Chapter XII: A Startling Recognition

In view of the astonishing and wholly unexpected change for the better in Mr. Cortelyon's condition, it became manifest to Miss Baynard that, even if she had succeeded in despoiling Mr. Tew of the will, her doing so would have been to no purpose, seeing that her uncle had lived long enough to make half-a-dozen others had he been so inclined. She could not help cherishing a faint hope that, now a fresh lease of life had mercifully been granted him, he would see fit to change his mind in the matter of his grandson, and, either by means of a codicil to his present will, or the drawing-up of a new will, repair, in a greater or lesser degree, the act of cruel injustice of which he had been guilty.

But as time passed on Nell's hope faded and died. No allusion to his will ever passed her uncle's lips, or she would have heard of it from Andry Luce. It seemed that he was satisfied to let it stand unchanged.

One day a brief letter from her godmother, Lady Carradine, was received by Miss Baynard. Her ladyship was up in town for a fortnight--her usual home was in Devonshire--and she wrote very pressingly to Nell to join her there during her stay.

This Nell was by no means loth to do; and as her uncle raised no objection to her going, but rather urged her to accept the invitation, she and her maid were driven over to Lanchester a couple of days later, where she booked two inside places in the London mail.

Nell was especially glad to find herself again in London, because she would now be enabled to renew her acquaintance with young Evan, whom she had not seen since his mother's death.

But before going to Lawn Cottage, where, so far as she was aware, the boy was still domiciled, she deemed it advisable to call upon Mr. McManus, whom she found in nowise changed, but still as genial, as shabby-looking, and as snuffy as ever.

"Yes," he said in answer to a question, after he had ushered his visitor into a little parlor behind the shop, "the young shaver is quite well and hearty, or was so a week since, and is still in charge of Mrs. Mardin."

"And all the expenses in connection with him are still defrayed by Mr. Dare?"

"In that respect nothing is changed. I may, however, just mention that some time ago a report reached me--although, mind you, Miss, I can't tell how true it was--that between two and three years ago Mr. Dare came to the end of his tether--was ruined, in point of fact (no doubt gambling had to do with it), and had to give up all his fine acquaintances and leave London. But be that as it may, I have it from Mrs. Mardin's lips that the quarter's money for young Evan is always punctually remitted. He's one of those gentlemen, is Mr. Dare, whose word is his bond. I wish all so-called gentlemen were like him."

The old man paused to refresh himself with a pinch of his favorite mixture and then went on:

"I myself, on a fine Sunday afternoon, sometimes manage to get as far as Chelsea, in order to satisfy myself as to how the boy is getting on. Although Mrs. Mardin knows me for his great-uncle on the mother's side, that fact, at my request, has been kept a secret from Evan. From the first I made up my mind that I would not spoil any chance the boy might have of one day being acknowledged by his father's relations by putting my humble self in the way, and when you entered the shop just now, Miss, I was in hopes you had come to tell me that Mr. Cortelyon had changed his mind at last, and had sent you to fetch his grandson."

Nell shook her head sadly. "I am afraid there is no present likelihood of my uncle doing anything of the kind. Up till now his feelings in the matter have undergone no change."

"And maybe he will go down to the grave without having known how sweet it is to forgive. Poor old gentleman, how I pity him!"

An hour later Nell despatched a note to Mrs. Mardin, telling her that she hoped to be at Lawn Cottage in the course of the afternoon of next day, and there the specified time found her.

Evan had by no means forgotten his "Aunt Nell," and she was made very glad thereby. But she had sent him so many presents of toys and other things from time to time that it would have been odd if he had not remembered her. To her he seemed to have grown more like his father than ever. If his grandfather would but once have admitted the lad to his presence, surely his hard heart would have softened at Evan's haunting likeness to the dead man! But, as the old tobacconist had said he would go down to the grave without having known how sweet it is to forgive.

Mrs. Mardin was nothing if not hospitable, and before long tea was served; nor were the toothsome buns for which Chelsea was famed forgotten. But scarcely had the first cup been poured out before Mrs. Mardin rose suddenly to her feet. Some one had just passed the window, and next moment there was a tug at the front-door bell.

"I declare if here isn't Mr. Dare!" exclaimed the widow. "What a strange thing that you and he should happen to come on the same day!" And with that she hurried out of the room.

Miss Baynard had often desired to make the acquaintance of this unknown benefactor of her dead kinsman's widow and child, and now her wish was about to be gratified. She stood up as the door opened, with a slightly heightened color, and with a heart that beat somewhat faster than common.

