 
 
 Arthur Kenyon stood with his back against the 
 trunk of a beech, his revolver drawn and about 
 him such a motley crowd that only a comic opera 
 could have reproduced it. Gypsies chiefly, the 
 fire-light flashed upon sallow faces which a man 
 might see in an evil dream; upon arms that a 
 mediaeval age should have forged ; upon limbs that 
 forest labor had trained to hardiness. Crying to- 
 gether in not unmusical exclamations, the raiders 
 appeared in no way desirous of injuring their 
 man, but only of disarming him. One of their 
 number lay prone already, hugging a wounded 
 thigh and muttering imprecations which should 
 have brought the heavens upon his head a second 
 had the Englishman by the legs and would not be 
 beaten off; while of the rest, the foremost aimed 
 heavy blows at the extended pistol and demanded 
 its delivery in sonorous German. Such was the 
 scene which the picture presented to Gavin as
 
 224 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 lie awoke. He was on his feet before the full 
 meaning of it could be comprehended. 
 
 " Halt! " he cried, for lack of any other word 
 to serve. His tone, his manner, drew all eyes 
 toward him. " What do you want! " he contin- 
 ued, with the same air of authority. Twenty 
 voices answered him, but he could make nothing 
 of their reply. He was about to speak for the 
 third time when rough hands pinioned his arms 
 and feet from behind and instantly deprived him 
 of the power to move a step from the place where 
 he stood. 
 
 " To conduct your excellency to the Castle of 
 Okna we have come for that, excellency." 
 
 ' * You are aware that I am an Englishman ? ' 
 
 The gypsy pointed smilingly to his wounded 
 friend. 
 
 " We are perfectly aware of it, excellency." 
 
 " Then you know the consequences of that 
 which you are doing! " 
 
 11 Pardon, excellency there are no conse- 
 quences in the mountains. Let your friend be 
 wise and put up his pistol. We shall shoot him 
 if he does not." 
 
 Gavin, doubting the nature of the situation no 
 longer, shrugged his shoulders and invited Ken- 
 yon by a gesture to put up his pistol. 
 
 " We can do nothing, Arthur, let them have 
 their way." 
 
 ' ' I beg your pardon, Gavin ; I could make holes 
 in two or three of them." 
 
 ' ' It would not help us. They are evidently only 
 agents. Let's hear what the principal has to say. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 225 
 
 " Very well, if you think so. It's poor fun, 
 though almost like shooting sheep in the High- 
 lands. But, of course, I bow to wisdom." 
 
 He held out his hands to the gypsy who bound 
 them immediately with a leather thong taken from 
 the saddle-bow of the excellent pony he had rid- 
 den. Silently and methodically now, the men 
 secured their prisoners and produced their gyves 
 of heavy rope. To resist would have been just 
 that madness which Gavin named it and but for 
 Evelyn the scene had been one to jest at. 
 
 " Do you treat all your guests at the Castle of 
 Okna in this way? " he asked the leader of the 
 men suddenly. 
 
 The reply was delivered with a suavity de- 
 lightful to hear. 
 
 " When they come to us with soldiers and 
 Turks, then we speak plainly to them, excellency. ' ' 
 
 11 True, I had forgotten the soldiers. Where 
 are those noble men now? ' 
 
 <r Half -way back to Slavitesti, excellency." 
 
 " And the muleteer? " 
 
 ' ' Oh, my friends are warming his feet for him. 
 We are not fond of Greeks, here in the mountains, 
 excellency. ' ' 
 
 Gavin started as the man spoke, for a wild shriek 
 broke upon his ears and becoming louder until it 
 sounded like some supreme cry of human agony, 
 ended at last in a fearful sobbing, as it were the 
 weeping of a child in pain. When he dared to 
 look, he saw the gypsies had dragged the wretched 
 Greek to the camp-fire and pouring oil from a 
 can upon his bare feet, they thrust them into the
 
 226 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 flames and held them there with that utter indif- 
 ference to human suffering which, above all 
 others, is the characteristic of the people of the 
 Balkans. Worming in their embrace, his eyes 
 starting from his head, his voice paralyzed by the 
 fearful cries he raised, the wretched man sud- 
 denly fainted and lay inanimate in the flame. 
 Then, and not until then, they drew him back and 
 left him quivering upon the green grass. 
 
 " He was warned," the gypsy leader muttered 
 sullenly; " he should have known better." 
 
 But Arthur, showing Gavin his bleeding wrists, 
 said with a shrug. 
 
 ' ' I think very little of wisdom, Gavin. ' ' 
 
 The rope had cut the flesh almost to the bone 
 in his efforts to go to the help of the wretched 
 Greek.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE HOUSE ABOVE THE TOBBENT 
 
 SOME one upon the outskirts of the wood whis- 
 tled softly and the gypsies stood with ears intent 
 listening, alarmed, to the signal. When it had 
 been twice repeated, they appeared to become 
 more confident, and, untethering their ponies, or 
 calling, with low, whining voices, those that grazed, 
 they turned to their prisoners and bade them 
 prepare to march. 
 
 "To the Castle of Okna, excellency " 
 
 A shout of laughter greeted the saying, and 
 Gavin, had he been credulous until this time, 
 would have remained credulous no more. A 
 philosopher always, he shrugged his shoulders 
 and pointed to the ropes which bound him. 
 
 " I am no acrobat," he said; " I cannot ride 
 with a rope about my legs." 
 
 " We are about to remove it, excellency. Be 
 careful what you do my men are hasty. If you 
 are wise, you will be followed by so many laugh- 
 ing angels. If, however, we should find you ob- 
 stinate, then, excellency " 
 
 He touched tke handle of a great knife at his 
 girdle significantly, and some of the others, as 
 though understanding him, closed about the pony 
 significantly while Gavin mounted. A similar at-
 
 228 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 tention being paid to Arthur Kenyon was not re- 
 ceived so kindly; for no sooner did they attempt 
 to lift him roughly to the saddle than he turned 
 about and dealt the first of them a rousing blow 
 which stretched the fellow full length upon the 
 grass and left him insensible there. The act was 
 within an ace of costing him his life. Knives 
 sprung from sheathes, antique pistols were flour- 
 ished there were cries and counter-cries; and 
 then, as though miraculously, a louder voice from 
 some one hidden in the wood commanding them 
 to silence. In that moment, the gypsy chief flung 
 himself before Kenyon and protected him with 
 hands uplifted and curses on his lips. 
 
 " Dogs and carrion do you forget whom you 
 obey? " he almost shrieked, and then to the Eng- 
 lishman, " You are mad, mein herr be wise or 
 I will kill you." 
 
 Kenyon, strangely nonchalant through it all, 
 shrugged his shoulders and clambered upon the 
 back of the pony. Gavin turned deadly pale in 
 spite of himself, breathed a full breath again, and 
 desired nothing more of fate than that they 
 should quit the cursed wood without further loss 
 of time. As though enough evil had not come to 
 him there, he espied, as they rode from the place, 
 the dead body of his servant, the Turk, face down- 
 wards with the knife that killed him still protrud- 
 ing from his shoulders. And he doubted if the 
 wretched Greek, so brutally maimed in the fire, 
 still lived or must be numbered a second victim 
 of the night. 
 
 Had he been a fool to leave England upon such
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 229 
 
 an errand at all, or did the circumstances of his 
 visit justify him? Of this he did not believe that 
 he was the best judge. That which he had done 
 had been done for the sake of one whose sweet 
 voice seemed to speak of courage even at such an 
 hour Evelyn, the woman who first had taught 
 him what man's love could be; whose fair image 
 went with him as he rode, the stately figure of his 
 dreams, the gentle Evelyn for whom the supreme 
 adoration and pity of his life were reserved. If 
 ignominy were his ultimate reward, he cared 
 nothing no danger, no peril of the way, must be 
 set against the happiness, nay, the very soul's 
 salvation, of her who had said to him, " I love 
 you! " 
 
 This had been the whole spirit of his journey, 
 and it did not desert him now when the gypsies 
 set out upon the mountain road and he understood 
 that he was a helpless hostage in their hands. As 
 for Arthur Kenyon, he, with English stolidity, 
 still chose to regard the whole scene as a jest and to 
 comment upon it from such a standpoint. To him 
 the picturesque environment of height and valley, 
 forests of pine and sleeping pastures, were less 
 than nothing at all. He did not care a blade of 
 grass for the first roseate glow of dawn in the 
 Eastern sky; for the shimmer of gold upon the 
 majestic landscape, or the jewels sprayed by the 
 stream below them. He had met an adventure 
 and he gloried in it. Begging a cigarette from the 
 nearest gypsy, he thanked the fellow for a light, 
 and so fell to the thirty words of German be- 
 queathed to him by that splendid foundation of
 
 230 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 one William at Winchester. There were ' * haven- 
 zie's " and " Ich Wimsche's" enough to have 
 served a threepenny manual of traveller's talk 
 here. Neither understood the other and each was 
 happy. 
 
 " The man's a born idiot," Arthur said to 
 Gavin at last. " I ask him where the road leads 
 to and he says ' half-an-hour. ' " 
 
 ' ' Meaning we are half-an-hour from our destin- 
 ation. ' ' 
 
 " Then why the deuce can't he say so in plain 
 English? " 
 
 " He might ask you why the deuce you can't 
 ask him in plain Hungarian. ' ' 
 
 " That's so but how these fellows don't break 
 their jaws over this gabble, I can't make out. 
 Well, I suppose we shall get breakfast somewhere, 
 Gavin. ' ' 
 
 11 Are you hungry, Arthur? " 
 
 ' ' Not much ; I 'm thinking of that poor devil of 
 a Greek." 
 
 " Yes, they are brutes enough. What could we 
 do? " 
 
 " Oh, I knew that! What I am hoping is that 
 they will get it hot after we have told the tale at 
 Bukharest. The authorities " 
 
 ' { Authorities, in the Balkans, Arthur ! Do you 
 forget our escort? " 
 
 " Oh, those blackguards. They ought to enter 
 for the mile championship at the L. A. C. In the 
 matter of running, they are a glory to their coun- 
 try." 
 " They will tell some cock-and-bull story and
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 231 
 
 make it out that we dismissed them. Chesny told 
 me not to put too much reliance upon them. Well, 
 they're no loss. We can see it through without 
 them." 
 
 " Good old pronoun. Would you define that 
 ' it 'for my benefit? " 
 
 " Oh, there I'm beaten. We are going up a 
 mountain and may go down again. That's evi- 
 dent. Two Jacks and no Jills to speak of. There 's 
 a house also, I perceive across the torrent yon- 
 der. That must have been built when the witches 
 were young. The flat tiles speak of Julius Caesar, 
 don't they? I wonder if they know we're com- 
 ing? ' 
 
 * ' We might have cabled ' coffee and the nearest 
 approach to cold grouse. ' Do you like cold grouse 
 for breakfast, Gavin? There's nothing to beat it 
 on the list, to my way of thinking. Cold grouse 
 and nice, crisp, hot toast. Some Cambridge 
 squash afterwards, and then a great big round 
 pipe. That's what you think of when you've been 
 ten hours in the saddle and can't find an inn. I 
 wish I could discern it now, as the curate says. ' ' 
 
 Gavin smiled, but his gaze was set upon the an- 
 cient ruin his quick eye had observed upon a 
 height of the green mountain above them. He 
 wondered if the path would carry them by it, or 
 pierce the hills and leave the castle, for such it 
 plainly had been, upon their left hands. But for 
 the circumstances in which he approached it, the 
 scene had been wild and strange enough to have 
 awakened all an artist's dormant capacities for 
 admiration. They were well above the pine woods
 
 232 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 by this time and could look back upon a fertile 
 valley, exquisitely green, and bordered by shining 
 rivers. Villages, churches, farms were so many 
 dolls' houses planted upon mighty fields while 
 midget beasts awakened to the day. The bridle- 
 track itself wound about a considerable mountain 
 whose slopes were glorious with heather and 
 mountain ash; there were other peaks beyond, 
 rising in a crescendo of grandeur to the distant 
 vista of the eternal snows, where the gods of soli- 
 tude had been enthroned and melancholy uplifted 
 an icy sceptre. 
 
 Gavin could not but be sensible of the majesty 
 of this scene ; nor did he find the old castle out of 
 harmony with its beauties. The building, which 
 he now perceived that they were approaching, had 
 been built in a cleft of the hills, at a point where 
 the torrent fell in a thunder of silver spray to a 
 deep blue pool far down in the valley below. 
 Clinging, as it were, to the very face of a pre- 
 cipitous cliff, a drawbridge spanned the torrent 
 and gave access to the. mountain road upon the 
 further side of the pass; but so narrow was the 
 river and so perpendicular the rocks that it 
 seemed as though men might clasp hands across 
 the abyss or a good horse take it in the stride 
 of a gallop. For the rest, the black frowning 
 walls, the iron-sheathed doors, the plut-houses, the 
 barbicon, the quaint turrets thrust out here and 
 there above the chasm, spoke of many centuries 
 and many arts here of Saracen, there of Turk, 
 of the reign of the rounded arch, and even of glo- 
 rious Gothic. A building to study, Gavin said, to
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 233 
 
 scan with well-schooled eyes from some opposing 
 height, whence every phase of its changing won- 
 ders might be justly estimated by him who would 
 learn and imitate. Even his own predicament was 
 forgotten when his guides stopped upon its 
 threshold and demanded in loud tones that the 
 drawbridge should be let down. 
 
 " This is the place, by Mahomet," said Arthur 
 dryly . . . and he added, " What a devil of a 
 house for a week-end! ' 
 
 Gavin bade him listen. A voice across the chasm 
 replied to the gypsy hail. 
 
 " Don't you recognize that? " he asked; " it's 
 the voice we heard in the wood." 
 
 ' ' When this crowd desired to agitate my heirs, 
 executors and assigns? You're right for a ransom. 
 I wonder if they'll introduce us." 
 
 " We shall soon know. Here's the bridge com- 
 ing down. What have you done with your armor, 
 Arthur? " 
 
 " Left it in the cab, perhaps don't speak, that 
 ancient person yonder engrosses me. I wonder 
 what Tree would pay for the loan of his make-up." 
 
 " I'll put the question when I return. This evi- 
 dently is where we get down. Well, I'm glad of 
 that anyhow." 
 
 It was as he said. The cavalcade had come to 
 its journey's end; and there, picturesquely 
 grouped upon the narrow road, were men and 
 mules and mountain ponies, giving more than a 
 welcome splash of color to the neighboring monot- 
 ony of rock and shrub, and right glad all to be 
 once more at their ease. It now became plain that
 
 234 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 none but the gypsy leader was to 'enter the Castle 
 with the prisoners ; and he, when he had addressed 
 some loud words to the others (for the roar of the 
 torrent compelled him to shout), passed first 
 across the bridge, leading Kenyon's pony and call- 
 ing to the other to follow him. Just a glance-the men 
 could turn upon raging waters, here of the deepest 
 blue, there a sour green, or again but a boiling, 
 tumbling mass of writhing foam just this and 
 the vista of the sheer, cruel rocks and the infernal 
 abyss ; then they passed over and the bridge was 
 drawn up and they stood within the courtyard, 
 as securely caged as though the oubliettes pris- 
 oned them and gyves of steel were about their 
 wrists. 
 
 " Excellents, my master, the Chevalier, would 
 speak with you." 
 
 Thus said the guide and, as he said it, Gavin 
 understood that he had come to the house of Count 
 Odin's father, the man who had loved Dora 
 d'Istran, and for love of her had paid nearly 
 twenty years of his precious liberty. 
 
 " And this is the Castle of Okna? " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 The guide smiled. 
 
 " No, excellency," he said, " the Castle of Okna 
 lies many miles from here. You must speak to 
 our master of that. That is his step-, excellency ! ' 
 
 They listened and heard the tapping of a stick 
 upon a stone pavement. It approached them 
 laboriously; and after that which seemed an in- 
 terminable interval, an old white-haired man ap- 
 peared at one of the doors of the quadrangle and
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 235 
 
 raising his voice bade them welcome. The voice 
 was the one they recognized as that of the wood; 
 but the face of the speaker sent a shudder through 
 Gavin 's veins which left him unashamed. 
 
