Morton Verlost

Front matter

What has been bringeth what shall be, Worse — better — last for first and first for last : Each man's life The outcome of his former living is ; The bygone wrongs bring forth sorrow and woes ; The bygone right breeds bliss. That which ye sow ye reap. Sir Edwin Arnold. BY MARGUERITE BRYANT AUTHOR OF ' A GREAT RESPONSIBILITY ' LONDON ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK this book is dedicated TO MY DEAR AUNT iLouiga iHargatet TOfjitafcet in remembrance of many pleasant days spent AT FAIRHAVEN CONTENTS

Book I Page

Prologue ....... 3 CHAP. i. An Encounter . . . . . .10 2. Hard Hit ....... 26 3. Face to Face . . . . . .33 4. A Leaf from the Past . . . . • S2 5. Could She be Mine ! . . . . .62 6. A Drawn Battle . . . . . -73

Book II

1. Wanted— an Heir ! . . . . 87 2. The Sunshine of Garden Street . . .101 3. A Melodramatic Episode . . . .111 4. The Fateful Gift . . . . .126 5. An Outside Opinion . . . . .136 6. A Breathing Space . . . . .140 7. Man proposes . . . • • • '53 8. Summoned ! . . • • • • • '59 9. Post-Haste . . • • • • *73 10. Recognition . . . ■ • .187 MORTON VERLOST VIII

Book III Chap

PAGE i. A Declaration ....•• x95 2. The Family Feeling . 2°7 3. Poor Nora ! ...... 217 4. A Change of Views ..... 230 5. For Jenny's Sake .... 23^ 6. For Better, for Worsl ..... 249 7. Into the Unknown ..... 259

Book IV

i. On the Island of Pacificus .... 267 2. The Beginning of the End .... 279 3. The Unexpected ...... 287 4. The Shadow of the Peak .... 294 5. An Expedition ...... 304 6. An Act of Justice ..... 315 7. The Awakening ...... 325 8. Brave Hearts ...... 335 9. A Counterplot ...... 344 10. Outwitted ....... 356 11. The Fall of the Curtain .... 370 12. Lizette's Story ......

Book I

They say best men are moulded out of faults, and for the most become much better for being a little bad. — Shakespeare. I

Prologue

Away westward, in the land of the setting sun, lies a marvellous sea, teeming with life, studded with islands great and small as with uncut jewels, un priced and unpriceable. And there lies the island of Pacificus, smallest of the small, most beautiful among the beautiful. High towards heaven towers the central peak, and to the very lip of the em bracing sea creeps the strange luscious vegetation of the tropics. Early in the fifties a certain enterprising English man — Mr. Jacob Todds by name — saw fit to rent this little island from the Portuguese government, to whom it belonged, and to establish thereon a small settlement for the purpose of growing tobacco. In five years the station proved so prosperous that Mr. Todds did not reside there alone ; but had, to bear him company, a wife, a fair young English girl, who left friends and home to live a solitary life with this man, whose chief ambition was to make money and to live far from the distractions of a world that did not interest him, save in the matter of £ s. d. ' All the same, they were very much in love with each other, and very happy. ' Regrets, Jacob ?

No, I have none ! ' she once said, turning to him with tears in her eyes at the question he had put. He kissed her, and they wandered on into the ' bush.' A rough path had been cut, but not cleared, very lately, and there was a thick tangle of creepers round them on every side. Gorgeous flowers, possessed of almost more than vegetable life, bowed their heads before her, as if praying her dainty fingers to close around their stems ; birds, whose feathers were surely painted by the sun, flitted from tree to tree ; and through the thick foliage overhead shafts of clear light flickered on leaf and flower and bird, and on the English girl more sweet than all, with her arms full of the unnamed gathered blossoms. Mr. Todds walked by her side in placid contentment, now removing an obstructing creeper from her path, now picking up a fallen treasure or adding to the pile, always listening to her simple song and laugh with a certain grave pleasure that could find no expression in words. ' Oh, Jacob ! ' she cried, and her floral treasures

PROLOGUE.

