Chapter 28

FIRE AND FLAME.

It is difficult, nay impossible, to alter in one day the habit of years. Meg had been accustomed to repair daily to Farbis Court from her early girlhood, and, now that Miss Linisfarne had so pointedly requested her to stay away, found her life disorganized. She still roamed the moor, in the company of Dan, and was to all appearance satisfied to see nothing of Miss Linisfarne; but in her heart she regretted the breach between them, and missed greatly her daily visit. Miss Linisfarne had behaved kindly for many years to the girl, and it was not in the nature of Meg to cherish animosity towards one to whom she owed much. Regarding her benefactress as a second mother, she was disposed to overlook the past, and make the first advance towards a reconciliation. This project she unfolded to Dan.

"I cannot bear to think of her all alone in that great house," said Meg, "and, as I owe her more than I can ever repay, it is only right that I should see her."

"I am afraid your visit will not be welcome," said Dan, dubiously. "She no longer looks on you as her prot�g�e, remember, but as a woman who has thwarted her desires."

"Still, I shall call," insisted Meg; "if she refuses to see me, or to be reconciled, I can come away again. But at least I shall have done my duty. Indeed, she has been like a mother to me. All I know is due to her and to Mr. Jarner."

"What does he say, Meg?"

"He thinks I ought to seek a reconciliation."

"In that case, I approve of your visit. What the vicar says must be right. Go and see Miss Linisfarne, my darling. It is like your kind heart to overlook her behaviour."

"Don't speak so harshly of her, Lord Ardleigh."

"For your sake, I won't," said Dan, promptly; "let us say no more about her, Meg. Call when you please; but I fancy your embassy will be unsuccessful."

"Oh, I hope not! I trust not! In spite of all that has passed I love her still, Lord Ardleigh."

"Meg! You have called me Lord Ardleigh twice."

"Oh, I forgot! Frank, then."

"I don't like Frank either. Call me Dan."

"But I cannot go on calling you Dan all your life."

"Why not? It is the name I like best, for under it I won your love. And, indeed, Meg, I have been called Dan for so many months, that I no longer know myself as Francis Breel, or as Lord Ardleigh."

"Very well," said Meg, coquettishly, "I shall call you Dan in private, when you are very, very good. Oh, Dan."

The reason of this exclamation can be easily imagined. He who fails to guess it, is no true lover. Under the able tuition of Dan, the girl soon learned to know what love was. They were ideal lovers, and no quarrel occurred to mar the tranquillity of those golden days. Cupid was king then, and they his humble worshippers and obedient subjects.

Having thus obtained the consent and approbation of Dan and the vicar, Meg repaired to Farbis Court. It was rather late, and the dusk was closing in, for she had been all the afternoon at the gipsy camp in the company of her lover. He left her on the brow of the hill at her own request, as she wished to see Miss Linisfarne that evening. Dan wished her to postpone her visit until next day; but Meg was resolute. She had already put off the call too long, and was determined to see and comfort the lonely woman that very evening.

"It is only six o'clock, Dan," she said, in answer to his entreaties, "and I can easily be home before seven. It is three weeks since I saw her, so I must go at once."

"To-morrow morning----"

"Then I shall be with you. You keep me by your side all day. If I do not call in the evening, I shall not see her at all."

"At least let me accompany you to the park gates."

"No. There is no necessity. I can go myself, as I have always done. No one will touch me in Farbis. Good night, Dan. No. Only one kiss."

Thus they parted, and Meg ran down the hill in the twilight. Dan watched her with some anxiety, and felt an unaccountable presentiment of evil. He did not think for a moment that Miss Linisfarne would harm the girl, else he would not have consented to her going to the Court. But there was a sense of uneasiness in his breast, for which he could not account. He looked towards Farbis Court, dark and forbidding under the hill. The sight did not lighten his spirits.

"I hope I am wise in letting her go," he said aloud. "Pshaw! Miss Linisfarne is foolish, but not wicked. Meg is all right. But I'll call at the house after supper, and see if she is back, and also ask the result of her mission. She will fail, I fear; Miss Linisfarne is not the woman to forgive easily."