 " Blind," he muttered, amazed " the man is 
 blind."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE blind man felt Ms way down a short flight 
 of stairs, and, standing before the prisoners, he 
 said in a voice indescribably harsh and grat- 
 ing: 
 
 11 Gentlemen, welcome to Setchevo," and so he 
 told them the name of the place to which their 
 journey had carried them. 
 
 A man of middle stature, slightly bent, his face 
 pitted and scarred revoltingly, his fine white hair 
 combed down with scrupulous vanity upon his 
 shoulders, the eyes, nevertheless, remained su- 
 preme in their power to repel and to dominate. 
 Sightless, they seemed to search the very heart 
 of him who braved them. Look where they might, 
 the Englishmen's gaze came back at last to those 
 unforgettable eyes. The horror of them was in- 
 describable. 
 
 " Welcome to Setchevo, gentlemen. I am the 
 Chevalier Georges Odin. Yes, I have heard of 
 you and am glad to see you. Please to say which 
 of you is Mr. Gavin Ord. ' ' 
 
 Gavin stepped forward and answered in a loud, 
 courageous voice, " I am he." The blind man, 
 passing trembling claws over the hands and faces 
 of the two, smiled when he heard the voice and 
 drew still nearer to them.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 237 
 
 ' ' You came from England to see me, ' ' he said ; 
 " you bring me news from my son and his English 
 wife. ' ' 
 
 This was a thing to startle them. Did he, then, 
 believe that Count Odin, his son, had already mar- 
 ried the Lady Evelyn, or was it but a coup de 
 theatre to invite them to an indiscretion. Gavin, 
 shrewd and watchful, decided in an instant upon 
 the course he would take. 
 
 " I bring no message from your son; nor has 
 he, to my knowledge, an English wife. Permit 
 me an interview where we can be alone and I will 
 state my business freely. Your method of bring- 
 ing us here, Chevalier, may be characteristic of 
 the Balkans; but I do not think it will be under- 
 stood by my English friends in Bukharest. You 
 will be wise to remember that at the outset." 
 
 Here was a threat and a wise threat; but the 
 old man heard it with disdain, his tongue licking 
 his lips and a smile, vicious and cruel, upon his 
 scarred face. 
 
 11 My friend," he said, " at the donjon of Set- 
 chevo we think nothing of English opinion at Buk- 
 harest, as you will learn in good time. I thank 
 you, however, for reminding me that you are my 
 guests and fasting. Be good enough to follow me. 
 The English, I remember, are eaters of flesh at 
 dawn, being thus but one step removed from the 
 cannibals. This house shall gratify you please 
 to follow me, I say. ' ' 
 
 Laboriously as he had descended the stairs, he 
 climbed them again, the baffling smile still upon 
 his face and the stick tapping weirdly upon the
 
 238 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 broken stone. The house within did not belie the 
 house as it appeared from without. Arched cor- 
 ridors, cracked groins, moulded frescoes, great 
 bare apartments with dismal furniture of brown 
 oak, the whole building breathed a breath both 
 chilling and pestilential. If there were a redeem- 
 ing feature, Gavin found it in the so-called Ban- 
 queting Hall, a fine room gracefully panelled with 
 a barrel vault and some antique mouldings orig- 
 inal enough to awaken an artist's curiosity. The 
 great buffet of this boasted plate was of consider- 
 able value and no little merit of design ; and such 
 a breakfast as the Chevalier's servants had pre- 
 pared was served upon a mighty oak table which 
 had been a table when the second Mohammed 
 ravaged Bosnia. 
 
 The men were hungry enough and they ate and 
 drank with good appetite. Perhaps it was with 
 some relief that they discovered a greater leniency 
 within the house than they had found without. 
 Discomfort is often the ally of fear ; and whatever 
 were the demerits of the House at Setchevo, the 
 discomforts were relatively trifling. As for the 
 old blind Chevalier, he sat at the head of the table 
 just as though he had eyes to watch their every 
 movement and to judge them thereby. Not until 
 they had .made a good meal of delicious coffee and 
 fine white bread, with eggs and a dish of Kolesha 
 in a stiff square lump from the pan not until 
 then did he intrude with a word, or appear in any 
 way anxious to question them. 
 
 " You pay a tribute to our mountain air," he 
 exclaimed at last, speaking a little to their aston-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 239 
 
 ishment in their own tongue; " that is your Eng- 
 lish virtue, you can eat at any time." 
 
 " And some of us are equally useful in the 
 matter of drinking," rejoined Arthur Kenyon, 
 who had begun to enjoy himself again, and was 
 delighted to hear the English language. 
 
 The Chevalier, however, believed this to be 
 some reflection upon his hospitality, and he said 
 at once: 
 
 11 I compliment you upon your frankness, mein 
 herr my servants shall bring wine. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, indeed, no, I referred to a very bad 
 habit, ' ' exclaimed Kenyon quickly and then rising, 
 he added, ' ' With your permission, sir, I will leave 
 you with my friend. I am sure you have both 
 much to say to each other. ' ' 
 
 He did not wait for a reply but strolled off to 
 the other end of the hall and thence out to the 
 courtyard, no man saying him nay. Alone to- 
 gether, the Chevalier and Gavin sat a few mo- 
 ments in awkward silence, each debating the 
 phrase with which he should open the argument. 
 Meanwhile, a Turkish servant brought cigarettes, 
 and the old man lighted one but immediately cast 
 it from him. 
 
 " The blind cannot smoke," he said irritably; 
 " that is one of the compensations of life which 
 imagination cannot give us. Well, I am too old 
 to complain my world lies within these walls. It 
 is wide enough for me." 
 
 * ' I am indeed sorry, ' ' said Gavin, for suffering 
 could always arouse his sympathies wherever he 
 found it. " Is there no hope at all of any relief? '
 
 240 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " None whatever. The nerves have perished. 
 So much I owe to my English f riendship : the last 
 gift it bestowed upon me. Shall I tell you by 
 what means I became blind, mein herrf Go down 
 to the salt mines at Okna and when they blast the 
 rock there, you will say, ' Georges Odin, the Eng- 
 lishman's friend, lost his eyesight in that mine.' 
 It is true before God. And the man who put this 
 calamity upon me what of him? A rich man, 
 mein herr, honored by the world, a great noble in 
 his own country, a leader of the people, the pos- 
 sessor of much land and many houses. He sent 
 me to Okna. We were boys together on the hills. 
 If he shamed me in the race for all that young 
 men seek of life, I suffered it because of my friend- 
 ship. Then the night fell upon me you know the 
 story. He took from me the woman I loved. We 
 met as men of honor should. I avenged the wrong 
 my God, what a vengeance with the Eussian 
 hounds upon my track and the fortress prison 
 already garnished for me! Mein herr, you knew 
 of this story or you would not have come to my 
 house. Tell me what I shall add to it, for I listen 
 patiently." 
 
 He was a fine old actor and the melodramatic 
 gesture with which he accompanied the recital 
 would have made a deep impression upon one less 
 given to cool analysis and reticent common sense 
 than Gavin Ord. Gavin, indeed, had thought upon 
 this strange history almost night and day since 
 Lord Melbourne had first related it. If he had 
 come to have a settled opinion upon it all, nothing 
 that had yet transpired upon his journey from
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 24i. 
 
 England altered that opinion or even modified it. 
 This blind man he believed to have been the victim 
 of the Russian Government. Lord Melbourne had 
 acted treacherously in making no attempt to re- 
 lease his old rival from the mines; but had he 
 so attempted, his efforts must have been futile 
 for the Russians believed that Georges Odin was 
 their most relentless enemy and had pursued him 
 with bitter and lasting animosity. So the affair 
 stood in Gavin's mind nor was he influenced in 
 any way by the forensic appeal now addressed 
 to him. 
 
 " Yes," he said slowly, " I know your story, 
 Chevalier, and I am here because of it. Let me 
 say in a word that I come because Lord Melbourne 
 is anxious and ready, in so far as it is possible to 
 do so, to atone for any wrong he may have done 
 you. He desires nothing so much as that you two, 
 who were friends in boyhood, should be reconciled 
 now when years must be remembered and the acci- 
 dents of life be provided for. So he sends me to 
 Bukharest to invite you to England, there to hear 
 him for himself and to tell him how best he may 
 serve you. I can add nothing to that invitation 
 save my own belief in his honesty, and in the 
 reality of those motives which now actuate him. 
 If you decide to accompany me to England " 
 
 An exclamation which was half an oath arrested 
 him suddenly and he became aware that he was 
 no longer heard patiently. In truth, the native 
 temper of his race mastered Georges Odin in that 
 moment and left him with no remembrance but 
 that of the wretchedness of his own life and the
 
 242 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 depth of the passions which had contributed to it. 
 
 " Money! " he cried angrily, " this man offers 
 me money ! ' 
 
 " Indeed, no he offers you friendship." 
 
 * ' Tell me the truth ! He is afraid of me. Yes, 
 there was always a coward's cloak ready for him. 
 He knew it and played his part in spite of it. He 
 is afraid of me and sends you here to say so. My 
 friend, that man shall yet fall on his knees before 
 me. He shall beg mercy, not for himself but for 
 another. When his daughter God be thanked he 
 has a daughter when his daughter is my daugh- 
 ter ha! we can reach many hearts through the 
 hearts of the women they love. As he did to me, 
 so will I do to this English girl he dotes upon. 
 When she is my son's wife! ' 
 
 His laugh had a horrid ring in it broken, 
 .stunted teeth protruded from his hanging lips, 
 his hands trembled upon the stick he carried. 
 11 When she is my son's wife! ' He seemed to 
 moisten the very words with a tongue lustful for 
 vengeance. And Gavin heard him with a repul- 
 sion beyond all experience, a horror that made 
 him dread the very touch of such a man's fingers. 
 
 " Chevalier," he said at length, " the Lady 
 Evelyn will never be your son 's wife. ' ' 
 
 " Ha, a prophet? Tell me that you are her 
 chosen husband, and I will ask you no second 
 question. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am her chosen husband and I return to Eng- 
 land to marry her." 
 
 ' ' You return ! Mein herr, am I a madman that 
 I should open my gates to one who does not even
 
 As you came in folly, so shall you go when the English 
 woman is in my son's arms." Chap. 26.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 243 
 
 know how to hold his tongue? Shall I send you 
 back to rob nay son of the rewards of his fidelity? 
 Eeturn you shall when she is his wife. Until 
 that time, mein herr, consider yourself my guest. ' ' 
 
 He rose defiantly, brandishing his stick. 
 
 " Fool," he cried; " fool to dare the mountains 
 which Zallony rules. As you came in folly, so 
 shall you go when the Englishwoman is in my 
 son's arms." 
 
 He turned, a laugh which was almost a cry upon 
 his lips, and tapped his way from the apartment. 
 Gavin could hear the sound of his footsteps long 
 afterwards, passing from corridor to corridor of 
 the great bare house ; but the words he had spoken 
 lingered and were echoed, as though by a spirit of 
 vengeance moving in the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ETTA ROMNEY'S RETURN 
 
 IT would have been about half-past one upon the 
 afternoon of a gloomy November day, some three 
 months after Gavin Ord set out for Roumania, 
 that a hansom cab was driven up to the stage- 
 door of the Carlton Theatre, the Lady Evelyn, 
 wearing heavy black furs and a motor veil, which 
 entirely hid her face from the passers-by, alighted 
 timidly and offered the cabman a generous fare. 
 Deaf to the man's effusive assurance that he had 
 no other ambition in life but to drive the same 
 fare back to the place whence she came, Evelyn 
 entered the narrow alley wherein the stage-door is 
 situated and at once asked the stage-door keeper 
 if Mr. Charles Izard was or was not within the 
 house? The simple question provoked an answer 
 that might have satisfied a diplomatist but helped 
 Evelyn not at all. 
 
 " Maybe he is, maybe he ain't. It depends on 
 who wants him. Now, you take a word from me, 
 miss. Say to yourself, Shall I go and have dinner 
 with the Prince of "Wales this afternoon or shall 
 I not? That'll answer you and leave old Jacob 
 Briggs to finish his pipe in peace, he being the 
 father of widows, likewise of orphans." 
 
 Jacob, it was plain, had but just lunched and
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 245 
 
 was more affable than upon any less benign occa- 
 sion. He sat with his back to a bill which an- 
 nounced the concluding nights of that dismal play 
 " Oliver Cromwell a comedy, by Rowland 
 Wales," and he smoked a pipe with that which 
 the ancient Weller would have called an " un- 
 common power of suction." Here, said he, is an- 
 other of 'em, meaning thereby another candidate 
 for histrionic honors which twenty-five shillings a 
 week should reward. Jacob knew how to deal 
 .with them; " but," said he, " when I've got my 
 dinner in me then I'm a blessed lamb." So he 
 addressed Evelyn " humorous-like " and did not 
 lose his patience even when she would not go 
 away. 
 
 " I must see Mr. Izard to-day. I am sure he 
 will wish to see me. If you would take my name 
 into the theatre " 
 
 Jacob Briggs, pulling the pipe to the right side 
 of his mouth, ate a smile as though it were good 
 butter. 
 
 " Perhaps he was agoing to send a carriage 
 and pair for yer, miss, or a motor kar. That's 
 wot he does ordinary to such young ladies as you. 
 Now, I shouldn't wonder if you don't think as 
 you can play Miss Fay's part better 'n she herself. 
 I've seed a many and most of 'em do. But, lord, 
 I'm too good-natured to take much notice on it. 
 Tryin's tryin', says I, and if you ask for a sufferin 
 (sovereign), who knows as you mayn't get a shil- 
 ling. Wot you've got to do, miss, is to go round 
 to the horfiss. They'll soon turn you out of that, 
 and better for you in the long run "
 
 246 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " And yet you used not to think so when I was 
 playing Di Vernon, Mr. Briggs. ' ' 
 
 The smile left Jacob's face as though some one 
 had hit him. He slipped down the board until 
 he came near to sitting on the pavement. Speech 
 did not immediately assist him, and he could 
 mutter nothing else but the mystic and entirely 
 irrelevant phrase, ' ' D n my uncle ! ' ' which he 
 continued to repeat until he had scrambled to his 
 feet and doffed his carpenter's cap. 
 
 " Good Lord, Miss Eomney, if you'd have said 
 so, why, I'd have pulled the theatre down for ye, 
 and willing. Mr. Izard now he won't be glad 
 neither. ' Briggs,' says he to me, ' she'll come 
 back some day just as sure as Mrs. Briggs ' but 
 that's neither here nor there, miss. He's over 
 at the tavern now and Mr. Lacombe with him. 
 Let me say the word and he'll come back in a 
 fire-engine ' ' 
 
 Evelyn protested that she did not desire the 
 word to be said ; but would wait in the auditorium 
 and announce herself to the great man. Under- 
 standing that the ' ' tavern ' ' really meant the Carl- 
 ton Hotel and that there was a rehearsal of a new 
 and modern play at two o'clock, she entered the 
 theatre and sat, her veil undrawn, in the wings, 
 whereby from time to time the acquaintances of 
 old time must pass her. So dark was it that she 
 feared no recognition. Those who came in and 
 out, pinched girls who had lunched off a sponge- 
 cake and a cup of cocoa ; heavy-jowled men whose 
 mid-day refreshment had been distilled from juni- 
 per ; sleek youths with a new rendering of Hamlet
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 247 
 
 in their pockets the success, the fortunes, the 
 hopes, the disappointments of each chained his 
 tongue and directed his eyes to that man or 
 woman alone who had the patience and the good- 
 nature to hear a recital of them. None paid at- 
 tention to Evelyn, or as much as remarked her 
 presence in the sombre light. Even little Dulcie 
 Holmes passed her by unnoticed; and as for the- 
 melancholy Lucy Grey, she was too full of her 
 own troubles so much as to think of anyone else's. 
 ' ' I wish I were dead, ' ' she had just said to Dulcie 
 and this was as much as to say, ' * I have no part 
 in the new play, and God knows how I shall pay 
 for my lodging. ' ' 
 
 Evelyn had a little difficulty in restrainingjier- 
 self from declaring her identity to the girls ; but 
 an incurable love of dramatic effect came to her 
 aid and, perhaps, the vain desire to be discovered 
 more worthily by that great man, Mr. Charles 
 Izard. Aware that she was waiting there as the 
 humblest suppliant for the theatre's favors, she 
 perceived presently that the iron door between 
 stage and auditorium stood open; and, slip- 
 ping through, she entered a stage-box and there 
 waited in better security. One by one now the 
 " stars " entered the theatre and took up their 
 positions upon the dimly-lighted stage. A chatter 
 of conversation arose, amidst which the stage- 
 manager's voice could be heard in heated 
 argument with a lady whose part had been 
 cut. All waited for the great man; and 
 when he appeared a hush fell as though* 
 upon a transformation scene in a country panto-
 
 248 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 mime. Lo, lie had come fresh from a long cigar 
 and a bottle of what he called ' * noots ' ' meaning 
 the excellent wine of Burgundy known as Nints. 
 What bustle, what activity upon the part of the 
 underlings now ! How busy the principals appear 
 to be! How white in the gloom are the faces of 
 the girls, who lately spoke of fortune and furs 
 and a furore of applause ! 
 