5 fell unheeded to the ground, as she sank on her knees before a new find. ' Look ! The darling ! ' ' Only a fern, Ruth.' ' Only ! but see, it is an English fern, I know it well. How could it come here ? ' There was no explanation to give, and Jacob cleared the ground round, and offered to transplant it to her garden. ' No, no ; I will dig it up myself,' she said, and set to work with her pretty fingers, till the plant was almost free. Then something sharp cut her hand, and she shook it ruefully, but still refused assist ance. ' There, it is up at last ! ' she exclaimed tri umphantly. ' Now, what was it hurt me — a stone, I suppose? Oh, see here, Jacob, it is stuck hard to the root — no, it has grown through it ! Why, I declare it is a ring ! ' They shook off the clinging mould, and, sure enough, the largest fibrous root was encircled by a hard ring of metal, yellow metal, which, when they had detached it, proved to be gold, dulled and dinted, enclosing a green stone scratched and sharpened to a point, which point had injured Ruth's hand. ' It is my very own ! ' she cried gaily ; ' and I will wear it always in remembrance of this walk.

Now, let us take the fern home.' So they turned back, and talked of arising difficulties among the negro workers. ' They are strange people,' said Mr. Todds thoughtfully. ' I do not know which are the most difficult to manage, those I found here or those that came from Hayti. The only manageable ones are those from the States, but Macready cannot control either.' ' He is young yet,' said his wife cheerfully. ' It will all come in time. Barpen has been out in the sun too long.' ' Has he been impertinent to you again ? ' de manded Mr. Todds, frowning. ' Oh no. I only meant that he seems to influence every one, and so when he is cross Ah, here he is ! ' A negro approached them, the Barpen of whom she spoke. A fine upright man, with bold eyes set close together, and a skin like ebony. He might have been fifty or forty or sixty with equal ease, so far as his looks went ; also he might be a king or a commander, but it was difficult to imagine him serving as a slave. ' Dinna ready, massa late,' he said in a harsh guttural voice. ' Then you must plant this for me,' said Ruth, placing her treasured fern in his hands. ' We found it in the wood, and it is like our English ferns, and see what was round its root ! '

PROLOGUE.

7 She held out her hand with the rough ring on it. Barpen stared, and his great lips pursed out. ' Missy found it round that ! ' he exclaimed. ' Yes, right round the root.' ' Um,' he grunted, ' no ring for missy little hand, only fit for old nigger like me ! ' ' But I am going to keep it,' she laughed, ' and wear it always. Go and plant my fern.' Barpen grunted again and went away. That night, farther up in the woods than Mr. Todds or his wife had ever penetrated, a negro meeting was held, presided over by Barpen. ' So,' he said in the vernacular, ' after all our seeking and waiting, " It " has been found by this white girl. The Great One is surely mocking us ! Nevertheless, that you may all remember whence It is, what It is, and how a man may hold It, Rispath shall tell you in the words the Great One taught my father, and my father taught Rispath and me.' Hereupon a negro, a repulsive likeness of Barpen, commenced to chant in strange guttural tongue the following words, to a weird sort of time and variation of note, that approached a tune as nearly as does the low-mouthed bay of a mastiff at the moon.

The words must needs lose much of their weird spell in the translation, but this was the rough mean ing they carried : — Ai ! ai ! Ring by the Great One given, Ring of terrible power, We thy servants still lament thee, Lost by thrice-accursed Caisha. Ai! ai! O Ring of red, red gold that once was human hair, Great Obi shaved thee, froze thee with a look ; O green stone stained with drops of human blood, Great Obi cut thee from a living heart. Irri ! Irri ! Haobi's spirit rests in thee. Ai ! ai ! Hark what the Great One says : Dare not to disobey Him whom Haobi holds ; He is your master, bow, Bow to his will, nor dare to disobey ; Haobi's curse on him who shall gainsay. By force shall none possess thee, From death's hand no man shall wrench thee. Lest misfortune overtake him. > A triple curse on him who disobeys ; Thus has the Great One said. Ai ! ai ! Left bringeth ill, Right bringeth good ; Yet though thy wearer suffer ill or good We still obey thee, own thee as our lord.

PROLOGUE.

