The Broad Highway - Page 91/374

"Oh!" said she, turning away from me; and then, very slowly: "No,

I suppose not."

"Certainly not," I added; "how should it be?"

"How indeed!" said she, over her shoulder. And then I saw that

she was angry, and wondered.

"And yet," I went on, after a lapse of silence, "I think I could

have answered both questions the moment I saw you at your

casement."

"Oh!" said she--this time in a tone of surprise, and her anger

all gone again, for I saw that she was smiling; and again I

wondered.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Then," said she, seeing I was silent, "whom do you suppose me?"

"You are, to the best of my belief, the Lady Helen Dunstan." My

companion stood still, and regarded me for a moment in wide-eyed

astonishment.

"And how, air, pray, did you learn all this?" she demanded, with

the dimple once more peeping at me slyly from the corner of her

pretty mouth.

"By the very simple method of adding two and two together," I

answered; "moreover, no longer ago than yesterday I broke bread

with a certain Mr. Beverley--"

I heard her breath come in a sudden gasp, and next moment she was

peering up into my face while her hands beat upon my breast with

soft, quick little taps.

"Beverley!" she whispered. "Beverley!--no, no--why, they told

me--Sir Harry told me that Peregrine lay dying--at Tonbridge."

"Then Sir Harry Mortimer lied to you," said I, "for no longer ago

than yesterday afternoon I sat in a ditch eating bread and cheese

with a Mr. Peregrine Beverley."

"Oh!--are you sure--are you sure?"

"Quite sure. And, as we ate, he told me many things, and among

them of a life of wasted opportunities--of foolish riot, and

prodigal extravagance, and of its logical consequence--want."

"My poor Perry!" she murmured.

"He spoke also of his love for a very beautiful and good woman,

and its hopelessness."

"My dear, dear Perry!" said she again.

"And yet," said I, "all this is admittedly his own fault, and, as

I think Heraclitus says: 'Suffering is the inevitable consequence

of Sin, or Folly.'"

"And he is well?" she asked; "quite--quite well?"

"He is," said I.

"Thank God!" she whispered. "Tell me," she went on, "is he so

very, very poor--is he much altered? I have not seen him for a

whole, long year."