 The new play was also a new entertainment. 
 It appeared to Evelyn to be a hash-up of drama 
 and ballet, with a comedy scene in each act, intro- 
 duced for the sole purpose of exploiting a lady 
 who could imitate wild animals. That it might 
 succeed in an age which has almost forgotten the 
 bombastics of the ancient drama, and cares not a 
 straw what an entertainment may be called so 
 long as it is amusing and provokes a rhythmical 
 nodding of heads, was very probable. Mr. Izard, 
 at least, had few doubts about the success of it; 
 and yet he could have wished it otherwise. ' ' They 
 ask me to elevate the people," he would remark 
 in confidential moments " why, sir, the people 
 that want elevating had better go up in elevators. 
 I'm here to run a theatre, not a Tower of Babel, 
 and that's so. Just walk round to some of these 
 fine-mouthed folk and ask them what they will 
 pay down in dollars for the good of humanity and 
 the British stage. If you can buy a ten-cent 
 collar with the proceeds of that hat-box, I'll set 
 a stone up to your memory. No, sir, the world's 
 too tired to think. Give 'em a great actress and 
 they don't have to think. That's what I'm look- 
 ing for, like a man who's dropped a thousand-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 249 
 
 dollar scarf-pin on the beach at Atlantic City. 
 Since Etta Romney walked out but what's the 
 good of talking about that ! When she comes back 
 I'll begin to think about the people's good health 
 again. Sir, she made the rest of them look like 
 thirty cents, and that's gospel truth." 
 
 The confession would end with a sigh and a new 
 application to the business of tragic-burlesque- 
 comedy. Smarting from the pink lash of a half- 
 penny evening paper, which had, in a leading 
 article that afternoon, cast italicized reflections 
 upon " the porcine Paladius of the people's pal- 
 aces," the great man was in no very pleasant 
 mood; and this he made manifest directly re- 
 hearsal began. Scarcely a dozen lines had been 
 repeated before the leading lady was in tears 
 and the old stock actor sulking at a public-house 
 round the corner. Ladies at twenty-three shillings 
 a week heard themselves addressed in terms 
 which implied their fitness for the position of 
 dummies in a side-show. The stage-manager 
 would infallibly have been visited with blindness 
 if the great man's appeals to unknown powers 
 had been heard. When calm fell, Izard settled 
 himself frettingly in a stall and there simmered 
 a long while in silence. Not for half an hour did 
 an exclamation escape him, and then it came al- 
 most involuntarily. He seemed to be waging a 
 battle between his contempt for the leading lady 
 and his fear that she would walk out of the house ; 
 and the latter being worsted, he cried aloud, al- 
 most like one in despair :
 
 250 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " Etta Romney Etta Romney what, in God's 
 name, keeps you out of my theatre ! ' ' 
 
 A dead silence fell. Everyone was awed by the 
 real pathos of this regret, drawn from a man who 
 had never been the servant of a sentiment. And 
 when a musical voice answered him from the 
 stage-box, opposite prompt, then, indeed, did 
 Charles Izard come as near to collapsing as ever 
 he had done in his unemotional life. 
 
 ' * Nothing keeps me, Mr. Izard. I am here. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Etta Romney, by God ! " he exclaimed, and in 
 the same breath he told them that the rehearsal 
 was over.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIH 
 
 THE IMPRESARIO'S PRAYER 
 
 i 
 
 So the Lady Evelyn had become Etta Bomney 
 once more, the child of the theatre, the daughter 
 of a mystery which London was upon the eve of 
 solving. The events which brought her to this 
 resolution are briefly outlined in a letter which 
 she wrote to her father upon the morning after 
 her interview with the great Charles Izard at the 
 Carlton Theatre. No longer ashamed of her reso- 
 lution, she took up her residence boldly at the 
 Savoy Hotel and entered her own name in the 
 visitors' book, afraid of none. 
 
 SAVOY HOTEL, 
 
 Thursday- 
 lily dear Father: 
 
 I am here in London, according to my determination 
 already announced to you. I shall live a little while at 
 this hotel, and afterwards where my profession may make 
 it necessary. Believe me, my dear father, that this life 
 alone is best for me, and best for you at this moment. I. 
 could live no longer in a house where, rightly or wrongly, 
 I have always felt a stranger and my love for Gavin for- 
 bids me to hear those things which I must hear every day 
 in my old home. Now that I am mistress of my own 
 actions, you will be able to find an answer in my indepen- 
 dence to those who are not to be answered in any other 
 way. Should Count Odin follow me to London, he will 
 learn that I am neither without friends nor resources;-
 
 252 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 and I shall not hesitate to call upon both for my protec- 
 tion. It is my intention to establish myself here until 
 such time as news of Gavin's welfare may come to me or 
 that I may, myself, go to seek it. That he has been the 
 victim of foul play I am sure ; and I will not rest until 
 the truth is known. Dear father, if you must suffer be- 
 cause of me, forgive and forget, and be sure always of my 
 love for you and my desire for your happiness. We are 
 outcasts of fortune both, and while the world is enjoying 
 our position, we know that it is false, that we are but in- 
 truders by accident, and that our past is rising up every 
 day to laugh our ambitions to scorn. Happier far when 
 we were wanderers and poor, with days of love and hope 
 to live and no debt to pay to a great and insupportable 
 heritage. Dear father, you will next hear of me as Etta 
 Bomney, the actress but never forget that Evelyn will 
 return to you if you have need of her ; and that her love 
 for you is imperishable. Willingly would she take your 
 burdens upon her own shoulders, and give you those 
 years of rest and peace which are your heart's desire. 
 But, for the time being, she must live alone for the sake 
 of the man who has befriended her and to whom she has 
 given her love. 
 
 Dearest Father, 
 
 Your loving EVELYN always. 
 
 From which it is clear that the month of No- 
 vember found Gavin Ord still in Eoumania and 
 .Count Odin again in Derbyshire. The latter had 
 returned from Bukharest early in the month of 
 September, and, dismissing his friends, the gyp- 
 sies, had settled down at Melbourne Hall as one 
 who, at no distant date, would be its master. That 
 the Earl acquiesced in this assurance convinced 
 Evelyn finally that she did not possess the whole 
 of her father's story. Either he was a coward 
 (and this she would never believe), or some mys- 
 tery of her own past or his abetted the Count's
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 253 
 
 pretensions. No other explanation of the matter 
 was possible; nor could she foresee a day which 
 would rid her of the presence of a man who ever 
 spoke to her of the heritage her mother's country 
 had bequeathed to her and its penalties. 
 
 She had always feared Count Odin, and she 
 feared him now when the true meaning of a man's 
 love had been made known to her and her daily 
 prayer was for Gavin's safety. Not that she 
 doubted herself or the truth of her love, but that 
 she feared that something in her blood which 
 might bring her to the Count 's arms and mock for 
 all time her faith in her own womanhood and her 
 spoken word that she would be Gavin's wife upon 
 his return. So greatly did this fear haunt her 
 that the days of waiting became almost insupport- 
 able. She would rise with the sun each morning 
 and say, " to-day his letter will come." The 
 nights found her brooding and restless and fight- 
 ing ever against the insidious advances of a man 
 who made love to her with a Southern tongue and 
 when he was repulsed had no shame to threaten 
 her. 
 
 " Your English friend was a fool to go to the 
 mountains," he would say; " we cannot protect 
 him there my Government is helpless. The 
 prison in which my father lies, sent there by the 
 man who should have been his friend, will not 
 open to an Englishman's knock. If I could have 
 helped your friend, I would have done so because 
 he was your friend. You say that he loves you. 
 I will believe it when the sun shines in England. 
 My dear lady, your heart is in the South with the
 
 254 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 vine and the pomegranates. All your life has not 
 made an Englishwoman of you. You are like a 
 flower that cries for the sun all day and withers 
 because there is no sun. I will take you to a land 
 of roses and set your feet upon golden sands. We 
 will visit the East together the color, the life, 
 the music of it, shall enthrall us. There they will 
 teach you how to love. In England your hearts 
 are ice but you have not an English heart. ' ' 
 
 Day by day these vehement protests would be 
 made ; day by day he whispered them in her ear, 
 following her at home and abroad, in the galleries 
 of Melbourne Hall, and to the glades and the 
 thickets of the park. And her father abetted him, 
 not openly by word but silently by impotent con- 
 sent he acquiesced in her persecution, protesting 
 that Georges Odin's son had a claim of hospitality 
 upon him, and that he could not shut the gates of 
 the house in his face. In plain truth, Eobert For- 
 rester sinned not of his will but of despair. He 
 did not dare to tell Evelyn that, by the English 
 law, Dora d'Istran might not be recognized as his 
 wife at all and that she, his daughter, had there- 
 fore but a dubious claim to that dignity which the 
 accidents of fortune had thrust upon him. He 
 loved her, understood every whim of that strange, 
 romantic mind, and believed, it may be, that the 
 young Count would not be an unworthy husband 
 for her. But the fear that she would charge him 
 with the shame prevailed above other thoughts. 
 He would not that she should pay the price for the 
 follies and the amours of his youth. 
 
 And what of Evelyn herself, meanwhile? She
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 255 
 
 was as one to whom the heaven of life has been 
 suddenly revealed after long years of darkness 
 and doubt. If she understood the meaning of 
 womanhood, that of manhood was not hidden from 
 her. In Gavin Ord she had, for the first time, met 
 and known intimately an Englishman ; understood 
 the nobility of man, the resolution, the courage 
 of those reticent personalities by which the nation 
 has been made great and its children sent out to 
 rule the new countries of the world. Such a 
 knowledge uplifted her and revealed truths which 
 had been hidden during her childhood. By Gavin 's 
 love would her soul be re-born; by faith in him 
 would the victory over her heritage be won. This 
 had become her credo, sustaining her in the con- 
 flict, and sending her to London with a brave heart 
 and an unconquerable determination to win inde- 
 pendence and freedom. More than this, she be- 
 lieved that the great city would give her friends ; 
 and that these friends would tell her how to find 
 Gavin, and, if need be, to save him. No longer 
 could she hide it from herself that something be- 
 yond the quest for Georges Odin kept her English 
 friend in Roumania. She had received but two 
 letters from him, and these had been written dur- 
 ing the early days of his journey. The rest was 
 silence and a dreadful doubt creeping upon her as 
 a shadow; the doubt which said, " he may have 
 given his life for you ; he may never return. ' ' 
 
 We have said that Evelyn took up her residence 
 at the Savoy Hotel, fearing no longer the dis- 
 closure of her identity. Thither upon the second 
 morning came little Dulcie Holmes and the melan-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 choly Lucy Grey, entering her splendid room with 
 timid steps and altogether abashed by the changed 
 circumstances under which they found their 
 friend. Their introduction of themselves was 
 characteristic. Dulcie, unable to restrain her im- 
 pulse, threw herself into Evelyn's arms and 
 waited to apologize until she had kissed her. Lucy 
 Grey stood bolt upright and rebuked her friend 
 with almost tearful melancholy. 
 
 * ' Oh, how can you, Dulcie . . . and it 's all 
 in the papers too." 
 
 " I don't care a bit," rejoined the unabashed 
 Dulcie. " I must kiss her if she'll kill me for it." 
 And then to Evelyn she said: " Oh, you darling 
 Lady Etta, oh, I am glad ; I can't believe it's really 
 true. But I've always said you'd come and I've 
 told Mr. Izard so and there 's the gold watch you 
 sent me, round my neck where it's always been 
 since the day it came and, oh, Etta, what times 
 we will have again what times ! ' 
 
 Lucy Gray appeared altogether dumbfounded 
 by the familiarity. 
 
 " You forget yourself, Dulcie," she protested 
 again and again, ' ' after it being in the papers too 
 you certainly forget yourself. How can you 
 say such things to her ladyship as we all know 
 after what's in the papers. I'm sure, miss, your 
 ladyship won't think any the worse of Dulcie for 
 this. It's her bringing up, that's what it is." 
 
 Evelyn was very much amused; but she has- 
 tened to reassure them, and, insisting upon their 
 relating all their personal troubles (which they 
 did with many exclamations and minute particu-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 257 
 
 lars), she ventured to asked them what the papers 
 really had said and why it should make a differ- 
 ence to them. To this they answered in a breath, 
 that the Carlton would reopen in a fortnight with. 
 " Haddon Hall " and Miss Etta Romney in the 
 title-role. 
 
 " And it says you're a Duchess, and Mr. Izard 
 wouldn't say so before though he knew it all the 
 time." Dulcie added with considerable enthu- 
 siasm, ' ' Oh, Etta, how you kept it from us all, just 
 as though you had been no different to anybody 
 else. But I knew you were; I said you were no 
 ordinary human being, and Lucy knew it. My 
 life's never been the same since you went away,. 
 Etta. You won't leave us again, will you? ' 
 
 They rambled on alternately in confusion and 
 delight while Evelyn sent for the morning papers 
 and read the news they spoke of. There, sure 
 enough, was the story written for all to read. 
 
 " Many will hear with pleasure/' said the " Daily Shuf- 
 fler/' "that one of the most capable and finished of our 
 younger actresses is about to return to the stage. Some* 
 months ago, all dramatic London was not ashamed to be> 
 curious concerning the Eomney Mystery. A new play- 
 presented to us an artiste of no common order. Scarcely- 
 had we settled down to admire her when she disappeared 
 from our ken, and, while we do not doubt that certain of 
 her friends were in the secret, this was well kept and re- 
 mained undiscovered by the public. Now we know that 
 Etta Eomney is the nom de theatre of Lord Melbourne's 
 daughter, the Lady Evelyn. Mr. Charles Izard informs 1 
 us that he is about to present her in the role already 
 familiar to us and sure of a wide welcome. Etta Romney, 
 assuredly, will establish the success of the Carlton Thea- 
 tre as no other actress of our time could do. We offer
 
 258 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 our cordial greetings upon her return to the stage, and 
 congratulate all concerned upon the clever advertisement 
 achieved." 
 
 Evelyn cringed when she read the last words; 
 but her sense of humor proved greater than her 
 annoyance. 
 
 " Did you believe, does anyone really believe, 
 that I went away to advertise myself? " she asked 
 the girls. 
 
 They answered in a breath that all the world 
 believed it. 
 
 ' ' Why, what else should it have been for ? They 
 say you and Mr. Tzard did it, just as he lost Elsie 
 Barton's jewels last year and had Billie Dan pho- 
 tographed in a motor-car accident. People love 
 anything like that they think it's so clever. 
 There'll be such a scene when we open, Etta, as 
 never was known. Shall I call you Etta, though, 
 or should it be your ladyship? ' 
 
 Etta was about to answer her as well as her 
 amusement would let her when a man-servant 
 opened the door and announced a visitor. 
 