9 Ai ! ai ! Ring by the Great One given, Ring of magic powers, Lost by the accursed Caisha, Now again thou art ours. Then there was peace on Pacificus island ; and the negroes became greatly attached to Mrs. Todds, and business prospered with the young planter and his wife.

Chapter I An Encounter

' I confess he is a favourite of mine, because everybody else abuses him.' Very much to the credit of your charity.' — Sheridan. THERE are many kindly people in the world who spend the greater part of their time entertaining and devising entertainments for their friends ; but there are many more people who submit to the entertaining, and spend a goodly portion of their time in ungratefully lamenting the necessity of accepting the proffered hospitality. It is ungrateful, but it is human. To appreciate pleasure at all, we must go through a certain amount of fatigue, physical and mental ; and though both toil and trouble be in volved in the attiring of ourselves in strange and beautiful garments, in the abandoning of our own comfortable fireside to face the chill night air, in being flattened almost to a pancake in futile en deavours to obtain a modicum of refreshment, in bravely enduring insufferable heat, crush, noise, and late hours ; though all this be involved, yet it is not sufficient to make mankind appreciate the pleasure of entertainment when it is offered, — perhaps the mental faculties have not their share of exertion, perhaps the chances of incurring the risks and troubles are too easily obtained.

Lady Portis's engagement-book is full for five weeks in advance. The Hon. Percival Copplestone's mantelpiece is decorated with cards of invitation, to the exclusion of anything else. Mr. Trevors, M.P., is only con cerned that his sister selects the right houses to visit. In short, the season being in full swing, we have barely an hour a day to devote to our own fancies. ' We have much pleasure in accepting, etc' ' So much regret being unable, etc.,' and we close up the latter with a sigh of relief, and the former with a stern sense that our Duty shall be done. Lady Meers was one of those kind good people who live to entertain. She was always seeking to gratify her friends, and they were always willing to be gratified — if they could. It generally meant a terrible crush ; for her house was small and her acquaintanceship wide, but she knew the right people, so her own ' set ' were wont to say.

Other ' sets ' said otherwise ; that, too, was human nature. On the 31st of May 18 — , 16 Kilbretta Gardens was quite filled with guests, overflowing indeed, because Lady Meers had believed that Lady So and So, and Mrs. Otherone, and Sir Greatman, and Lord Highty would be at the Ambassador's ball, and would either go early or come late, or not appear at all at Kilbretta Gardens. But somehow they all came early and seemed determined to stay late; and, the house being small, — result, — an awful crush ! A hundred tags and scraps of talk caught the ear, making a jumble of nonsense, and demanding, for purposes of conversation, an uncommon power of concentration of mind or ear from an unpractised visitor. ' There should be several cases of contused ribs for the doctors to-morrow, not to speak of crushed toes,' muttered a man sotto voce, with an expression of heroic martyrdom on his face. ' Why, Copple stone, you here ! ' ' Rather.

Can't shake hands, too well packed ! Had any refreshment, Verlost ? ' The first speaker looked unutterable things. 'No? then come along. '78 champagne — your brand.' After a little more struggling they stood on the staircase, breathless but victorious. Some one had (lung open the window, and the cool night air was a welcome guest. ' I'm going,' said the man called Verlost. ' Lady Meers can't be found — for heaven's sake, man, don't tell me where she is, — hush, whois singing?' ' Trebetti. Come down. Champagne is more in your line.' Verlost smiled a little ironically, and followed downstairs to a small, deserted, dimly - lighted room. ' You seem pretty well at your ease here,' he remarked, when, in obedience to a word, a bottle of Ayala and glasses were placed before them. ' Yes,' said Copplestone, leaning back in his chair, and toying languidly with his glass. ' Last season Lady Meers begged me to consider myself at home here, and I flatter myself that I have implicitly obeyed her.' He leisurely sipped his wine with a charming air of self-complacency, — quite free from conceit.