Thus reassuring himself, he returned to his dell to prepare supper. Nevertheless the presentiment of evil still lurked in his mind, and he did not make so cheery a meal as usual. Had he only known what was taking place at the Court at that moment, he would no longer have wondered at his expectation of coming evil. It would have been wiser to trust a sparrow to a cat, than Meg to the clutches of Miss Linisfarne on that evening. A woman scorned is dangerous.

She was pacing up and down the long drawing-room, with clasped hands, and a look of baffled rage on her face. Innumerable candles lighted the room brilliantly, and were reflected in the dusty mirrors. Miss Linisfarne, with dishevelled hair, looked at herself in the glass, and laughed bitterly at the wreck of her beauty.

"No wonder he would not look at me," she said despairingly. "Old and haggard and wrinkled before my time. Had ever woman so miserable an existence as mine? Will that unhappy episode of my life ever haunt me? That man knows it, and knows Mallard. Then there is the other. Ah, where is he? I was a fool to leave him; but I have been punished for my folly--bitterly punished. Fierce as he was, surely the spectacle of this wreck would satiate his hatred. But he is dead--dead. I have not seen nor heard of him for twenty years. He is dead, with my dead past."

She paused and walked rapidly up and down the dusty room. In her loose white robe she looked like a phantom. With her flashing eyes and restless gestures, she seemed like a mad woman. In truth her brain was not quite sane. Long seclusion and incessant fretting had rendered her irresponsible, and she frequently gave way to fits of rage which were scarcely to be distinguished from insanity. Ordinarily languid and weak, she possessed at these times the strength of a man. She was dangerous, and knew she was dangerous. She was mad, but did not know it. Nor did any one else. Only when she was alone did she give way to these paroxysms--as on the present occasion.

"If I only had that girl here, I would kill her!" she panted. "I would crush her life out, and stamp out the beauty of her face! He loves her beauty as once the other loved mine. Oh, that I could mar and spoil it! I hate her! I hate her!"

Leaning against the wall, exhausted with her passions, she looked as though in a dying condition. The fit was ended for the moment, and, weak with her late exertion, she threw herself on her couch by the oriel.

At that moment, Meg entered the room. She was astonished at the blaze of light, and wondered where her friend could be.

"Miss Linisfarne! Miss Linisfarne!"

The woman on the couch heard and recognized the voice. A fierce thrill of joy shot through her; but she did not move. She did not even raise her face from the couch, but mentally repeated to herself--

"She is here! She is in my power!"

Unaware of the wrath which possessed her hostess, Meg came forward and knelt by the couch. She was deeply sorry to find Miss Linisfarne in so prostrate a condition, and strove to comfort her.

"Miss Linisfarne, it is I. It is Meg. I have come to see you, and tell you how sorry I am that we quarrelled. Won't you speak to me?"

By this time Miss Linisfarne was more composed, and, with the cunning of a mad woman, concealed the hatred she felt for her visitor. Yet, when she looked at Meg with glittering eyes, the girl started back in horror. The invalid appeared dangerous; but of her Meg felt no fear--as yet.

"Miss Linisfarne! Are you ill?"

"Ill, child? I am very ill," replied Miss Linisfarne, in a hurried voice. "See how bright my eyes are; feel how hot my hands are. Fever, child--fever."

"Lie down again, and let me get you a cooling drink--your medicine."

"No medicine will do me any good, child. I am dying."

"You must not talk like that, Miss Linisfarne," said Meg, soothingly; "you are only excited and feverish. Lie down again. Please do."

"Why are you here?" asked Miss Linisfarne, taking no notice of the gentle request.

"I came to say how sorry I am that----"

"There, there, child--say no more about it."

"You forgive me?"

"Yes. I forgive you. See, I kiss you. Of course I forgive you."

She pressed a Judas kiss on Meg's brow, where her lips seared like fire. Glancing hurriedly round the room, she wondered how she could harm the girl. Here, it was useless; the servants were within call, they would hear here. She must get the girl to some other part of the house, and there---- Yes. In that moment she formed a plan, and proceeded to carry it out. No fox was so cunning as she, at that moment.