 " Mr. Charles Izard," he said, and the girls 
 stood up abashed. 
 
 " Mr. Izard here, however shall I look him in 
 the face ! ' ' cried Lucy in an extremity of terror. 
 
 11 I could drop through the ceiling for my 
 nerves," said Dulcie, but she did nothing of the 
 sort; merely standing and giggling nervously 
 while the great man came panting in ; and he, who 
 had * ' presented ' ' so many, now presented himself 
 with the air of a Rajah just dismounted from an
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 259 
 
 elephant, or a monarch about to address an as- 
 sembly of barons. 
 
 " My dear," he said to Evelyn, " I've come to 
 pay my respects to you, and that's what I do to 
 few of 'em. You've got London by the throat 
 and we'll both be rich before you let go. Didn't 
 I say you 'd come back to me T Why, when I think 
 how we've fooled the populace, I could shout 
 ' bully ' until my tongue's tied. Now, let these 
 girls go their way and we'll talk business. I've 
 come to offer you a five years' engagement cer- 
 tain, and there's no one in London is going to 
 better my terms. Three words and we settle it. 
 Let 'em be spoken and we 're friends for life. ' ' 
 
 11 Mr. Izard," said Etta quickly, " I will play 
 at your theatre for three months. Then I am 
 going away. If I return, I will come to you again. 
 But I may never return, and so I cannot engage 
 myself to do so. Should my present determina- 
 tion be altered 
 
 Izard laughed hardly and almost impatiently. 
 
 li At coming or going, my dear, you have no 
 equal in Europe," he admitted gloomily . . . 
 and then quickly, fearing to offend her, he added, 
 " Well, have your own way. Take a fortune or 
 leave one, Charles Izard will always be your 
 friend. ' ' 
 
 It was a great admission, honestly meant, 
 though uttered with the regret of one who saw 
 a golden vision falling from his view. To himself, 
 the great man said: " There is a man and he is 
 not in England. The Lord send him a handsome 
 funeral before the mischief is done."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE PRISONERS AT SETCHEVO 
 
 GAVIN heard the tap of the blind man's stick as 
 the old Chevalier felt his way from the bare 
 vaulted room in which a scanty supper had been 
 served to them; and a fit of despondency coming 
 upon him, more bitter than ordinary, he buried 
 his face in his hands and uttered his heart- 
 stricken complaint aloud. 
 
 " What are they all doing, then why has 
 Chesny broken his promise. Good God, Arthur, 
 have we no friends at all? Is there no one who 
 has interested himself in our story! I can't be- 
 lieve it. It isn't the English way. They must 
 find out sooner or later. It can't be for all time." 
 
 Arthur, whose arm and shoulder were bound 
 up in a garment that might have been a Moorish 
 bernonse, smoked his pipe quietly and did not for 
 a little while know what to say. Bitterly as he 
 had paid for that which he called a "little trot 
 to the Balkans," the English spirit forbade the 
 utterance of any reproach, or even a word that 
 his friend might take amiss. 
 
 " My people never trouble about me," he said. 
 11 They know me too well. You see, I've only a 
 couple of uncles and a maiden aunt to go into 
 hysterics; and my lawyers won't advertise while
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 261 
 
 they can bank my dividends. It's different with 
 you, Gavin. I '11 bet your people were on the scent 
 long ago ; and that 's to say nothing about Evelyn. 
 Of course, she has not held her tongue. No 
 woman does when she's in love with a man; and 
 sometimes she can be eloquent when she is not. 
 Oh, yes, I'll go nap on Evelyn all the time. She 
 must know that we shouldn't stay in this cursed 
 country for three months if we had the train fare 
 to get out. Of course, she'll cry out about it and 
 if she cries loudly enough the Government will 
 act. Not that I believe much in Governments 
 they generally weigh in when the corpse is 
 buried. ' ' 
 
 Gavin smiled but did not raise his head. A 
 fire of logs burned in the grate before them and 
 filled the room with a haze of heavy smoke; the 
 tapping of a man's stick had ceased, and the 
 house was without sounds and void. In the hills 
 above them a wild wind scoured the clefts and 
 sent whirling clouds of snow to cover all living 
 things below. The torrent beneath the draw- 
 bridge had become a monstrous scala of icy steps, 
 a ladder with glistening rungs which none but the 
 eagle dared. 
 
 " Three months is it realty three months? ' 
 Gavin exclaimed in a tone of unspeakable weari- 
 ness; " three months in this awful den. Three 
 months listening to that blind devil and his in- 
 sults. God, I would never have believed that a 
 man could go through so much and live. And you, 
 Arthur not a word from you since the beginning. 
 That's what hits me. If you'd only speak out and
 
 262 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 tell me what I ought to hear, it would be easier. ' ' 
 
 Arthur laughed and stooped to light his pipe 
 by the fire again. 
 
 " What's the good of talking. A pal asks you 
 to come and you go. Is it his fault if a wheel 
 comes off the coach I Let me have five minutes 
 alone with that blind scoundrel and I'll be elo- 
 quent enough. Otherwise I intend to make myself 
 as comfortable as I can under the circumstances. 
 There's no fun in boxing scimitars as we both 
 of us have discovered. ' ' 
 
 They had discovered it, indeed. From the first 
 day of their captivity in the mountains, insult, 
 foul, oft-repeated, revolting insult had been their 
 daily punishment. Coarse food, filthy rooms 
 . . . these they could have suffered; but the 
 blind man's tongue, the lash of the whip his ser- 
 vants wielded, might have driven braver men to 
 that last resource which faith in God alone can 
 question or deny. The very wound which Arthur 
 Kenyon made light of had been the first fruits of 
 their English temper. A gypsy had lashed him 
 across the shoulder with a riding whip and he had 
 answered with an English left, straight and un- 
 erring. But the blow had scarcely been struck 
 before a wild horde filled the room, its knives un- 
 sheathed, murder in its eyes and from murder 
 the terrible voice of the blind man alone withheld 
 it. So the two comrades spoke of fighting scimi- 
 tars, that was no jest at all. 
 
 " You are a friend in a hundred thousand," 
 Gavin exclaimed as one who spoke from his very 
 heart. "I'm not going to thank you, Arthur.
 
 263 
 
 What is the good of words between you and me! 
 Here we are, worse than dead, by God . . . 
 and not a ray of light, not a speck anywhere. 
 How will it end! How can it end? You 
 heard him tell me this morning that Evelyn 
 will marry his rascally son in ten days' time. 
 Well, to-night I'm just in that humor 
 which says, it may be true, he may have tired 
 her out, lied to her, promised her God knows 
 what, my liberty perhaps and her father's hap- 
 piness afterwards. It might be that, Arthur. I 
 try to put it fairly, and yet I must say that it 
 
 might be so " 
 
 " There are a hundred things that might be 
 so, old man. This house might fall down the 
 hill and the eagles carry you and me to the tree- 
 tops. We might have pate de foie gras for supper 
 and eighty-four champagne to wash it down with. 
 There's no greater rot than the might-be-so. 
 Tell me how to get out of this cursed den and I'll 
 listen with both ears. As for Lady Evelyn she's 
 too much a woman to do any of the things you 
 talk about. For all you know some sham tale has- 
 been told her telegrams sent in our name, or 
 something to lull her suspicions. When a man is 
 travelling a thousand miles from home, people 
 don't get alarmed about him for a month or two. 
 But this I'll stake my existence upon, that once 
 Evelyn guesses it's not all right with us, she'll 
 move heaven and earth to know the reason why. 
 That's what keeps me sane. I should kill this old 
 man and myself afterwards if it were not that I
 
 264 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 believe in my friends. Doing so, I just sit down 
 and wait like the Spaniards for to-morrow." 
 
 Gavin heard him in silence. This great room 
 jhad become their prison-house; refectory by day 
 and dormitory by night. For an hour each morn- 
 ing, they were permitted to go out into the court, 
 where a vista of the sky spoke to them of liberty 
 and the massive portcullis of the drawbridge 
 mocked the idle word. ' ' Until the Englishwoman 
 is my son's wife," had been the sentence pro- 
 nounced by the old Chevalier; and he repeated 
 it day by day, tapping his way to their great 
 bare cell, striking at them with his stick, cursing 
 them a very fiend incarnate, mad with the lust 
 of money and the desire of revenge. And 
 against such an enemy they were doubly power- 
 less not only by reason of his blindness, but by 
 the knowledge that unseen eyes followed him to 
 their room and that his allies, the gypsies, hidden 
 in the house of Setchevo, were ready to do his 
 bidding did he but raise his voice to call them. 
 
 Brave men, who do not know fear in a common 
 way, may bend and break before such torture as 
 this . . . the torture of impotence and of un- 
 seen presences about them. Gavin had come to 
 declare that he would sooner a man had burned 
 Ms hand in a flame than compelled him to listen 
 each day at dawn for the tapping of that stick 
 upon the floor and the coming of that terrible 
 sightless figure. Even in his sleep the old Chev- 
 alier would visit him, approaching with his claw-, 
 like hands extended and his eyes seeming to\ 
 shine as live coals in the darkness. Never had
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 265 
 
 he imagined that so much malignity, cunning, and 
 vermin could be the fruits of imagined wrong or 
 be united in one personality. And all his fine 
 notions of retribution and reconciliation, of the 
 old man's visit to England and the Earl's recep- 
 tion of him there how vainglorious they had 
 been and how childish, he said. Justly had such 
 folly been overtaken and punished. He realized 
 that his knowledge of human nature was pitifully 
 small. 
 
 " Evelyn will help us if she can," he said at 
 length, poking the fire restlessly and listening as 
 of habit for the dreaded beat of the blind man's 
 stick upon the stone floor without ; ' ' she will help 
 us if she can, but what can a woman do! Let's 
 regard that view of it as out of the question. 
 What I would ask what you have been asking 
 is just this why does Chesny do nothing? He 
 must know that if all had been well, we should 
 have written and let him hear it. His Govern- 
 ment could have these rats out in five minutes. 
 Why does he do nothing! He's an old Winchester 
 boy and could see us through if he knew. I can't 
 think that such a man as Chesny would sit on 
 his back and just ask what's happened. He's 
 moving somewhere pity it isn't on the road to 
 Setchevo. ' ' 
 
 " Perhaps it is, and they've lost the road," re- 
 joined Kenyon with a sarcasm he could not con- 
 ceal. " Don't you see, Gavin, that these devils will 
 have been clever enough to have taken care of 
 themselves. Of course, they will. They give it 
 out that we are making for the Castle of Okna
 
 266 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 which may be any number of miles you like from 
 Setchevo. The escort God save the mark! 
 knows better than to blab. Likely enough Chesny 
 has heard that we crossed the frontier into Servia. 
 Those poor devils who were killed are unlikely 
 to be important enough to be searched for. Life is 
 cheap hereabouts and what is a Turk more or 
 less? Chesny says we are all right and goes 
 picnicking. Evelyn waits for our letters and 
 doesn't a bit understand why they don't come. 
 We must be patient, old chap patient and brave. 
 Nothing else will save us." 
 
 Gavin assented, though he could admit to him- 
 self that the common heroics of the nursery were 
 the poorest food for a man in his situation. His 
 days of waiting, patience, and bravery were so 
 many hours of exquisite torture, like none he had 
 imagined a man might suffer and live through. 
 Evelyn, what of her, he asked himself waking and 
 sleeping. Would the heritage in her blood deliver 
 her to the bondage prepared for her; or had she, 
 in his absence, the will to conquer it? He knew 
 not what to think; his brain wearied of conjecture 
 and wakened only when, as now, the blind man's 
 stick tapped the bare stones and the sightless eyes 
 looked into his own. 
 
 " Do you hear him, Arthur; he's coming to say 
 Good-night to us." 
 
 " I hear, old chap my God, if the man could 
 only see " 
 
 " Better blind you would have killed him but 
 for that, Arthur."* 
 
 " It's true, Gavin, I would have killed him."
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 267 
 
 11 And then his friends. Better blind, Ar- 
 thur." 
 
 Arthur said " Hush," for the sound of foot- 
 steps drew very near; and now they could hear 
 the old Chevalier panting and shuffling and 
 plainly approaching them. When he entered the 
 room they perceived that something had oc- 
 curred beyond the ordinary. The hand upon the 
 stick quivered and trembled the muscles of the 
 forehead were twitching; there were drops of 
 sweat upon the man's forehead, and his voice 
 echoed the tumult of passion which shook him. 
 
 11 One of you has written a letter to Bukharest," 
 he cried hoarsely: " by whose hand was that! ' 
 
 The two men looked at each other amazed. 
 Neither had written such a letter nor knew aught 
 of it. 
 
 " By whose hand? " the Chevalier continued, 
 his anger growing as he spoke; " silence will not 
 serve you, gentlemen. By whose hand was that 
 letter written? ' 
 
 Gavin now laughed aloud with a laugh that ex- 
 pressed both contempt and defiance. 
 
 " Had I written it, I would not have answered 
 you," said he; "as I have not, your question 
 merely arouses my curiosity." 
 
 Arthur did not answer at all; but he stood up 
 as though fearing attack and his hand rested 
 upon the back of the heavy oak chair one of the 
 few ornaments of that dismal room. His silence 
 provoked Georges Odin as no words could have 
 done. 
 
 " Let your friend speak," he cried, advancing
 
 268 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 with stick upraised. ' ' I will know the truth ; my 
 servants shall flog it out of you do you hear, 
 I will have you whipped answer me, who wrote 
 that letter? " 
 
 Kenyon said not a word; and now the old man 
 struck at him with his stick wildly and blindly, in' 
 a paroxysm of anger. One heavy blow fell upon 
 Gavin's shoulder and he stepped back with an 
 oath; but the young man's temper could not 
 brook the new insult and he flung himself heavily 
 upon the Chevalier and they fell to the ground 
 together. 
 
 " Arthur for God's sake " cried Gavin. 
 
 " It 's all right, Gavin ; I won 't hurt him, but I 
 must have that stick." 
 
 He staggered to his feet, the bludgeon in his 
 hand; but the blind man did not move. Fearing 
 he knew not what, dreading the sudden apparition 
 of the gypsies who spied upon their every move- 
 ment, Gavin snatched a log from the fire, and, 
 stooping, he held it up that he might look upon the 
 old man's face. 
 
 " He is dead," he said. 
 
 Arthur did not speak. The log blazed and 
 crackled and ebbed to darkness and still the two 
 men did not move. Without, in the courtyard, 
 not a sound could be heard. The House of Set- 
 chevo might have been a tomb of the living. 
 
 But the Englishmen knew that it concealed their 
 hidden enemies and that the dawn would bring 
 them to the room to avenge the man who had been 
 their patron and their friend.
 
 CHAPTEE XXX 
 
 THERE IS NO NEWS OF GAVIN ORD 
 
 LONDON, which loves a duchess or even per- 
 sonages of slightly less degree, when it discovers 
 them in the arena where all the world may stretch 
 out a finger to touch the noble pedestals, this 
 London liked the story of the Lady Evelyn 
 and flocked to the Carlton Theatre to see her and 
 to criticise. The great Charles Izard, who meas- 
 ured all human greatness by the box-office, did 
 not hesitate to declare that business to the extent 
 of nineteen hundred pounds a week spoke more 
 eloquently than any critic . . . and he would 
 add triumphantly, " Why, I discovered her, and 
 she makes the rest of them look like thirty cents. ' ' 
 By this time he implied a general inferiority of 
 other actresses who were not filling their theatres 
 to the extent of nineteen hundred pounds a week ; 
 and, regardless of the plain fact that mere curios- 
 ity had become his best friend, he continued to 
 declare that he was the greatest and the wisest 
 of men and that Etta Eomney would have been 
 a disma.1 failure under other management. 
 