He was a fair, good-looking man of medium height, with a long, carefully-tended moustache, eyes of an uncertain colour, — his mother called them hazel, — and an indolent, sleepy manner. He was very short-sighted, and wore an eyeglass, which he was too lazy to use, attached to a thin cord. His companion was a very different type of man. He was dark, thin, but well built and clean shaven. No one, least of all his intimate friends, knew whether Morton Verlost was good-looking or not. His face was one of those that fascinate, because of a something which seems to lie behind, and in seeking to find the mind of the man, one forgot his face. As a matter of fact, his features were good, clean cut, and strong, though it was a matter of small importance, since they were kept too well under control to serve as an index to his character.

He had three glasses of Ayala, approved ; and again announced his intention of leaving. ' No, you are not going yet,' returned his friend with a gentle sigh. ' You are coming upstairs again, and going to do your duty by being pleasant to nice girls.' ' Nice girls — up there ? ' with a faint raising of his eyebrows. ' Yes, don't be a brute, Verlost, ' They are not nice,' growled the other glumly. ' They are artificial — bad art — pretending to be clothed by nature ; moreover, they are all devoted to angling, a pastime to which I am not partial.' ' No ? ' said Copplestone with a slight smile. ' Verlost, you don't improve. You are a pervert. No more nonsense. Lady Portis is dying for a talk with you.' ' As I have a great regard for Lord Portis, that is the last inducement you should hold out, — think what a career might be his, solo !

And do you class Lady Portis among the " nice girls " ? ' ' You are in a villainous temper,' said his friend, rising. ' What has put you out ? ' -' That,' with a nod towards the stairs. ' I'm sick of it. What is it for ? It's a poor way of killing time. I know a hundred better. Now, what does it mean ? ' ' Oh, most worthy Diogenes, I am but a humble slave, and thy riddles are deep ! Don't be a fool, Verlost ; I've promised to stay till twelve, and you must do your duty and help me.' The other shrugged his shoulders and stayed. Upstairs the babble of tongues still waxed strong. A little group were collected by an open window. There was a beautiful girl who might have been chiselled from marble for all the animation she possessed. There were an elderly lady of sedate appearance, but possessing a pair of sparkling eyes of her own, an effeminate young man with sharp pinched features, and Margaret Paget — and Margaret was lovely, and possessed soul and expression enough for all.

She was a poor cousin of Lady Meers but lately arrived to spend the remainder of the season with her kindly -meaning relation, who thought it high time her cousin took another name than Paget. It was Margaret who was speaking. ' You are an excellent directory, Mr. d'Arcy ; you know everybody.' ' No, 'pon my word, no, Miss Paget, 'assure you I don't.' • Then you know everybody who is interesting, which is just what a poor forlorn stranger like my self requires to know. Now, who is the man with his back to us talking to the lady in rose colour ? ' Mr. d'Arcy put up his glass, — he was not short sighted, but he found it a help to conversation. ' He looks clever,' added Miss Paget. ' That is Lord Portis ; I think he is clever, is he not, Miss Trevors ? ' ' I believe so,' replied the sculptured beauty in an even voice ; ' you ought to know, Mr. d'Arcy.' ' No, 'pon my word, hardly know him.

This rose coloured lady is the great novelist, Mrs. ' ' I should never have guessed it. And the lady in diamonds and black ? ' ' Ah, ah, really a smart way of putting it ! That, Miss Paget, is Miss Laurence the new beauty.' ' And the pretty woman in yellow ? ' Mr. d'Arcy did not even glance in the direction indicated. ' Lady Portis. I will tell her you think her pretty.' The elder lady, Mrs. Cromber, spoke. ' She is vain enough already, Mr. d'Arcy, and you are quite at liberty to tell her that also.' Miss Paget continued. ' There is a most remark able-looking man talking to her now. Who is he ? ' Mr. d'Arcy smiled languidly. ' They all admire the black sheep, Mrs. Cromber,' he said. ' Mr. Verlost is a particular friend of mine,' remarked that lady in a perfectly flat tone of voice. ' And of mine, 'pon my word.

