Blind Love by Wilkie Collins (most read books in the world of all time txt) đź“•
"God grant it!" the clerk said fervently.
For the moment, Sir Giles was staggered. "Have you heard something that you haven't told me yet?" he asked.
"No, sir. I am only bearing in mind something which--with all respect--I think you have forgotten. The last tenant on that bit of land in Kerry refused to pay his rent. Mr. Arthur has taken what they call an evicted farm. It's my firm belief," said the head clerk, rising and speaking earnestly, "that the person who has addressed those letters to you knows Mr. Arthur, and knows he is in danger--and is trying to save your nephew (by means of your influence), at the risk of his own life."
Sir Giles shook his head. "I call that a far-fetched interpretation, Dennis. If what you say is true, why didn't the writer of those anonymous letters address himself to Arthur, instead of to me?"
"I gave it as my opinion just now, sir, that the writer of the letter knew Mr. Arthur."
"So you did. And what of that?"
Read free book «Blind Love by Wilkie Collins (most read books in the world of all time txt) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Wilkie Collins
- Performer: -
Read book online «Blind Love by Wilkie Collins (most read books in the world of all time txt) 📕». Author - Wilkie Collins
“I have just come, my lord, from Mr. Henley’s house; and what I have told you, I heard from his own lips.”
There was a pause. Hugh was already inclined to think that he had raised an obstacle to the immediate celebration of the marriage. A speedy disappointment was in store for him. Lord Harry was too fond of Iris to be influenced, in his relations with her, by mercenary considerations.
“You put it strongly,” he said. “But let me tell you, Miss Henley is far from being so dependent on her father—he ought to be ashamed of himself, but that’s neither here nor there—I say, she is far from being so dependent on her father as you seem to think. I am not, I beg to inform you, without resources which I shall offer to her with all my heart and soul. Perhaps you wish me to descend to particulars? Oh, it’s easily done; I have sold my cottage in Ireland.”
“For a large sum—in these times?” Hugh inquired.
“Never mind the sum, Mr. Mountjoy—let the fact be enough for you. And, while we are on the question of money (a disgusting question, with which I refuse to associate the most charming woman in existence), don’t forget that Miss Henley has an income of her own; derived, as I understand, from her mother’s fortune, You will do me the justice, sir, to believe that I shall not touch a farthing of it.”
“Certainly! But her mother’s fortune,” Mountjoy continued, obstinately presenting the subject on its darkest side, “consists of shares in a Company. Shares rise and fall—and Companies some times fail.”
“And a friend’s anxiety about Miss Henley’s affairs sometimes takes a mighty disagreeable form,” the Irishman added, his temper beginning to show itself without disguise. “Let’s suppose the worst that can happen, and get all the sooner to the end of a conversation which is far from being agreeable to me. We’ll say, if you like, that Miss Henley’s shares are waste paper, and her pockets (God bless her!) as empty as pockets can be, does she run any other risk that occurs to your ingenuity in becoming my wife?”
“Yes, she does!” Hugh was provoked into saying. “In the case you have just supposed, she runs the risk of being left a destitute widow—if you die.”
He was prepared for an angry reply—for another quarrel added, on that disastrous night, to the quarrel with Mr. Henley. To his astonishment, Lord Harry’s brightly-expressive eyes rested on him with a look of mingled distress and alarm. “God forgive me!” he said to himself, “I never thought of that! What am I to do? what am I to do?”
Mountjoy observed that deep discouragement, and failed to understand it.
Here was a desperate adventurer, whose wanderings had over and over again placed his life in jeopardy, now apparently overcome by merely having his thoughts directed to the subject of death! To place on the circumstances such a construction as this was impossible, after a moment’s reflection. The other alternative was to assume that there must be some anxiety burdening Lord Harry’s mind, which he had motives for keeping concealed—and here indeed the true explanation had been found. The Irish lord had reasons, known only to himself, for recoiling from the contemplation of his own future. After the murder of Arthur Mountjoy, he had severed his connection with the assassinating brotherhood of the Invincibles; and he had then been warned that he took this step at the peril of his life, if he remained in Great Britain after he had made himself an object of distrust to his colleagues. The discovery, by the secret tribunal, of his return from South Africa would be followed inevitably by the sentence of death. Such was the terrible position which Mountjoy’s reply had ignorantly forced him to confront. His fate depended on the doubtful security of his refuge in the doctor’s house.
While Hugh was still looking at him, in grave doubt, a new idea seemed to spring to life in Lord Harry’s mind. He threw off the oppression that had weighed on his spirits in an instant. His manner towards Mountjoy changed, with the suddenness of a flash of light, from the extreme of coldness to the extreme of cordiality.
“I have got it at last!” he exclaimed. “Let’s shake hands. My dear sir, you’re the best friend I have ever had!”
The cool Englishman asked: “In what way?”
“In this way, to be sure! You have reminded me that I can provide for Miss Henley—and the sooner the better. There’s our friend the doctor downstairs, ready to be my reference. Don’t you see it?”
Obstacles that might prevent the marriage Mountjoy was ready enough to see. Facilities that might hasten the marriage found his mind hard of access to new impressions.
“Are you speaking seriously?” he said.
The Irishman’s irritable temper began to show itself again.
“Why do you doubt it?” he asked.
“I fail to understand you,” Mountjoy replied.