 Evelyn certainly was a great success. No din- 
 ner party failed to discuss her charm or to admit 
 it. You heard of her every day in theatrical 
 clubs; a common question when people met was,
 
 270 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 " Have you seen Etta Romney? ' Returning to 
 their first judgments, the critics recanted nothing, 
 though more than one really discerning writer 
 perceived a change in her. The splendid "Watley, 
 with some nice asides upon Sophocles, Plautus, 
 Judic, and Voltaire, admitted a difference: 
 
 "This is not the Di Vernon of the Spring/' he wrote ; 
 " here is a newer conception, something of Rejane, a voice 
 of sincerity matured ; introspective comedy and the drama 
 of pathos. . . ." 
 
 The " Daily Shuffler," in plainer terms, said: 
 
 " Miss Romney does not let herself go she appears to 
 take poor Di's troubles too greatly to heart. We confess 
 to certain watery tributes to her touching earnestness 
 scintillating upon our manly cornea . . . but we would 
 remind this charming young actress that we go to the 
 theatre to laugh as well as to cry . . . and she has 
 forgotten that. Perhaps the November fogs have some- 
 thing to do with it. She came to us in the Spring . . . 
 and with the Spring her lightness of heart may be given 
 back to her. One of her audience, at least, hopes that it 
 will be so. . . ." 
 
 No one was more conscious of this change than 
 Evelyn herself. That wild, almost uncontrollable 
 passion of art, had left her. She liked to think 
 that she had conquered it, and became a new Etta, 
 for the sake of a man who loved her and had saved 
 her from herself. Here she was, lauded to the 
 skies by critical London; asked to every house, 
 fawned upon, coveted, proclaimed a success be- 
 yond knowledge ; and yet as far from knowing the 
 secrets of such success as ever she had been in 
 all her life. Anxiety for Gavin's safety attended
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 271 
 
 every hour of her busy day. Confident at first 
 that his dogged perseverance, his stubborn resolu- 
 tion, and his manifest prudence would be weapons 
 enough for the work he had to do in Roumania, 
 she had paid but little heed to his silence ; for that 
 she understood to be a wild country and one which 
 would not expedite his letters. When he ceased 
 to write, she said that he would have gone to the 
 mountains. A longer spell of silence and the first 
 whisper of her alarms began to make itself heard. 
 How if he could not write to her because of acci- 
 dent or illness or even conspiracy? Terrified by 
 the phantoms of imagination which now crowded 
 upon her, she compelled her father to warn the 
 Ministry at Bukharest, the Foreign Office, the 
 Consulate. The letters were answered by prom- 
 ises as meaningless as they were futile. Gavin's 
 few relatives in England bestirred themselves 
 with little result while Bukharest answered that 
 the Englishmen had crossed the mountains into 
 Servia and that nothing further of them was 
 known. 
 
 So Evelyn had come to London to save the man 
 she loved, if her new independence and her love 
 might save him. She cared no longer that her 
 father should know of this determination; for 
 she doubted both his will to help her and the 
 honesty of the declaration that he would do so. 
 In truth, Robert Forrester had been unable to 
 give battle to those forces which the years and 
 his own youth had raged against him. To one 
 who had loved the wild life of an adventurer, who 
 had sown tares in many lands, the harvest time
 
 272 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 of age could support no pretentious dignity nor 
 long maintain those greater ambitions which had 
 momentarily attended his succession to the earl- 
 dom. 
 
 He sank beneath the mental burdens; became 
 an old man when he should still have been in his 
 prime; could utter but a senile assent to every 
 rogue who tricked him. Deep down in his heart 
 lay hunger for the old life. An evil cynicism 
 laughed at the restraints which place and power 
 put upon him. 
 
 "Better a night on the hills with Zallony," he 
 could tell himself, " than a life's dominion in the 
 realms of social fatuity." It would have been so 
 easy for him had Evelyn married Georges Odin's 
 son. t What it might have meant to her he had 
 hardly considered. 
 
 And yet possibly his love for Evelyn was the 
 truest emotion of his life. When her letter 
 reached him and he could bring himself to under- 
 stand it, the blow fell with a stunning force which 
 seemed to shatter every remaining idol of his 
 life. His beloved daughter! The mistress of his 
 house! Capering about upon a stage for the 
 guineas of a man he, Robert Forrester, could 
 have bought up twenty times over. Here was a 
 debacle beyond any he had imagined. The humili- 
 ation of it, the cruelty of it more than that, the 
 malice of her destiny! Was she not Dora d'ls- 
 tran's daughter, and had not this blood of rebel- 
 lion run in her veins since her childhood? What 
 else could he have looked for, he asked himself 
 . . . and in the same breath he set the logic 
 of it aside and sat down to write to her.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 273 
 
 It was a pitiful letter, full of the tenderest ex- 
 pressions and the bitterest reproach. 
 
 "Do you owe nothing to my name?" he asked her, and 
 in the same sentence could protest his love for her. " I 
 am an old man and am alone and must look to the news- 
 papers for news of the daughter who is all to me. Is this 
 fame so much above a father's affection, then; so dear a 
 thing that his home must be a home no longer because of it? 
 The people say you are a great actress; some day you will 
 ask yourself, Evelyn, if it was worth being that to wound one 
 who has had no greater desire than the happiness of his 
 only child. . . ." 
 
 Just in such a strain had he delivered himself 
 at home, and, now as then, the words earned buti 
 a cold response. " There is some secret of my 
 father's life which is hidden from me," Evelyn 
 said. What it could be, why it should affect her, 
 she knew not. When he spoke of his failing 
 health, the letter found her more sympathetic. 
 She would have gone to him at any cost had she 
 understood that he was really ill ; but the general 
 terms he used seemed to imply no immediate 
 necessity . . . and was there not Gavin to be 
 considered ? 
 
 Indeed, this priceless gift of love now influenced 
 every act and deed of her life. She counted the 
 hours which should bring her news of Gavin, wor- 
 shipped her own image of him upon the stage at 
 night ; wrestled unceasingly with the voices which' 
 would speak of the Etta Romney that had beenj 
 the child of passionate dreamings and of an East-> 
 ern heritage no longer. 
 
 And her prayer was this, for Gavin's safety; 
 and her own salvation in his love.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE HOUSE AT HAMPSTEAD 
 
 EVELYN had played Di Vernon's part for thirty 
 nights exactly when just as she was going on the 
 stage, on the evening of the thirty-first day, a 
 call-boy put a telegram into her hand and she 
 had scarcely opened it when she discovered that it 
 was from her father. 
 
 11 I am passing through London upon my way 
 to Paris," it said; " perhaps I shall be in the 
 theatre. If not, come to me afterwards to De 
 Kyser's Hotel. I will engage a room for you 
 there." 
 
 She told the boy that there was no answer to 
 the message and immediately passed to the gar- 
 den scene she had played so often and always with 
 such sweetness and light. The thought that her 
 father might be in the house excited her strangely. 
 Difficult as it is for a player upon the stage to 
 identify those in the stalls, she peered intently, 
 nevertheless, at the serried ranks before her and 
 was conscious of a sense of disappointment when 
 her search was vain. A second thought sug- 
 gested that her father might be hidden by the 
 curtains of a private box; and with this in her 
 mind she found herself playing, not, as it were, 
 to an audience of strangers, but to one who loved
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 275 
 
 her and had never understood her. Surely her 
 father would read something of her own story, 
 of her loyalty to her old home, and the depth of 
 feeling which had sent her from it when he lis- 
 tened to Di Vernon and her sweet sincerity. This 
 was her hope, though she knew not whether the 
 Earl were present or no. To her anxious ques- 
 tions during the entractes, old Jacobs, the stage- 
 door keeper, declared that no one " hadn't come 
 round from the front not since he'd drunk his 
 supper beer ' ; a vague answer, insomuch as the 
 beer in question made its appearance at six 
 o'clock and continued to do so at short intervals 
 until eleven. 
 
 She must suffer her curiosity, therefore; and 
 take what profit of it she might. When the play 
 was over and no news came from the front, she 
 concluded with a natural regret that her father 
 had not been present; and she was just wonder- 
 ing how she would get to De Kyser's Hotel and 
 exactly where it might be when old Jacobs him- 
 self, unable to find a messenger, came round to 
 tell her that a carriage stood at the door ready 
 for her . . . and that it was a ' * nobby one ' ' 
 to boot. 
 
 " She's footlights enough for a ballet," the old 
 man said, with the patronizing air of one who did 
 not keep motor cars and thought very little of 
 those who did. " He says he comes from your 
 father, but I shouldn't wonder if it were from 
 Buckingham Palace. Will you go, Miss, or shall 
 I say something civil to him? " 
 
 Evelyn hastened to say that she would go ; and,
 
 276 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 putting on her furs, she went out to the carriage. 
 This was waiting in the Haymarket, and the driver 
 appeared to be quite a boy, an open-faced, honest- 
 looking lad, who told her frankly that he was not 
 to take her to De Kyser 's Hotel, but to a house at 
 Hampstead where the Earl expected her. 
 
 " There's a Mr. Fillimore there, Miss," he said. 
 1 ' I think he 's a clergyman. They said you would 
 know, and it would be all right for you to stop the 
 night. The gentlemen are going away early in 
 the morning, I believe at least I heard the butler 
 saying so " 
 
 It was rather startling, but Evelyn suspected 
 nothing. That old chatter-box, the Vicar of 
 Moretown, had relatives at Hampstead, she knew, 
 and nothing would be more natural than that he 
 should have accompanied her father to town. 
 None the less, it was annoying to have to go as 
 she was ; and nothing but the Earl 's known inten- 
 tion to travel abroad almost immediately induced 
 her to consent. 
 
 11 Could you bring me back to-night if I 
 wished! " she asked the lad. 
 
 He answered: " Oh, certainly, Miss. I'm up 
 half the night carrying ladies about sometimes." 
 
 She entered the carriage without further parley 
 and they drove swiftly through Regent Street and 
 Portland Place. Her desire to meet her father 
 betrayed her unconquered affection for him. She 
 would tell him frankly that she would not return 
 to him until she went as Gavin Ord's wife; and 
 that her life from this time would be devoted to 
 discovering the result of Gavin's journey and the 
 reasons which kept him in Eoumania. This would
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 277 
 
 not be to say that he had ever dealt ungenerously 
 with her; far from it, the whole of his immense 
 fortune had ever been at her command; but the 
 advantages which his money conferred upon her 
 entailed corresponding duties; and she did not 
 believe that her love for Gavin permitted her to 
 live under the roof which also sheltered Georges 
 Odin's son. For these reasons she had left her 
 home; and to justify herself by them she now 
 went to Hampstead at her father's bidding. 
 
 There was much gray mist in the lowlands by 
 Regent's Park; and although the night became 
 clearer as they climbed the height to Hampstead, 
 it remained dark and moonless, and rarely per- 
 mitted Evelyn to say where she was or how far 
 they had driven. In no way concerned but very 
 tired, she closed her eyes and listened dreamily 
 to the rolling sound of wheels upon the wet road, 
 telling herself that life was truly one swift jour- 
 ney with the echo of the worldly wheels ever 
 rolling in human ears and saying " onward to 
 an unknown goal; whether you will or no; desir- 
 ing to rest or zealous; still shall this coach of 
 destiny hurry you on by the houses of childhood, 
 of love, and of death, to that kingdom of mystery 
 which all must enter. ' ' How happy had she been 
 if Gavin were beside her and they journeyed to- 
 gether to some haven of their desires, while all 
 the past should be written out and that peace of 
 understanding be truly found. Vain dream, sweet 
 illusion a voice called her from it, the rush of 
 cold air upon her face awakened her. They had
 
 278 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 arrived at their destination and their journey was 
 done. 
 
 Plainly an old house. Evelyn starting up from 
 her dream perceived an old-fashioned stone porch 
 with clematis thick upon it, an open door showing 
 a brightly lighted hall within and a blazing wel- 
 come warmth from an open grate beyond. To the 
 footman who helped her from the carriage she 
 addressed a brief question. 
 
 " Is 'my father, is Mr. Fillimore here? " she 
 asked. 
 
 The man bent his head; she understood him 
 to be a foreigner; and, impatient to know, she 
 entered the hall and the great doors were imme- 
 diately closed behind her. 
 
 ' ' This way if you would please, ladyship, ' ' the 
 footman continued in such execrable English that 
 she would have laughed at it upon any other 
 occasion. " The gentlemen were here." 
 
 He opened a door upon the right-hand side of 
 the hall and she found herself in a small panelled 
 boudoir; so perfect in its scheme of decoration, 
 so cozy, so warm, that she asked no longer why 
 her father had come to Hampstead. 
 
 " Please tell the Earl that I am here," she said 
 and remembered as she said it that the Vicar's 
 relatives had been spoken of at Moretown as very 
 prodigies of riches. The footman, in answer to 
 her, nodded his head as foreigners will ; and ven- 
 turing no more English phrases he left her alone. 
 
 How cold she was! And what a picture of a 
 room! The Japanese panelling delighted her. 
 The hangings in green silk delighted her. What
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 279 
 
 inexpressibly luxurious chairs ! And books every- 
 where, books in English, in French, in Italian 
 novels, biographies, picture-books. Did a fire 
 ever roar up a chimney with such a pleasant 
 sound. The warmth made the blood tingle in 
 her veins ; she bathed in it, stooped to it, caressed 
 it with hands outspread to the blaze. And this 
 was her occupation when she heard the door open 
 behind her ; and leaping up, said, * * Dear father 
 I am so glad." 
 
 " My dear lady, your father has not yet ar- 
 rived. ' ' 
 
 She stood transfixed, realizing her situation 
 and the peril of it in one swift instant. Count 
 Odin, the man she had fled from; Count Odin, 
 whose very name she had tried to forget, he was 
 her host then. Not for a moment would she de- 
 ceive herself with the consideration of other possi- 
 bilities or likely accidents. She had been lured 
 to the house by a trick, and the intentions of those 
 who brought her there could not but be evil. So 
 much she understood, and in understanding found 
 her courage. 
 
 " My father is not here," she repeated after 
 him, guarding her self-control and standing be- 
 fore him defiantly. 
 
 He answered her almost with humility. 
 
 " No, he is not yet come, I am sorry to say. It 
 is not my fault. His reasons are his own . . . 
 and, Lady Evelyn, there are many who will say 
 that he is right." 
 
 She looked at him amazetl. 
 
 " Did you ask me here to justify myself? " she
 
 280 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 exclaimed, the blood running to her cheeks and 
 her flashing eyes. "Am I to answer, then, to you? 
 I will believe such an impertinence when I hear 
 it." And turning from him to the fire, she said, 
 " How little you understand me how little you 
 could ever know of any Englishwoman. To dare 
 to bring me here to think that I should be afraid 
 of you! " 
 
 He smiled at her contempt and came a little 
 nearer to her. 
 
 " I never thought that," he said slowly. " I 
 never accused you of want of courage, Lady Eve- 
 lyn. Perhaps I am guilty of an impertinence. 
 You shall tell me when you have heard my news 
 ' the news I bring you from Eoumania. ' ' 
 
 Evelyn turned about in spite of herself and 
 looked him full in the face. 
 
 1 * The news from Boumania ! ' 
 
 " Certainly, news of your friend, Mr. Gavin 
 Ord." 
 
 The plot had been well contrived, and it did not 
 fail. Curiosity, nay, fear almost, proved stronger 
 than Evelyn's alarm or any thought of her own 
 safety. Vainly she tried to suppress her emotion ; 
 while the man, for his part, followed every move- 
 ment of her graceful figure with eyes that de- 
 voured its contour and a purpose which said, 
 *' she shall be my wife this night." 
 
 " Well? " she cried, her heart beating wildly, 
 her hands clinched. What hours of anxiety, of 
 dread, of passionate regret that one word re- 
 called to her. 
 - The Count drew a chair near the fire and mo-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 281 
 
 tioned to her to sit. She obeyed him with a docil- 
 ity which did not surprise him. He held the 
 master cards and would play them one by one. 
 