Excuse me, Miss Paget, that is Mr. Verlost — a particular friend of Mrs. Cromber's, as you have heard.' ' Black sheep or not,' interposed Miss Trevors abruptly, ' he is received everywhere.' ' Exactly, there is a charming soupcon of possible wickedness about him that ensures him an entre'e! ' You are jealous, that is all,' said Mrs. Cromber sharply. Mr. d'Arcy bowed. ' I confess I am — of your favour. If you would only extend your protection to me ! ' he simpered a little inanely. ' I neither protect nor defend Mr. Verlost. He is Charles's friend, and personally I like him. Miss Paget, you will meet him on Friday, he dines with us.' ' You have not asked me,' said Copplestone, sauntering up at this moment and overhearing. ' So very unkind of you,' he added, taking an empty chair by her side.

Mrs. Cromber smiled indulgently. Percival was a privileged individual. ' I meant to have done so, but before your card was posted I met Mr. Grevil of Duntower, who, I believe, has not been in town for years. Friday evening was the only one he had to spare, so your card was not sent. You shall come next time.' ' Mr. Grevil of Duntower ! ' exclaimed Copple stone, surprised out of his usual tranquil manner. ' Exactly ; do you object ? ' He laughed good-humouredly, but could not dis guise the fact that he was disturbed. ' Did you say Verlost would be dining with you too?' ' Yes. Again, do you object ? ' ' My dear Mrs. Cromber, I protest. I am merely interested in learning how much I have missed through your meeting Mr. Grevil.' ' Will you take me to get some tea ? ' He obeyed, and they did not speak till they were clear of the drawing-room ; then the lady dropped his arm and subsided on to a sofa. ' Tea ?

No, thank you, Percival. How dense you are getting ! Now tell me what it is? ' Copplestone looked genuinely distressed. ' What what is ? My dear Mrs. Cromber, you see too far sometimes.' ' Tut, tut ! Do not be foolish ; quick, out with it before we are interrupted. Why do you not want Mr. Grevil to dine with me ? ' He still hesitated, biting his lip, for it was a difficult question ; but the lady still kept those keen eyes fixed on him, and he felt there was no escape. Verlost still stood near the door talking to Lady Portis. He put up his glass and looked at him. ' Well ! ' Copplestone started, dropped his glass, and turn ing to his companion said — ■ ' It is not my business, perhaps ; still Verlost is my friend, and I think you had better let him know that Mr. Grevil is dining with you on Friday.' A moment's pause. ' Are they acquaintances ? ' Copplestone smiled a little grimly. ' They knew each other, — they are not friends.

They have not met for some years, and would rather not do so now, I fancy. That is all.' ' Indeed ! ' returned the lady drily. ' Mr. Grevil is Morton's senior by at least twenty years, I should think.' ' Twenty-three ; he married young,' said Copple stone unguardedly. ' When did they quarrel ? ' ' Seven or eight years ago.' ' Who was in the wrong ? ' ' Really, it's hard to say ; both originally, I expect.' ' About a woman ? ' Partly, I believe.' ' What else ? ' ' Mrs. Cromber, I did not think you would ask me that.' ' I said you were growing dense. Mr. Grevil has not been in town during the season since he lost his wife six years ago. I meet him at the Macdonalds' in Scotland. I like him, and I like Morton, but I cannot write to either of them saying, " Don't dine with me on Friday because a man you hate will be there."

Do they hate each other ? ' Copplestone leant his head on his hands, contem plating his shoes. ' Do they hate each other ? ' she repeated. ' Heaven forbid ! I don't know.' ' Then Morton should make advances since he is the younger man.' ' No use ; Mr. Grevil would not listen.' ' Is that so ? Why ? ' demanded the lady in that flat tone she used occasionally. He saw it was no use, and, raising his head, answered quietly — Because Morton Verlost is Mr. Grevil's son.' Impossible ! ' But true, — his eldest son ' I have been told that Mr. Grevil's son died seven or eight years ago abroad.' ' Yes, Morton Grevil died to all intents and pur poses. They quarrelled desperately, and Mr. Grevil refused to see him again, so he went abroad, lived as he pleased, and Morton Verlost is the outcome. And, Mrs. Cromber, I am not sure if I have done right in telling you this ; perhaps it would have been better only to warn him.' ' You could not have done so, because I meant to understand.