A second later every vestige of color fled her face, and it seemed to her as if her limbs were on the point of giving way under her. She drew one long, gasping breath, and unconsciously her hand gripped the back of her chair, as if to keep herself from falling. In the man who now entered the room she had recognized--or she felt nearly sure she had--the notorious Captain Nightshade, he who had come to her help that night when she was reeling in her saddle after having been fired at by the unknown traveller in the chaise, and who had afterwards acted as her guide as far as Rockmount!

It was true that she had only had a clear view of his face for a few brief seconds, while the old serving-man stood at the open door with his lighted candle, but the picture thus seen had burnt itself into her memory as few things had ever done, and many a time since then had she conjured it up in fancy till its every lineament seemed to have grown familiar to her.

And now, marvel of marvels, here before her, a living reality, was the face she had never thought to see again--long and brown, with its thin, high-ridged nose, its delicate nostrils, its black, brilliant eyes, its mobile mouth, and its massive, rounded chin, together with that air of almost defiant recklessness which of itself would have served to mark the man out from his more commonplace fellows, and which seemed to sit so easily upon him. And there, too, had further proof been needed, was the tiny brown mole on the lower half of the left side of his face, which had caught her attention at the time, as a "beauty-patch" might have done on the cheek of one of her own sex.

She tightened her grip on the back of the chair, and their eyes met. Into his there came no flicker of recognition, no slightest evidence which betrayed any consciousness on his part that they had ever met before. His glance encountered hers with the clear, unwinking steadfastness of one stranger regarding another. His features were grave and composed; there was no start of surprise; the sallow of his cheeks remained untinged by any faintest flush of color. Miss Baynard was bewildered. Could it be that he had known beforehand whom he was about to meet and had schooled himself accordingly? But this was a question Nell had no grounds for asking herself.

The girl's perturbation and amazement passed unnoticed by Mrs. Mardin, whose eyesight was no longer what it once had been, and she now went through the office of introducing the young people in the fewest words possible.

Miss Baynard curtsied a little _gauchement_, which was not like her. Mr. Dare, with his hat pressed to his heart, made her a profound bow.

"I am indeed fortunate in finding here to-day a lady whom it has long been the chief desire of my existence to have the felicity of meeting."

Such a speech addressed nowadays by a young man to a young woman would seem, and rightly so, absurdly high-flown and unreal; but to our great-grandfathers and grandmothers it would have appeared nothing of the kind. They and their progenitors for generations had brought the art of compliment, especially as between the sexes, to a degree of perfection of which we, in these degenerate times, retain little more than the tradition. Very likely it was all very artificial and insincere, but the fair sex of a day which now seems so far removed not only expected it but liked it. If we have been brought up on sugared food, the taste for it generally clings to us through life.

If any doubt had lingered in Miss Baynard's mind with regard to the dual personality of the man before her, his first words would have finally dispelled it. She would have known his voice among a thousand. How many times since she first heard those full deep tones had she heard them again in her dreams? She would have blushed to tell how often had she cared, or been able to count them. Yes, the last shred of amazed doubt was gone. Had she encountered Dare in the dark and heard him speak, she would have whispered to herself, "That is the voice of Captain Nightshade, and of no one but him."

And yet he had not recognized her! But perhaps there was nothing to wonder at in that. So far as she knew he had had no opportunity of scanning her features as she had of his, and probably had no curiosity to do so, besides which he had been unaware of her sex, and had parted from her as one man parts from another. To a man of his profession the adventure of that night would seem a tame little episode hardly worth the trouble of remembering. She was glad, she was very glad, that he had failed to recognize her, and yet--being of the sex she was--even while she told herself so she felt a bitter heart-stab. _She_ would have known _him_ again anywhere, and under any disguise.

But she put this thought from her, and drew a breath of reviving courage. Her blood began to flow again, and soon a strange gladness, for which she could not account, began to make itself felt at her heart.

Before this came about she had found words to reply to Dare's little speech.

"And I on my part, Mr. Dare, can say in all sincerity that I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I have long wanted to be able to thank you for your generous kindness towards both the dead and the living, and now the time has come when I can do so. But pray let us be seated."

Mrs. Mardin had discreetly withdrawn. She was sorry that all the good tea in the pot would be spoiled with standing, but such little mishaps cannot always be avoided.

Master Evan was in the garden, urging on his wild career on a big rocking-horse which his Aunt Nell had sent him by carrier the day before.