 11 Well," he said lightly enough, " to begin 
 with, your friend is still in Roumania." 
 
 " Am I unaware of that? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Of course, you would not be. He is still in 
 Roumania and a prisoner." 
 
 " A prisoner why should he be a prisoner? r 
 
 " Because, dear lady, he is my father's enemy." 
 
 She realized what it meant and sat resting her 
 bowed head upon her little hands. 
 
 " I will go to Eoumania; I will see him," she 
 said presently. 
 
 Odin smiled again at that. 
 
 " It would be a hazardous journey, and I fear 
 an unprofitable one," said he. 
 
 " It can be no less profitable than the silent 
 friendship of those who should speak. But we 
 are talking in parables," she said quickly, " and 
 for once I believe that you are telling me the 
 truth." 
 
 " A flattering admission. I will do my best to 
 be worthy of it. Let us continue the story as we 
 began. Your friend is a prisoner in the house 
 of my friends. They will release him upon the 
 day I command them to do so not an hour be- 
 fore. They are my servants, Lady Evelyn and 
 in the Carpathians to obey is the only command- 
 ment known to them. Should I say to them ' this 
 man must not return to England,' then he would 
 never return. I think you can understand that. 
 It rests with me to save your friend's life or to
 
 282 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 . . . but we are a long way from coming to 
 that yet." 
 
 Evelyn trembled but she did not speak. The 
 plain issue of that duel of sex could not be hid- 
 den from her. She was in the house of a man 
 who had brought her there by a trick ; a scoundrel 
 and an adventurer, and she was alone. The 
 price of Gavin Ord's liberty was the surrender 
 of her honor. She understood and was silent, and 
 the man knew that she understood. 
 
 ' * We are a long way from that, ' ' he continued, 
 with a new note in his voice which spoke chiefly 
 of his passion for her. " I hope that we .shall 
 never come to it. When I first saw you in London, 
 Lady Evelyn, I said that there should never be 
 another woman for me. I say so again to-night. 
 If you do not marry me, I will never marry. Yes, 
 I love you, and I am of a nation that learns from 
 its childhood how women should be loved. Con- 
 sent to be my wife and I will live for nothing else 
 but your happiness. Your English friend shall 
 win his liberty to-morrow; your father shall be 
 my father's friend. I will live where you wish 
 to live, serve you faithfully, have no thoughts but 
 those you wish me to have. Evelyn that is what 
 I would first say to you to-night that I love you 
 that you must love me that I cannot live with- 
 out you." 
 
 He bent over her and tried to touch her hand. 
 She did not doubt that she had become, as he said, 
 the great hope of his life. And just as she had 
 said in Derbyshire, " Etta Romney would marry 
 Mm," so now for an instant did the same voice
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 283 
 
 speak to her to tell her the truths of such a pas- 
 sion as this and to put the spell of its great 
 temptation upon her. Then, white and trembling, 
 the true Evelyn spoke. 
 
 " Count Odin," she said, " I love another 
 man. I must answer you once and forever this 
 cannot be; it is impossible." 
 
 He heard her patiently, did not yet threaten 
 her, and, indeed, continued to be such a lover as 
 he had declared the men of his nation to be. 
 
 " I believe nothing of the kind. This man has 
 appeared before you as a hero. He goes like a 
 new Don Quixote to tilt against the windmills of 
 his folly. You do not love such a man and he * 
 he knows nothing of what love is." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I do love him," she said very calmly. " I 
 love him, and I shall marry him." 
 
 11 When he returns from Eoumaniat " 
 
 ' ' When he returns, or when I go to him there. ' * 
 
 He laughed now at her earnestness. 
 
 ' We will go together you and I," he said. 
 " We will start for Paris to-morrow. It is a 
 stage upon our journey. I sent for you so to 
 go to Paris with me to-morrow. Of course, your 
 father goes. He will tell you so when he comes 
 here. He goes with us, and is pleased to be out 
 of England. Why should he not be? Here is all 
 the town gaping at his daughter. That pains him. 
 I, too, dislike it, for I do not wish the world to 
 call my wife an actress. No, Lady Evelyn, we 
 shall prevent it your father and I. In France, 
 you will forget all this. The day will come when
 
 284 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 you will know that we have been your friends." 
 
 He would have had it appear that he spoke 
 with sincerity and earnestness ; but Evelyn heard 
 little of that which he said. The deep-laid plot 
 never for a moment deceived her. She knew that 
 her father was in no way concerned in it; she 
 understood that she had been brought to the 
 house by a subterfuge and that courage alone 
 would save her. 
 
 " Count Odin," she said as she rose and faced 
 him, " when my father wishes me to go to Paris 
 he will tell me so. Your threats I treat with con- 
 tempt. You are one of those men whose part in 
 life is to be woman's enemy. I know you now, 
 and am not even afraid of you. Let me leave this 
 house quietly and I will forget that I ever came 
 here. Compel me to stay and I will find a way. 
 to the nearest police station in spite of you. That 
 is my answer. I have nothing further to say." 
 
 He listened to her as though he had expected 
 just such an answer as this. 
 
 ' ' Dear lady, ' ' he said with provoking insolence, 
 " do you know that it is one o'clock and that we 
 are nearly five miles from Charing Cross? ' 
 
 ' ' It would make no diif erence to me if we were 
 fifty." 
 
 " But your father is coming here " 
 
 " That is not true." 
 
 " Come, you compel me to be angry. Under- 
 stand that I have no intention whatever of letting 
 you go. If you persist, I must speak more 
 frankly. ' '
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 285 
 
 " A new experience. Stand aside, please. I 
 am going to leave this house." 
 
 He laughed brutally. 
 
 " Go to your English friend. I will telegraph 
 that you are coming. Go to him if he is still 
 alive, dear lady." 
 
 She shuddered but did not flinch. 
 
 " I will tell the story where all the world may 
 read it to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow to-morrow, how far off is to- 
 morrow sometimes. Beware of to-morrow, Lady 
 Evelyn." 
 
 He drew aside and opened the door for her; 
 and she, wondering greatly at his apparent com- 
 pliance, put her furs about her shoulders. Just 
 for one instant she stopped and with a woman's 
 instinct would have bargained with Jiim for 
 Gavin's life. 
 
 " Give me your word of honor that no harm 
 shall happen to Mr. Ord and I will be silent, ' ' she 
 said. 
 
 He crossed the room and looked closely into 
 her face. 
 
 * ' We will speak of that to-morrow when your 
 father comes," he said. 
 
 The words perplexed her. She hesitated but 
 had nothing more to say. Outside in the hall, the 
 fire still burned brightly in the open grate, and 
 the gas lamps were lighted. Not a sound could 
 be heard; no human being appeared to inhabit 
 that remote and lonely tenement. Trembling 
 with excitement and afraid, she knew not of what, 
 Evelyn had reached the front door and was stoop-
 
 286 
 
 ing to unbolt it when a pair of strong arms were 
 clasped suddenly about her and a heavy cloak 
 thrown over her head. Taken utterly by surprise, 
 overwhelmed by terror of the circumstance, she 
 felt herself lifted from her feet and carried 
 swiftly from the hall. All her strength could not 
 fling those strong arms from her nor put aside 
 the cloak which stifled her cries. Inanimate, 
 afraid as she had never been in all her life, she 
 lay almost senseless in the man's arms and let 
 him do as he would with her. 
 
 For she knew that she was Odin's prisoner, and 
 that no act or will of hers could save her from 
 the plot so subtly contrived.
 
 CHAPTER XXXH 
 
 A SHOT IN THE HILLS 
 
 THE two men sat in the great bare room of the 
 House at Setchevo and watched the ebbing fire- 
 light as it played upon the dead man's face and 
 declared the horror of it. Not a sound came to 
 them but that of their heavy breathing. They 
 feared almost to raise a hand lest by any move- 
 ment the living should be called to avenge the 
 dead. Just as he had fallen, heavily and in anger, 
 so the old Chevalier lay, his face upturned, the 
 sightless eyes still open as though gazing now 
 upon the eternal mysteries. And none knew 
 better than Gavin Ord that death might be their 
 worst enemy, loosing upon them the worst pas- 
 sions of their jailers and forbidding them any 
 longer even to hope. 
 
 This he knew, and yet there came no profit 
 of the knowledge. If he feared death, it was for 
 Evelyn's sake. Sitting there by the firelight, 
 waiting in tense doubt for the coming of the dead 
 man's friends, he could recall a picture of Evelyn 
 as first he saw her in the hall of the Manor. How 
 stately she was; with what dignity she had re- 
 ceived him! And what an odd mental hallucina- 
 tion he had suffered when he thought to hear her 
 crying to him from the river. But was it alto-
 
 288 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 gether an hallucination and did this explanation 
 satisfy? Here, to-night, it seemed that he must 
 die because of his friendship for her. How fool- 
 ish, then, the call from the unseen world had been 
 if its meaning were so, and his own death had 
 been the subject of the prophecy! That he could 
 not believe. The firm idea that he had been 
 chosen to love and befriend this beautiful girl re- 
 mained his own even in this momentous hour. 
 He must suffer this to save her how or by what 
 means he did not pretend to say nor would he 
 account death as other than a friend if by death 
 salvation came to one who alone among women 
 had taught him to say, " I love." 
 
 A wolf howled upon the hills without and the 
 lingering, doleful cry, taken up by a thousand 
 lifted throats, came upon the silence as the dead! 
 man's requiem. Arthur Kenyon shivered when 
 he heard it and beat the fire down as though dark- 
 ness were preferable to this aureole upon the 
 staring face. When Gavin said " Hush," and 
 bade him listen, he half turned, upon an impulse, 
 toward the dead man as though the dead were 
 about to speak. The terrible strain of that sus- 
 pense had become insupportable. What mattered 
 it since the end must be the same sooner or later, 
 to-night or to-morrow, the reckoning, the ven- 
 geance? He was young, and life might have much 
 in store for him; but travel had taught him to 
 say " Kismet " and he said it unflinchingly. 
 
 ' ' There would be snow on the hills, ' ' he cried at 
 last, as though his thoughts were out there upon 
 the lonely mountain road.
 
 289 
 
 Gavin, for answer, gripped him by the arm 
 and forced him to listen. 
 
 " Do you not hear? " he cried in a broken whis- 
 per; " some one is calling the Chevalier! " 
 
 They bent together as though to hear more 
 keenly. In the courtyard without, footsteps could 
 now be heard and a voice crying, " Master, 
 master ! ' The hour had come then 1 Here were 
 those who sought them. 
 
 " Will you speak to them, Gavin? " 
 
 " Hush for God's sake I must think, 
 think " 
 
 " That r s a second footstep can't you hear it? 
 My God, Gavin r what shall we do? ' 
 
 " Let me think, Arthur, let me think." 
 
 He buried his face in his hands and could feel 
 his temples throbbing. For Evelyn's sake, for 
 her ah, if that miracle of love could but come to 
 pass ! To open the gates, to defy the perils of the 
 hills, to pass as in flight by towns, rivers, cities, 
 the abodes of men, the lonely passes, the lights of 
 towns, the storms of seas, to venture all for 
 Evelyn's sake. If it could be that? The voice of 
 reason answered, " Fool, the men are at the 
 door. ' ' 
 
 He rose excitedly from his chair and gripped 
 his friend by the arm. 
 
 " Tap the pavement," he said, " tap as the old 
 Chevalier used to. I must think, Arthur for 
 God's sake now tap with the stick." 
 
 Kenyon obeyed him as a child would have done. 
 He tapped upon the stone floor with the stick but 
 did not speak a word. Gavin had him by the ana.
 
 290 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 now and appeared almost as one in a trance. His 
 eyes were half -closed ; he muttered to himself, 
 stretching out his hand and feeling, as it were, 
 for a path which the darkness would disclose to 
 him. And the word upon his lips was ' * Evelyn ' 
 oft repeated, as though she were near and did 
 not hear him. 
 
 " What are you going to do, Gavin? ' 
 
 *' To lead you from this house, Arthur do not 
 speak to me; some one is calling us, Arthur. " 
 
 He passed out into the bare stone corridor lead- 
 ing to the banqueting hall. From the shadows 
 one of the gypsies appeared with the swiftness of 
 an apparition. He carried a lantern in his hand 
 and lifted it while he spoke. 
 
 " Master! " he cried, and then reeled back, the 
 words broken upon his lips. 
 
 They passed him by, leaving him cowering by 
 the wall; he did not cry after them or raise an 
 alarm. And Gavin went on swiftly, still toward 
 the gate, as though his will would open it. 
 
 " No man could cross the hill road to-night," 
 Kenyon said presently. He was thinking that if 
 they passed the gates, their allies would be the 
 wolves. Gavin did not answer him at all this 
 time. He had come to the gate by which you reach 
 the courtyard, and, lifting the latch, he went out 
 unquestioned. 
 
 " You see," he said, " that fellow has just 
 unlocked it. I knew it must be so, Arthur." 
 
 " He has gone to bring the others, Gavin." 
 
 " They will not hear him. Or if they come, 
 they will be powerless to harm us, Arthur. It
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 291 
 
 must be so. I hear Evelyn's voice. She would 
 not call me if the gates were shut." 
 
 Kenyon knew not what to say. Once or twice 
 before he had known and seen Gavin in such a 
 mood as this, led by unseen hands and speaking 
 with another's voice. Never had he scoffed at it 
 or misunderstood his friend. He took it to be 
 a force within that was beyond his own expe- 
 rience. To-night, at least, it had led them out of 
 the death-chamber to look once more upon the 
 heaven of stars above. 
 
 " I will follow wherever you lead, Gavin," he 
 said in a whisper, ' * only tell me what I must do. ' ' 
 
 " We are going to the bridge, Arthur. Tap as 
 the old Chevalier did. I shall cry ' Open ! ' when 
 we come there. They will let us out and we shall 
 cross the mountains." 
 
 The idea in his head remained there inerad- 
 icably. Despite the horde of gypsies that was 
 concealed somewhere in the darkened rooms of 
 that weird house, Gavin pushed his way toward 
 the portcullis and demanded that the keeper 
 should open to him. This was the first time he 
 had spoken aloud since he quitted the room where 
 the dead man lay: and instantly at his words the 
 courtyard became alive with the murmur of 
 voices and the sounds of shuffling footsteps. 
 
 " Quick, Gavin, they are after us," Kenyon 
 cried, holding his friend 's arm and trying to draw 
 him aside to a place of safety. 
 
 Gavin would not move, however. Imitating, 
 as well as he could, the voice he had heard so 
 .often challenging the keeper of the bridge, he
 
 292 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 continued to shout, l ' Open I wait ! ' None the 
 less, he knew that armed men were all about him 
 and that any moment might bring them at his 
 throat. 
 
 " Open I wait! " 
 
 The gate-keeper, awakened from a heavy sleep, 
 came from the rude watch-tower above the bridge 
 and stood there with a lantern in his hand. Rais- 
 ing it he looked upon the faces of the men, and 
 drew back with hand uplifted. 
 
 * ' Why do you call to me in my master 's voice I ' ' 
 he asked. 
 
 They could not answer him. A great shouting 
 in the courtyard behind them warned them that 
 the truth was known. The gypsies had discov- 
 ered the dead man's body and pell-mell they be- 
 gan to swarm about those they believed to be his 
 assassins. Haggard, in the weird light, their 
 figures in phantom shapes, they pressed on, 
 searching every nook and cranny with the naked 
 blade of sword and scimitar, wailing their doleful 
 lament and encouraging one another to the pur- 
 suit. Nor had Gavin any belief that he could 
 escape them. Called by the peril from the un- 
 natural trance which had fallen upon him, he 
 swung round upon his heel as though to protect 
 his friend whose life he had thus jeopardized ; but 
 in his heart he believed that nothing could save 
 them. This was the moment when the uttermost 
 penalty of folly must be paid. It found him ready 
 with a dogged courage, but lacking all ideas ex- 
 cept that supreme determination too fight for his 
 life to the end.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 293 
 
 " Give me the bludgeon, Arthur I am the 
 stronger. ' ' 
 
 " Don't think of that there's something left 
 in my locker still. Side by side, old chap, unto the 
 end. What luck! We'd have been across the 
 bridge in another ten seconds." 
 