You have not sufficient facial control, Percival, to keep a secret. Never mind ; I like you the better for it. Now, what is to be done ? ' She lapsed into silence a while, then, rising, said, ' Take me back, anywhere near Margaret Paget, and bring Morton Verlost to me ; I want to introduce them ; and tell him to-night whatever you like, except that you have told this to me.' So they returned to the drawing-room. Margaret asked if Mrs. Cromber enjoyed her tea ; to which that good lady replied that she had, immensely — it had woke her up. ' To whom have you been talking, my dear ? ' ' Lord Portis. I like him.' ' I do not. He is blind — as blind as a bat My dear Morton, I think you are very rude not to have found me out before — no, no excuses. Let me introduce you to Miss Paget.' Miss Paget's voice was musical, Miss Paget's frank eyes looked straight into his, and since he was a friend of Mrs. Cromber's, and she was to meet him again, she gave him her hand in an unfashionable, friendly grasp.

Mr. Verlost's usually impassive face awoke to life. ' Surely I saw you at the Grosvenor Gallery yesterday.' ' I was there certainly ; how could you remem ber? the place was crowded.' ' Not with your counterparts, Miss Paget. Did you like the pictures ? ' Margaret smiled and shook her head. ' I did not understand many of them. Did you ?' ' I did not look at them ; they bore me. I prefer to get other people's views on them.' ' People interest you more, I expect.' ' A few — individually — not these people collect ively. Do they interest you ? ' ' They are individuals, each one has a life, a mind, a story, a soul of his own. All people interest me, I think' A curious look came into his eyes. She was a little puzzled at it. ' I wonder if they would appreciate your interest, Miss Paget, if they knew ? ' ' I did not mean it impertinently,' she said, with a touch of distress in her voice. ' Please, do not think that.

It is only that they are fellow-creatures, and so — so ' ' Your sympathy goes out to them. I never thought your interest anything else. It is heaven born, not earthly.' ' That is very pretty,' she said, smiling. ' I wish I might think so.' ' Verlost, Lady Portis wishes to know if you will drive back with us.' Mr. d'Arcy was the speaker. It was Percival Copplestone who replied. ' Verlost is engaged to me, d'Arcy. I am not going to let him off.' ' Will you thank Lady Portis much, all the same ? ' added Verlost, without confirming or objecting to Copplestone's interposition. ' You might thank me,' said that gentleman when Mr. d'Arcy had gone. ' I am not sure I am thankful. Miss Paget, do you know what it is to have a friend who is always trying to do you a good turn when you want to make a martyr of yourself? ' ' A friend to save you from yourself, in fact !

Self-immolation of that kind does not appeal to me!' ' You are right, it is the height of egotism for a man to immolate his own will to himself. Shocking bad taste.' Miss Paget looked doubtful. ' I do not quite understand you. Are you serious ? ' ' Really I do not know,' he answered. ' When one is accustomed to feign seriousness, the shadow and the substance are apt to become confused. The art of feigning is rather serious work, you know.' ' You take life seriously ? ' ' Not I. Mrs. Cromber, Miss Paget is accusing me of taking life seriously ; is it true ? ' ' I did not accuse you,' corrected Miss Paget. ' I only drew a conclusion.' ' My dear Margaret, if you begin to draw conclu sions from Mr. Verlost's words, and try to apply them to his general behaviour, you will find it very serious work indeed.

What, going ? ' ' After that,' said the accused one gravely, ' could I stay ? No, I promised Copplestone to tear myself away at twelve. Do not, therefore, Miss Paget,' he added, looking at her — ' do not conclude that it is my custom to keep promises.' ' Or make them,' said Copplestone quietly. ' Good night, Mrs. Cromber, I will call to-morrow.' ' What do you want with me ? ' demanded Verlost, as the two made their way downstairs. ' Come to my rooms and have a smoke,' said his friend vaguely. The other acquiesced silently. He generally did as he was asked, whatever his own inclinations might be. Some said it was a sign of weakness, and accounted for much ; others, that he believed in so doing he performed a penance for his sins. They were both wrong. Verlost yielded to the wishes of others because he was certain it would bore him quite as much in the end to follow his own fancies as theirs, and if theirs proved wearisome, he had the right to complain.