Never—as events were yet to prove—had words of such serious import fallen from Lord Harry’s lips as the words that he spoke next.
“Clear your mind of jealousy,” he said, “and you will understand me well enough. I agree with you that I am bound to provide for my widow—and I mean to do it by insuring my life.”
THE END OF THE SECOND PERIOD
THIRD PERIOD
AFTER his interview with the Irish lord, Mountjoy waited for two days, in the expectation of hearing from Iris. No reply arrived. Had Mr. Vimpany failed to forward the letter that had been entrusted to him?
On the third day, Hugh wrote to make inquiries.
The doctor returned the letter that had been confided to his care, and complained in his reply of the ungrateful manner in which he had been treated. Miss Henley had not trusted him with her new address in London; and Lord Harry had suddenly left Redburn Road; bidding his host goodbye in a few lines of commonplace apology, and nothing more. Mr. Vimpany did not deny that he had been paid for his medical services; but, he would ask, was nothing due to friendship? Was one man justified in enjoying another man’s hospitality, and then treating him like a stranger? “I have done with them both—and I recommend you, my dear sir, to follow my example.” In those terms the angry (and sober) doctor expressed his sentiments, and offered his advice.
Mountjoy laid down the letter in despair.
His last poor chance of preventing the marriage depended on his being still able to communicate with Iris—and she was as completely lost to him as if she had taken flight to the other end of the world. It might have been possible to discover her by following the movements of Lord Harry, but he too had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. The precious hours and days were passing—and Hugh was absolutely helpless.
Tortured by anxiety and suspense, he still lingered at the hotel in London. More than once, he decided on giving up the struggle, and returning to his pretty cottage in Scotland. More than once, he deferred taking the journey. At one time, he dreaded to hear that Iris was married, if she wrote to him. At another time, be felt mortified and disappointed by the neglect which her silence implied. Was she near him, or far from him? In England, or out of England? Who could say!
After more weary days of waiting and suffering a letter arrived, addressed to Mountjoy in a strange handwriting, and bearing the postmark of Paris. The signature revealed that his correspondent was Lord Harry.
His first impulse was to throw the letter into the fire, unread. There could be little doubt, after the time that had passed, of the information that it would contain. Could he endure to be told of the marriage of Iris, by the man who was her husband? Never! There was something humiliating in the very idea of it. He arrived at that conclusion—and what did he do in spite of it? He read the letter.
Lord Harry wrote with scrupulous politeness of expression. He regretted that circumstances had prevented him from calling on Mr. Mountjoy, before he left England. After the conversation that had taken place at Mr. Vimpany’s house, he felt it his duty to inform Mr. Mountjoy that he had insured his life—and, he would add, for a sum of money amply, and more than amply, sufficient to provide for his wife in the event of her surviving him. Lady Harry desired her kind regards, and would write immediately to her old and valued friend. In the meantime, he would conclude by repeating the expression of his sense of obligation to Mr. Mountjoy.
Hugh looked back at the first page of the letter, in search of the writer’s address. It was simply, “Paris.” The intention to prevent any further correspondence, or any personal communication, could hardly have been more plainly implied. In another moment, the letter was in the fire.
In two days more, Hugh heard from Iris.
She, too, wrote regretfully of the sudden departure from England; adding, however, that it was her own doing. A slip of the tongue, on Lord Harry’s part, in the course of conversation, had led her to fear that he was still in danger from political conspirators with whom he had imprudently connected himself. She had accordingly persuaded him to tell her the whole truth, and had thereupon insisted on an immediate departure for the Continent. She and her husband were now living in Paris; Lord Harry having friends in that city whose influence might prove to be of great importance to his pecuniary prospects. Some sentences followed, expressing the writer’s grateful remembrance of all that she had owed to Hugh in past days, and her earnest desire that they might still hear of each other, from time to time, by correspondence. She could not venture to anticipate the pleasure of receiving a visit from him, under present circumstances. But, she hoped that he would not object to write to her, addressing his letters, for the present, to post-restante.
In a postscript a few words were added, alluding to Mr. Vimpany. Hugh was requested not to answer any inquiries which that bad man might venture to make, relating to her husband or to herself. In the bygone days, she had been thankful to the doctor for the care which he had taken, medically speaking, of Rhoda Bonnet. But, since that time, his behaviour to his wife, and the opinions which he had expressed in familiar conversation with Lord Harry, had convinced her that he was an unprincipled person. All further communication with him (if her influence could prevent it) must come to an end.
Still as far as ever from feeling reconciled to the marriage, Mountjoy read this letter with a feeling of resentment which disinclined him to answer it.
He believed (quite erroneously) that Iris had written to him under the superintendence of her husband. There were certain phrases which had been, as he chose to suspect, dictated by Lord Harry’s distrust— jealous distrust, perhaps—of his wife’s friend. Mountjoy would wait to reply, until, as he bitterly expressed it, Iris was able to write to him without the assistance of her master.
Again he thought of returning to Scotland—and, again, he hesitated.
On this occasion, he discovered objections to the cottage which had not occurred to him while Iris was a single woman. The situation was solitary; his nearest neighbours were fishermen. Here and there, at some little distance, there were only a few scattered houses inhabited by retired tradesmen. Further away yet, there was the country-seat of an absent person of distinction, whose health suffered in the climate
Comments (0)