 ' * Some of them are going to remember us any- 
 way. Stand close to me, Arthur it won 't be long 
 now. ' ' 
 
 Indeed one of the gypsies discovered him as he 
 spoke and with a loud cry to the others made 
 known his news. The horde swept on with the 
 ferocity of wolves. Knives gleaming, eyes bright 
 in the darkness, some voices cursing, some howl- 
 ing in brutish anger, they came pell-mell toward 
 the gate. And then, as suddenly, they halted and 
 a silence as of the dead of night fell upon the 
 house. 
 
 Some one upon the mountain road without had 
 fired a rifle. The report of it, echoing in the 
 lonely hills, was like a sharp peal of thunder, 
 rattling from peak to peak with monstrous sounds 
 near by and low rumblings far away. To the 
 gypsies it spoke a message which they alone un- 
 derstood. They stood altogether, shivering and 
 gibbering in the darkness. Their muttered words 
 were unintelligible to Gavin. Beyond the sound 
 of the rifle-shot he could hear nothing or when 
 the silence was broken again, it was by the tongue 
 of wolves indescribably haunting and long drawn 
 as a dirge of woe. 
 
 " There is some one on the mountain road and
 
 294 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 they are afraid of him," he said quickly to 
 Kenyon. 
 
 The idea of profit to come by the truce occurred 
 to him in the same breath; and, crying loudly, 
 again he bade the doorkeeper to open. 
 
 ' ' Open, open ! ' 
 
 Twenty voices took up the cry. The gypsies 
 vied with each other in shouting the summons. 
 For they understood the signal. The rope was 
 about their own necks, they said. The last chance 
 was to open the gate to their prisoners. When 
 the doorkeeper hesitated, trembling and afraid, 
 they stabbed him to the heart and he rolled head- 
 long to the foot of the bridge near by which his 
 life had been lived. 
 
 But Gavin and Arthur Kenyon passed out to 
 the mountain road, and looking down to the val- 
 ley they perceived the flame of bivouac fires in 
 the wood below; and they understood imme- 
 diately that cavalry had been sent from Bukha- 
 rest to their aid and that the hour of their peril 
 had passed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIH 
 
 DJALA 
 
 EVELYN recovered consciousness after that 
 which seemed a very night of evil dreaming, but 
 which was in reality no more than a brief half- 
 hour of insensibility. Greatly weakened by the 
 struggle and the swoon attending it, she lay for 
 some while unable to lift herself upon the bed 
 where they had laid her or to take any notice of 
 the room to which she had been carried. When 
 her strength returned somewhat, and a sudden 
 memory of the circumstances of her visit recurred 
 to her, she sat up immediately, a great fear at her 
 heart and a dread upon her such as she had never 
 suffered before. 
 
 What house was it? Who was its owner? What 
 was the meaning of the insult placed upon her? 
 The questions raced through her brain so quickly 
 that she found an answer to none of them. At 
 one time she could almost believe that her OWL. 
 father was privy to the outrage and had led to 
 this desperate course by his detestation of the 
 role she played in London. Rejecting this im- 
 mediately because of her love for him, she was 
 then tempted to say that Odin relied upon his 
 threats and believed that she would submit to 
 him to save Gavin's life. This appeared the more
 
 296 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 plausible story. Was not the man from the East 
 a Roumanian with but primitive ideas of a modern 
 civilization and the son of a country wherein 
 women were still little better than the silent vic- 
 tims of men 's passions ? Perhaps he believed that 
 he could carry her out of England. It might be 
 even that. 
 
 She was in a spacious bedroom, furnished, so 
 far as the dim light would permit her to see, in 
 a modern style and with many evidences of later- 
 day luxury. A fresh fire, burning with a light 
 flame in an open grate, cast flashing rays upon 
 darkly-papered walls and the heavy pictures 
 which ornamented them. A sofa had been drawn 
 up before the fire and showed its pattern in the 
 fitful beams; there was an electric chandelier 
 above a dressing-table and a single reading lamp 
 upon a little table by the bedside. Afraid of the 
 darkness in a degree unknown to her, Evelyn tried 
 to find the switch by which the lamp might be 
 lighted; but her cold hands bungled it and, de- 
 spairing, she rose from the bed and crossed the 
 room toward the heavily-curtained window. 
 
 Was escape to be thought of? In sober reason, 
 no; but sober reason says nothing to a woman 
 driven by the supreme dread of wrong and guard- 
 ing her courage even while she is afraid. Evelyn 
 knew in her own mind that so shrewd and daring 
 a schemer as Count Odin would leave her no loop- 
 hole, neglect no precaution, nor spare any insult 
 by which his own safety might be assured. She 
 knew it and yet must go to the window and draw 
 the curtains back and touch the heavy shutters
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 297 
 
 and feel her heart sink when she came to see that 
 they were twice barred and that no woman's hand 
 could open them. Despair alone could have led her 
 to believe that the Count would be so foolish ; but 
 despair did not mock her twice and she left the 
 door untried lest she should brand her own in- 
 telligence with contempt. Let it be sufficient that 
 she was the prisoner of the house, far from any 
 human aid, alone with her own courage for her 
 friend. She admitted it and sank down upon the 
 sofa, to stretch her hands to the warming blaze, 
 and to breathe that simple prayer to God for aid 
 which is the supreme pathos of womanhood. 
 
 The night was silent without the silence of mid- 
 winter; the fire blazed as though in enmity to the 
 cold of the early morning hours. Evelyn had no 
 watch, nor did she know what hour it might be. 
 When a distant bell chimed, she caught a faint 
 sound upon the still air, but it told her nothing. 
 And with the passing hours there came upon her a 
 desperation she could not master ; a desire to kill 
 this man who had so affronted her, to brave him 
 at whatever cost, even if it were to die at his feet. 
 Etta Komney lived again in this, the Etta of the 
 East, the child of the mountains which knew few 
 laws but those of might. She was her mother's 
 daughter now; the voice of heritage spoke, and 
 she would not still it. 
 
 The distant church clock chimed again and she 
 counted three strokes upon its bells. It was three 
 o'clock in the morning then, and another four 
 hours must pass before dawn came. Or would it 
 sever come in that shuttered and curtained room
 
 298 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 which she must call her prison? Sometimes she 
 could have wished that the Count would throw 
 down the challenge to her and that she might 
 answer him there and then. Suspense as ever 
 tortured her nerves; but in her case also con- 
 tributed to the victory of reason. For Gavin's 
 sake the evil in her heart must die, she said. She 
 must act not only as a brave woman but as a wise 
 one. Moreover, her true self, beginning to speak, 
 reminded her that there would be an outcry 
 through all London to-morrow, and that such a 
 man as Count Odin would never face the publicity 
 of it; his one sure weapon. was his threat against 
 her lover. At this she cowed and knew that her 
 heart had grown cold again. 
 
 Could she, indeed, save Gavin by a word? Had 
 she believed it she would have spoken that word, 
 so greatly did she love. But she did not believe 
 it. Her faith in a brave man's resolution, in his 
 daring and success, remained unshaken. Gavin 
 might even come to this house, she thought; and 
 dreamingly she sat very still by the fireside and 
 listened for the sound of his footstep. A pro- 
 found silence followed upon the foolish act. 
 When next she moved it was with agitation and a 
 sudden spasm of fear she could not quell. 
 
 She was no longer alone in the room. How she 
 had come to believe herself so she could not even 
 imagine. Out of the darkness a pair of jet black 
 eyes were looking up to her own. The wavering 
 firelight becoming stronger as the coal reddened 
 and burst into brighter flame, showed her the 
 huddled figure of a young girl crouching by the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 299 
 
 grate and watching her so intently that the very 
 glance seemed a tragedy. 
 
 ' ' Djala ! ' ' she cried in spite of herself ' * D jala, 
 the gypsy girl! ' 
 
 She knew it was no other and her fear passed 
 with the knowledge. Many a day had she seen 
 this child with the gypsies who had followed the 
 Count to England. That she should be in this 
 house at such a time was the greater mystery. 
 Evelyn knew not whether the omen were good or 
 bad. 
 
 " Why do you not speak to me? " she said; 
 " why are you silent? ' 
 
 The gypsy started up as though the sound of 
 a voice had waked her also from reverie. 
 
 " Excellency," she answered, speaking in such 
 broken English that Evelyn caught her meaning 
 with difficulty; " excellency, I wait for my 
 brother and then we will go away." 
 
 " Who are you, child how did you come 
 here? ' 
 
 " I am Zallony's daughter, excellency my 
 brother brought me across the sea from my own 
 country. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, yes, you were in Derbyshire at my 
 father's house. When did you leave there, 
 child? " 
 
 < * A month ago, excellency. My brother came 
 to London. We had little money and were poor. 
 The Count would follow us, he said. So we 
 waited, but there was no message. Excellency, 
 he should not have treated us so ill, for he was my 
 lover and owes it to me. He should have come to
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 us, excellency , . . and then I would not have 
 told them. God help him now, for my brother 
 will kill him. Yes, I followed him here, but none 
 knew of it. And to-night I told them the truth. 
 Excellency, had you not come here I never would 
 have told them . . .. but I have loved him 
 and he has forgotten, and I must go back to my 
 own country alone and ashamed." 
 
 She spoke in such a low tone, the childish eyes 
 were so wide open, the heart beating so rapidly be- 
 neath the fine lace which covered her breast, that 
 one who knew nothing of her Eastern birth or of 
 all that the love of a man meant to her, might 
 well have believed her story an hysterical fiction 
 and turned from it with just impatience. To 
 Evelyn, however, it spoke of danger as no other 
 word of all that evil night had done. The peril 
 of the house, the vengeance which might fall upon 
 it tiie price of the betrayal, her own silence when 
 a word might save a man from the penalty of his 
 sins this all flashed through her troubled brain 
 and left her with a new sense of helplessness and 
 surpassing dismay. 
 
 " How did you come here; how did you enter 
 this room?" she asked quickly, 
 
 ' ' Molines, my uncle, who brought you here he 
 keeps the keys, excellency. ' ' 
 
 " Then he let you in he knows of your being 
 here? " 
 
 " He knows, excellency, and is afraid. We 
 must save the English lady, he said. That is why 
 he sent me to you." 
 
 " I must see your uncle at once, Djala. . . .
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 301 
 
 I must tell the Count. What you speak of is a 
 groat crime. Let us make them hear us. Oh^ 
 my God, we cannot be silent. ' ' 
 
 The doubt and suspense of it all became over- 
 whelming, and she stood groping in the dim light 
 for the doorway and beating upon it with both 
 her hands. No one, however, answered her. The 
 little gypsy crouching by the fire seemed afraid 
 to move or to speak. The silence of the house 
 remained unbroken. Evelyn turned away in such 
 despair as seemed to her scarcely human. 
 
 "When is your brother coming here!" she 
 asked the child. 
 
 Djala answered without looking up. 
 
 " I do not know, but he will come, excellency 
 . . . and he will speak for me to the CounL 
 Yes, and then " 
 
 The words were stilled upon her lips and she 
 sat up to listen. A sound of men's voices sud- 
 denly made itself audible in the room below. The 
 gypsy heard it first and spoke no more of her 
 vengeance. 
 
 " That is my brother's voice," she said and 
 then, realizing what she had done, she caught at 
 Evelyn's dress with both her hands and im- 
 plored her pity. 
 
 " Save him, excellency, for Christ's dear sake r 
 save the man I love, ' ' she implored. 
 
 " I cannot save him, Djala am I not as help- 
 less as you? ... I cannot save him." 
 
 They waited together, hand in hand, listening 
 to the story which the voices told them. Now it 
 would be to the voice of argument, then to that of
 
 302 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 entreaty, ultimately to the swift interchange of 
 phrase which spoke of anger. When the duologue 
 ceased, the silence had greater terrors of doubt 
 than any they had yet suffered. What had hap- 
 pened, then? Why did none come to them 1 ? They 
 could but hope that reason had prevailed. 
 
 " Let us light a lamp, excellency; I am afraid 
 of the dark." 
 
 " I cannot do it, Djala. ... I cannot find 
 the switch." 
 
 " Let us try together, excellency how your 
 hands tremble ! And mine are cold, so cold. Let 
 us try to find the light." 
 
 They felt along the wall, gathering courage 
 from their occupation. The main switch was 
 upon the landing outside the door, but they found 
 the plug of the bedside lamp and managed to fix 
 it, getting for their reward a little aureole of light 
 upon the bed and greater shadows upon the fur- 
 ther walls. That, however, which pleased them 
 better was a green silken bell-rope hanging down 
 by the bedside and revealed now by the lamp. 
 Evelyn took the cord in both her hands and pulled 
 it thrice. But no bell rang. 
 
 " It is broken, Djala; they did not mean us to 
 ring it hush listen they are talking again 
 that is the Count's voice . . ." 
 
 She caught the child's hand impulsively and 
 drew her to the door as though it would help them 
 to hear the voices more plainly. The controversy 
 below had been resumed suddenly and with a 
 bare preface of civil words. Loud above the 
 other the Count's voice could be heard in threat-
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 303 
 
 ening expostulation. It ceased upon a haunting 
 cry lingering, horrible, and to be heard by the 
 imagination long after it had died away. 
 
 Djala did not speak when she heard the cry; 
 she seemed as one transfixed by terror, unable 
 to move from the place and afraid to learn the 
 the truth. Presently low sobs escaped her; she 
 became hysterical and sank at Evelyn's feet, 
 moaning and trembling. 
 
 11 They have killed him, excellency . . . 
 oh, my God, my God ! ' 
 
 Evelyn could answer nothing. Stooping, she 
 lifted the fainting girl and laid her upon the bed. 
 While she was not less afraid or distressed than 
 the gypsy, this nearer danger had quickened her 
 faculties and awakened her to action. Once more, 
 though the act seemed folly, she caught at the 
 silken bell-rope and pulled it with all her 
 strength. The answer was a jarring tintinabula- 
 tion heard clearly in the silence. She stood to 
 listen and knew that footsteps were approaching 
 the landing. Then the key turned in the lock and 
 a man, whom she had seen before, a Tzigany be- 
 yond all question, entered without ceremony. 
 
 11 Lady," he said in broken English, " come 
 with me you must leave this house." 
 
 ' ' I will not go until I know the truth ; I cannot 
 leave the child," she said, pointing to Djala. 
 
 " There are those who will care for her. As 
 for the truth . . . it is a man's quarrel. 
 They will be friends to-morrow, lady. Obey me 
 and go quickly." 
 
 * * I will not leave the child, ' ' she protested not
 
 304 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 knowing whether his story were false or true and 
 fearing greatfy. 
 
 For answer, he took her by the arm menacingly 
 and drew her toward the door. 
 
 " Go before ill befall you. The child is our 
 daughter. Are we of the people who do not 
 care for their own children? Go, lest worse fol- 
 low! The man will live I, Molines, say it." 
 
 The words found her without argument. This 
 child had been with the gypsies at the Manor. 
 What harm would befall her if she remained with 
 them here ? And it was no time for woman 's pity. 
 The story of the house lay upon her as a heavy 
 shadow. She had the desire to flee far from it; 
 to blot it out of her dreams; to forget its humilia- 
 tions ; to escape its darkness. A voice called her 
 to the way of salvation and she went with the 
 
 gypsy. 
 
 " The carriage will take you as you came," he 
 said; " ask no questions, lady; do not betray us 
 if you value your life and that of another. That 
 which has happened in this house to-night will 
 never be known to the world. Seek not the story, 
 for it is not yours to seek." 
 
 She had no rejoinder for him. There were 
 lamps still alight in the hall as they descended the 
 staircase and the door of a room upon the right 
 hand side was a little way open. Evelyn half- 
 believed that she saw the body of a man lying 
 upon the table there as she passed swiftly by; 
 but the door closed immediately and the gypsy 
 hurried her from the house.
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 305 
 
 " Remember," he said, " be silent ... it 
 is your only hope, lady." 
 