"So you are to marry Lord Ardleigh, child?"

"Yes. You know him, then."

"I was told--I was told. Ha! ha! No wonder he was like the picture of Sir Alurde."

"Sir Alurde is his ancestor," said Meg, wondering at the strange manner of her hostess.

"Yes, yes! And you are to be Lady Ardleigh! I am glad he means well, child. Yes, I thought his doings were evil. Poor man! Ha, ha!"

"Dear Miss Linisfarne, lie down, and let me call the housekeeper."

"No, no! I shall be better presently. Let me get up! I am quite strong. Hush, child; not a word! Let me whisper in your ear! I have a wedding present for you."

"A present for me!"

"Yes, I am going to give you the portrait of Sir Alurde. I asked Lord Ardleigh, and he said I could do so."

"Have you seen him?" asked Meg, rather astonished that Dan had said nothing to her about it.

"Yes, yes! The other day! Did he not tell you? I have had the portrait taken from the gallery and placed in a room. It looks splendid, child! Sir Alurde is a king among men. Come and see him."

She sprang up from the couch, and seized a candle from one of the sconces. Meg tried to restrain her; but Miss Linisfarne insisted in going. In order to humour her, and in the hope that she might afterwards be more amenable to reason, Meg agreed to accompany her; and, with Miss Linisfarne leading the way, and bearing the candle, they left the drawing-room. Meg had no idea that the woman was mad, as she had no experience of lunacy. She certainly thought her conduct strange, but felt no fear, and humoured her as she would a child. Had she only guessed the truth, what horrors might have been averted!

Up the stairs went Miss Linisfarne, chuckling over the success of her strategy. She led Meg far away from the inhabited portion of the house to the west wing, which was shut up and barred. Evidently she had been there lately, for a bunch of keys hung at her girdle, and with one of these she unlocked the doors. In the darkness only made more profound by the glimmer of that one candle, Meg began to feel a little afraid.

"Where are you taking me to, Miss Linisfarne?" she said, shrinking back.

"To see Sir Alurde's portrait! It is only a little way now! Come, child! Come, I say!" she added, savagely seizing the girl's wrist. "You must see my wedding present. Ah, my dear, a bonny bride you will make!"

Now, thoroughly terrified, Meg strove to release herself from the clutch of her hostess, as she felt certain that something was wrong. But Miss Linisfarne now had the strength of madness in her, and hurried the girl along recklessly. The walls of the passage were hung with faded arras, that bellied out with the wind. In the dim light of the one candle the figures of huntsman and hawk and hound and tree started out grotesquely. Meg would have fled, but could not get away. Still retaining her presence of mind, she did not scream, but waited for the first opportunity to escape.

Miss Linisfarne asked Meg to hold the candle, and, still clutching the girl's wrist, unlocked a door on the right. When it opened a breath of chill air swept out. Pushing Meg in, she followed, and they found themselves in a chamber of no great size, with one barred window. Against the wall rested a picture in its gold frame.

"See, see! Sir Alurde's portrait! Your lover's portrait! My wedding present," cried Miss Linisfarne, snatching the candle from the girl. "Look, child--look at him now!"

Meg uttered a cry of alarm! The picture was cut to pieces in the most savage manner. She turned to fly, but Miss Linisfarne was before her. With a jeering laugh she hurried out, and shut the door. Meg heard the key turn in the lock, and then the voice of the woman, whom she now knew was mad.

"Stay there! Stay there! You wretch! You robber! You took him from me! Stay there in the dark, and look at his face now. Starve! starve and die in your cell! Shout, no one will hear you--no one will know! Ha, ha! How like you my wedding present?"

As Miss Linisfarne uttered these words she waved the candle wildly. It touched the tapestry, and in a moment the moth-eaten stuff, dry as tinder, was in a blaze. She saluted the fire with cries of joy. Meg smelt the burning, and saw the vivid line of light under the door of her cell. With a cry of alarm she hurried to the window and found it barred, while outside in the passage the flames roared, and Miss Linisfarne shrieked like the mad woman she was.