"Dick Cortelyon and I were very dear friends, Miss Baynard, as you are doubtless aware. When his premature death left those he loved on the verge of destitution, was it not the place of him he had honored with his friendship to come forward and shield them, in some measure at least, from the chill blasts of penury? This it has been my privilege to be able to do. 'Twas but little--very little--and had our places been reversed I feel assured that Dick would have done the same by me."

"There I agree with you; but such friendships are rare, or so I am bidden believe. For all you have done in the past, Mr. Dare, I thank you from the bottom of my heart; it is what not one so-called friend out of a hundred would have done. But from to-day his charge upon your generosity must cease."

A shade of perplexity passed across Dare's face. "Pardon me, Miss Baynard, if I fail to apprehend your meaning."

"What I mean is that my cousin's child must no longer be a burden on you, and that it devolves upon those to whom he is bound by the ties of blood to care henceforth for his future."

"A burden, Miss Baynard! The word stabs me."

"Pardon me, I was wrong. It ought never to have passed my lips. I am very sorry."

Mr. Dare bent his head as accepting the apology, and, indeed, for once Nell looked almost abject.

"From your remark," said Dare, "I can only conclude that Mr. Cortelyon's hard heart has at length relented, and that he has made up his mind to acknowledge his grandson."

Nell shook her head. "I am sorry to say that nothing of the kind has come to pass. My uncle is still as much embittered against the boy as ever he was."

"Excuse me, but you spoke of those to whom the boy is bound by the ties of blood as----"

"Am I not bound to Evan by the tie of blood, Mr. Dare?"

"The fact is one which cannot be disputed. Then, you wish me to understand----?" He paused.

"That from now I charge myself wholly and solely with Evan's future. 'Tis what I have long wished, nay, determined to do, but till to-day you and I have never met." The last words had hardly passed her lips before a quick flush mounted to her cheeks. Unthinkingly she had given utterance to an untruth. They two _had_ met before, although he seemed to be wholly unaware of the fact. But there was no possibility of recalling her words even had she been desirous of doing so. "And----and consequently I have had no opportunity of making this known to you before." The break had only been momentary. Had he noticed it? She could not tell.

Dare's face darkened, and the line between his eyebrows became more marked. "I was certainly not prepared for this," he replied. "Had I had any prevision of what I was about to hear, much as I value my introduction to Miss Baynard, I think I should hardly have come near Lawn Cottage to-day."

Nell's eyes struck fire, and for a moment or two her teeth bit into her underlip; but when she spoke it was with no trace of temper.

"That was a very rude speech on your part, Mr. Dare, to address to a lady. But, under the circumstances, I can make every allowance for your feelings, and I am not going to take offence at it. The one thing I am sorry about in connection with this affair is that some such arrangement was not come to long ago."

"And I am grieved that it should ever be come to. It will cut me to the quick, I tell you plainly. When poor Dick lay on his deathbed I gave him my word that while I had a crust his boy should not want, and that I would do my best to make up to him for that stroke of ill-fortune which was about to rob him of a father's love and care. It was a promise which, as far as the exigencies and circumstances of my life would allow, I have striven to fulfil to the best of my ability. That life--my life--is a very lonely one, how lonely you cannot conceive, and in the course of time my dead friend's son has grown very dear to me. Yet now, Miss Baynard, you would come between us (how cruel in some things is your sex!) and would deprive me of him."

"You misapprehend my intentions, Mr. Dare. I have no wish to come between you and the boy in any way. You will have full freedom to visit him as often as you wish. All I say is, that henceforth all charges in connection with him must be defrayed by me."

Dare got up abruptly, crossed to the window, stared out of it for a few moments, and then went back to his seat.

"Look here, Miss Baynard," he said, "why should not you and I come to a compromise in this matter, as one finds it advisable to do in so many of the affairs of life? Suppose we share the expense--'tis a mere bagatelle after all. Come, now, what say you?"

Miss Baynard shook her head. "It cannot be, Mr. Dare. On this point my mind is finally made up. I am very sorry if my telling you so causes you any pain or annoyance, but there is no help for it. My action is based on reasons which I do not feel at liberty to explain. Your goodness in the past will never be forgotten by me, and I trust----"

"Not a syllable more, I beg," said Dare, with a queer little break in his voice. "My 'goodness,' forsooth! Revile me, strike me, but never fling that word at me again as applicable to anything between me and my dead friend! But I will urge you no longer. You tell me your mind is made up, in which case there is nothing more to be said or done."