 She shuddered and drew away from him. The 
 electric brougham which had carried her from 
 the theatre now rolled slowly up the drive. She 
 entered it without a word and so was driven 
 swiftly away.
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV 
 
 THE SHADOW OP THE EIVER 
 
 IT wanted an hour of dawn when Evelyn 
 quitted the lonely house. She had given no in- 
 structions to the driver, nor did he appear to ex- 
 pect any. In truth, his orders were very far from 
 being in accordance with the old gypsy's promise. 
 A deed of blood had been done and the daylight 
 would discover it. The woman who could tell 
 something of the story would tell it at once if 
 liberty were given her. So said those who en- 
 trapped her . . . and, desiring to withhold 
 liberty as long as might be, they sent the carriage 
 westward, away toward Harrow and the villages. 
 
 Evelyn herself did not suspect this ; nor would 
 it have alarmed her had she done so. As one 
 awakened from a dream of death, she tried to 
 shut the picture of the house from her heavy 
 eyes, to drown the cries she had heard, to forget 
 the humiliations. Dark and lonely as the way 
 was, the black shapes of the trees seemed em- 
 blems of her liberty; the silent houses so many 
 tokens of the world regained. She cared not 
 where or why, so long as she might breathe the 
 sweet air and tell herself that God's mercy had 
 saved her. For Gavin would she live her whole 
 life should be spent in quest of the man she loved ;
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 307 
 
 of one who seemed to call her even from the dark- 
 ness. And of Gavin were her thoughts when the 
 carriage stopped at last and the driver bade her 
 descend. 
 
 She perceived him to be an African, of pleasant 
 face and starlike eyes. To all her questions, 
 however, he did but shake his head and show 
 grinning teeth which would as well become a snarl 
 as laughter, she thought. It was dawn then, and 
 there were gray mists drifting above the hedges. 
 They had stopped in a lane and nothing human 
 was in sight. 
 
 " Very sorry, missy go back now. No far to 
 go, master says so." 
 
 " Where are we, where have you brought me? " 
 she asked, obeying him in some fear. 
 
 He answered her, still grinning: 
 
 " You get back to London, quick, missee. 
 Master says so. Dis am his carriage. Verry 
 sorry, missy." 
 
 She perceived that he played a part and would 
 contend with him no more. Still nodding his 
 black head and showing his white teeth, he turned 
 the carriage about and disappeared down the 
 lane. When the rolling sound of the wheels had 
 quite died away, Evelyn began to walk along the 
 lane in that which she believed to be the direction 
 of London. The mists lifted as the sun began to 
 warm them. She was terribly cold, chilled to the 
 very bone, and exhausted both bodily and men- 
 tally; but she pushed on bravely and presently 
 out of the mists a cottage appeared and then an- 
 other. Yet a hundred yards farther down the
 
 308 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 lane and she espied some modern villas in the 
 Queen Anne style and after that quite a consider- 
 able village lying in the hollow. 
 
 It would have been about eight o'clock of the 
 morning by this time; and workmen passed her 
 with the firm tread and the cheery " Good-morn- 
 ing, miss," which are still to be seen and heard 
 within ten miles of the metropolis. At first she 
 scarcely had the courage to ask where she was ; for 
 she realized how strangely the question must fall 
 upon other ears at such a time and under such 
 circumstances ; but plucking up her courage pres- 
 ently as a lad approached her, she stopped him 
 and learned that this was the village of Pinner, 
 and that it lay just thirteen miles from London. 
 
 " Yonder 's the station, miss, just round there 
 to the right. I suppose you've walked over from 
 Harrow. Lots of ladies do now they've took to 
 hockey. I don't like that not me. It hurts the 
 shins unless you've got thick 'uns like the new 
 girls has. ' ' 
 
 He was quite a conversationalist, the boy, and 
 he rambled on with a precise account of his own 
 intimate affairs, dating from the happy anniver- 
 sary of a present of five shillings from a gentle- 
 man in a " broke-in-half " motor car to the re- 
 cent arrival of a little sister, with whom he 
 expected he would shortly quarrel. One of his 
 most cheerful items of information was that 
 which revealed the near proximity of an inn, 
 styled by him ' * a public ' ' ; but which, neverthe- 
 less, brought to Evelyn such visions of hot steam- 
 ing coffee and new warm bread and a fireside
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 309 
 
 whereby she might thaw her frozen hands that 
 she bestowed a whole shilling upon him willingly ; 
 and for that he, as a true cavalier, conducted her 
 immediately to the hostelry. 
 
 " And I do hope you'll walk over from Harrow 
 another morning, and that I'll meet you in the 
 lane," he said with an interested and mercenary 
 laugh delightful to hear. It was good after all 
 to listen to the sound of an honest voice. And this 
 boy spoke in the accustomed tongue of men. 
 
 She found the people of the inn awake and 
 bustling. The story told for her by the loquacious 
 lad was a very open sesame. A dear old lady 
 with a very dirty face ushered her into a prim 
 parlor and put out the Sunday tea service. Work- 
 men in the bar raised their voices for her benefit, 
 and one of them narrated at length how formerly 
 he had kept a servant at ' ' twenty shilling a week, 
 same as you get, Bill." The coffee, however, 
 could not have been better. Evelyn drank it 
 greedily, and, learning that there were trains to 
 London frequently, she caught one at ten o'clock 
 and by a little after half-past she was in a han- 
 som going down to Baker Street. 
 
 Her direction to the cabman had been "the 
 Carlton Theatre " why exactly she could not 
 say. Naturally, she felt shy for the moment of 
 returning to her hotel, dishevelled and weary as 
 she was. The theatre would be open, she knew; 
 for a rehearsal had been called at twelve o'clock, 
 and the great Mr. Izard expected her there to 
 hear of a new play which he had already passed 
 as ' * bully. ' ' Fortunately for her, she slipped by
 
 310 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 old Jacob at the stage door so quietly that he 
 was quite unaware of her presence . . . and 
 then going to her own dressing-room, to her 
 chagrin she discovered it to be locked and re- 
 membered that her maid had the key. 
 
 They had set a scene upon the stage, the garden 
 scene of " Haddon Hall "; and weird and cold 
 and melancholy was its aspect in this morning 
 light. To Evelyn it seemed as an emblem of those 
 scenes of her girlhood which she had forever 
 quitted. The loneliness of her life, the pity of it, 
 the quenched fires of ambition thoughts of these 
 came to her one by one and said " there is no 
 longer hope in the world." Etta Eomney, that 
 daughter of passion and the soul's unrest, love 
 had killed her, and never would she be reborn. 
 Tliere stood in her place an Evelyn who believed 
 herself to be utterly alone, forsaken of all, even 
 of him who had taught her the supreme lesson 
 of her being. For her father she had an abiding 
 pity. The harvest he had reaped had been of 
 his own sowing; but her affection for him rose 
 above any consideration of judgment and she ac- 
 cused herself because she had left him in the hour 
 of trial. For the rest the dreadful story of the 
 night remained her chief burden. To whom 
 should she tell it; who must be her confidant? 
 Should she run hysterically to the police, saying, 
 " I believe that a crime has been committed in an 
 unknown house at Hampstead? ' To whose 
 profit? The two men might have met in fair fight 
 according to the custom of their country. And 
 would anyone be found in the house by even the
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 311 
 
 cleverest detective after those hours had passed T 
 She knew not which would be the prudent course. 
 Her own despair spoke louder than any claim of 
 human justice. 
 
 The great Mr. Izard appeared at the theatre 
 at eleven o'clock. His first cheery greeting to her 
 ended abruptly when he perceived the state of 
 distress into which she kad fallen . . . her 
 haggard eyes, her white face, the restlessness of 
 mood and quick changing attitudes whioh be- 
 trayed her. 
 
 " Miss Romney! " he exclaimed aghast, " are 
 you ill, my dear? . . . Good God! what has hap- 
 pened? " 
 
 11 I cannot play to-day," she said. . . . "I 
 am going to my home, Mr. Izard, to my father. 
 I shall never play in your theatre again. My 
 acting days are done." 
 
 He saw that she was really ill and would not 
 trouble her with any cf the old arguments. His 
 own carriage, he said, should take her to the 
 station. Her assurance that she would go down 
 to Derbyshire alone troubled him, for he was a 
 big-hearted man, as most of his kind. When 
 Evelyn left him, she knew that she was leaving 
 a friend . . . and how few friends has any 
 man or woman among us ! Perhaps the truth of 
 this helped her upon her long journey to Derby- 
 shire. She was going to her father, to him who 
 had loved her . . . she was going to him to 
 tell him every word of that story and to say to- 
 him, " Take me to Gavin, let us go together and 
 forget that another has ever come between us.'*
 
 312 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 All else in the world, its rewards, its prizes, its 
 teachings, seemed less to her than this gospel of 
 love now warming her heart to life and bidding 
 her look up. By it should peace come to him to 
 them both if Gavin lived! 
 
 Ah, if Gavin lived ! How often by the way did 
 that voice of doubt cry the question in her ears? 
 As a heavy cloud upon the garden of her hopes 
 so the thought recurred and would not be put 
 away. If Gavin lived! Evelyn heard the words 
 wherever she turned; they were spoken to her 
 upon the breezes of that winter day, rolled out 
 by the humming wheels as the train carried her 
 northward, uttered by unknown voices which 
 compelled her to listen. They followed her to 
 Moretown; they were with her when she dis- 
 missed the hired carriage at the gates of Mel- 
 bourne Hall and set out to walk across the park 
 toward her home. Her desire to enter the house 
 without observation or effusive welcome was in 
 great part the fruit of her thoughts. She must 
 be alone ; she must have the full command of her- 
 self before she told her father the true story of 
 yesternight. 
 
 The sun had set upon a glorious winter's day; 
 a day of clear skies and bright scenes and fresh 
 invigorating breezes. Now when eve fell the 
 west wind ebbed away with the hours and left 
 a twilight deeply still and beautiful. Not a 
 branch of the leafless trees stirred in all that 
 vast park about Melbourne Hall. Wide vistas of 
 glade and avenue niight have known no human 
 foot since their story began. The deer browsed
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 313 
 
 or moved with step so light that the quickest ear 
 could not detect it. To Evelyn it mattered not 
 whether she trod the park at dawn or dusk. 
 Every landmark seemed as her own possession. 
 Here was the dell wherein, long ago, she had 
 played Di Vernon's part to the summer skies; 
 there, the arbor to which she had carried the ro- 
 mances upon which her young imagination 
 feasted. Far away, dark and gray between the 
 trees, stood her home, offering her so chill a 
 welcome that her heart sank wearily and tears 
 came to her burning eyes. How if her father also 
 had left her; if she found the great house empty 
 and the gates of it shut ! Such an end to her jour- 
 ney was not impossible; but the dread of it was 
 in itself a heavy sorrow. 
 
 To be alone even at the gates of her home. Yes, 
 it might be that. Standing upon the little bridge 
 that spanned the river, she listened to its melan- 
 choly song and echoed it in her heart. Alone, it 
 said the dream lived, love lost, the world 
 empty. What mattered it now that God's prov- 
 idence had saved her yesternight? Better, she 
 thought in her distress, that she lay in yonder 
 silent pool, drifting upon the slow eddies to rest 
 and oblivion. For what had the world to give 
 her? The tears flowed fast at the remembrance 
 of all she had hoped, all she had suffered, all she 
 had lost. " Gavin," she cried aloud, " save me, 
 Gavin, for I cannot live alone." 
 
 He came to her swiftly out of the darkness.
 
 314 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 But yesterday he had returned from Bukharest 
 and, just as she to-day, had gone to Melbourne 
 Hall to find it shuttered and empty. A good act 
 of his destiny made it known to him at Moretown 
 station that the Lady Evelyn had returned from 
 London. He followed her swiftly and overtook 
 her upon the bridge. 
 
 And so as in the dream of the unforgotten days 
 he took her from the shadow of the river to his 
 heart and, holding her close, he said : 
 
 ' ' Evelyn, beloved, I am here as you wish. ' '
 
 
 Evelyn, beloved, I am here as you wish." Chap. 34.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 THE DOCTOR DRIffKS A TOAST 
 
 In the Spring of the year following upon Gavin 
 Ord's return from Bukharest, the Reverend 
 Harry Fillimore playing, as he claimed, " the 
 game of his life " upon the links at Moretown, 
 found himself to his chagrin both oblivious of the 
 troubles of others and utterly unsympathetic to- 
 ward his old friend Doctor Philips. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he would say, " what can 
 you expect when you will take your eye off the 
 ball? Now do be patient. For my sake, be pa- 
 tient." 
 
 The doctor, driving his ball with savage feroc- 
 ity into a deep and awful pit, treated these obser- 
 vations with the just scorn they merited. He 
 neither criticised nor contested them; but having 
 struck the offending ball five times with little re- 
 sult, he picked it up deliberately and uttered a 
 remark which the vulgar at any rate might have 
 considered appropriate. 
 
 " She's at Gibraltar," he said without preface. 
 
 * * Come, dear fellow now do be patient. I will 
 not encourage strong language; you know that I 
 will not." 
 
 Dr. Philips laughed such a melancholy laugh
 
 316 THE LADY EVELYN 
 
 that even the good-natured parson looked up 
 from his beloved ball. 
 
 " I was talking of the Lady Evelyn," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 11 I'm sorry I'd forgotten it, Fred." 
 
 ' ' Oh, well, memory isn 't a jewel in these cases. 
 I had a letter from the Earl this morning eh, 
 yes? He says the yacht's become a nest of turtle- 
 doves. They're going on to Malta if the weather's 
 not too hot. He doesn't mean to come here at all 
 this year, you see. That's what I wanted to tell 
 you. It seems that the man Odin went back to 
 Bukharest and is now fighting the Government 
 for his father's property. They confiscated it or 
 something, according to the criminal law there. 
 Pity the gypsies didn't kill him at Hampstead 
 eh ? They seem to have come pretty near it by all 
 accounts." 
 
 The vicar expressed the opinion that the gyp- 
 sies were the only honest men that Bukharest 
 would be likely to send to Moretown; but neither 
 spoke of Evelyn again until they were alone with 
 their cigars after dinner that night. Then, as a 
 sacred confidence between them, Harry Fillimore 
 confessed something that had long been on his 
 mind. 
 
 " Father and daughter," he said, " shared the 
 burden of a terrible heritage. One might have 
 said that they had been born under an Eastern 
 sun and had inherited Eastern passions. In all 
 of us, as the novelist Eobert Louis Stevenson 
 believed, there are two personalities the good 
 and the evil ; and our lives are lived as we conquer
 
 THE LADY EVELYN 317 
 
 the one and foster the other. Robert Forrester 
 never made an honest effort to extirpate those 
 weaker traits of character which ruined his 
 career at the beginning. Evelyn, on her part, did 
 not realize the meaning of her life until Gavin 
 Ord taught her to love him. Her escapade in 
 London, the craving for light and music and glit- 
 ter . . . there you had the East speaking to 
 her. But the man's voice was the voice of the 
 West, and she listened to it. Such a woman has 
 found peace or none will ever find it. Her will 
 has saved both herself and her father. Let us 
 grudge her nothing of her happiness, Fred. You 
 loved her? What man that had not loved would 
 not? But you'll wish a blessing on her and lift 
 a glass to her as I do, just because you're what 
 you are a great big-hearted Englishman, who 
 will share his joys with all, but will tell his sor- 
 rows to none." 
 
 The doctor turned his head away. Very slowly 
 and deliberately he filled his glass, and, lifting it, 
 he said: 
 
 11 God bless her! " 
 
 THE END
 
 Other Works by Max Pemberton 
 
 THE HUNDRED DAYS 
 
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 Max Pemberton's new romance proves that the life of to-day may sug- 
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 Any story by Max Pemberton can be depended on to furnish mystery, 
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 FEO 
 
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