Chapter V: Part 5

"Oh, what rot!" said Bob. "I don't understand what the row is about. Pen said she married, and she's got a kid. It will make her happy, for she always loved kids."

But then the notice in her maiden name! Was it not awful, horrible, brazen, peculiar, anti-social, against all law? It was wicked, immoral, indecent. Behind it there must be a dreadful story.

"By God!" said Bradstock, speaking at large to all but Rivaulx, who was breaking up a cane chair at a short distance, "I do think, oaths or none, that the man who is married to her should tell the duchess in confidence."

But Rivaulx heard in the intervals of destruction, and stayed his hand.

"Ha, ha!" he said aloud, "I love her! I am a man! I love her! What shall I do?"

He threw the fragments of the chair into a fountain, kicked over a flower-pot, and ran again into the park, taking the fence in his stride.

"I believe it's remorse," said Titania. "I begin to suspect the marquis!"

But everybody suspected everybody, and yet at the very height of their rage what Bradstock said sank into their hearts. Pen had selected them with care for their inherent nobility. They said to themselves that they would show how noble they were. With one accord they straightened themselves up, and an air of desperate resolve was upon every man's face.

"I will think it out and make up my mind this afternoon," said each of them. They walked away in different directions, and in five minutes not one of them was in sight but the marquis, who was knocking his head against a sapling in a way that caused the herd of Jerseys to revise their estimate of humanity. Even he gave up at last, and went off into the distance with great strides.

"I say," said Bob, "I don't know what to make of this. Where are they going, and what are they going to do? I wish I knew where Pen is; I'd send her a telegram."

The rest of the party said nothing. Titania wept. Old Goring asked Bradstock for a light, and at last got his cigar going. He said nothing whatsoever. Ethel Mytton was in a fearful state of nervousness, and shook with it. Bradstock walked up and down whistling. The men who were not in it gathered in the billiard-room, and said they thought they had better have urgent calls to town. They wanted to discuss the scandal in their clubs. They knew that there wasn't a house in England that would not consider their presence in the light of a tremendous favour, considering all that had occurred at Goring while they were there. They went, and regretted it afterward, for much occurred that very afternoon that no man could have foreseen.

Not a soul came in to lunch but Bob and Bradstock and the old duke.

"Augustin, my boy," said Goring, "these are surprising events, very surprising events. I thought I understood something about women, but I find I'm as ignorant as a two-year-old. What the devil does Penelope mean?"

Bob intervened.

"I believe, grandfather, that she wants to make you all sit up," he said, eagerly.

"Shut up, Bob," said the duke. "Eat pie and hold your tongue. Augustin, is she married, or isn't she?"

"I'm sure of it," said Bradstock, "but--"

"I think it's a damn silly business," said the duke. "I can't remember any parallel except when Miss Wimple, who was a devilish pretty girl fifty years ago, married Prince Scharfskopf morganatically, and kept it dark in spite of twins. There was a devil of a fuss, but it was kept quiet, no announcements in papers, and so on. The emperor boxed Scharfskopf's ears in court when it came out, for it upset his diplomatic apple-cart, as Scharfskopf was to have married Princess Hedwig of Wigstein. She was virtuous and particular, and made trouble, being thirty-five. Do you think Penelope has married any damn prince, for instance?"

Bradstock didn't think so.

"Was any prince sneaking about, eh?"

"Oh, I say," cried Bob, who was listening eagerly, "there was the Rajah of Jugpore!"

"Good heavens!" said Goring, "so there was. I say, Bradstock, what have you to say to that? I'd like to have a look at the infant. Damme, it's a wonderful world!"

And this bore its fruit afterward in scandal and conjecture, for Bob threw out hints about it. But in the meantime they could only talk, and presently they saw the marquis coming across the lawn. He kept on stopping and looking up at the sky, as if for help or a balloon, and he smote his breast repeatedly in a very peculiar fashion.

"Queer cuss, Rivaulx," said Goring. "Takes it hard. Give me a light, Bob. Look at the Johnny smiting himself in the chest. What's he thinking of now? Looks as if he was bound upon a desperate deed. Dear me, I hope there will be no bloodshed, Bradstock! I'm too old for bloodshed now. I won't have duels in the immediate neighbourhood of the house, Bradstock, mind that."

"All right," said Augustin, still looking at Rivaulx gesticulating violently in front of a large laurestinus. "Bob, give me those glasses."

Through the glass Rivaulx's face was plain to see.

"Damn!" said Augustin to himself, "what's up? He's going to do something, something desperate. He is looking like a hero on a scaffold. He has an air of sad nobility. Oh, Pen, Pen!"

Rivaulx advanced on the house with his head up. He came in and sent word to the collapsed duchess that he desired most humbly an audience with her. Bob listened.

"He wanted to see granny," said Bob.

"Let him," said the duke. "I don't; I want peace."

Titania sent down word that she would see him.

"Poor sad Penelope, poor mournful Penelope!" said Rivaulx. "Ha, but I will save her from further woe!"

He found Titania on a sofa, and he kissed her hand. This pleased poor Titania; it reminded her of her youth.

"Oh, marquis, I am in despair!" she cried.

"Despair not," said Rivaulx, as he stood up and smote his forehead, "despair not. All is not lost. But for me, I stand between two dreadful alternatives, and I have resolved to do my duty."

There was an air of tragedy about him that covered him like a robe. Titania shivered.

"What is it? What have you to tell me?"

"Ah, what!" cried Rivaulx. "But I shall do it. I shall do it at once, immediately, if not sooner, as your poet says."

"You won't kill any one, at least not here," shrieked Titania.

"Far from it," replied the marquis. "Oh, but it is terrible, for I have to smash, to break an oath. I swore not to reveal what I am about to reveal."

"Good heavens!" said Titania. "Oh, what? Is it--can it be--no--"

"Yes, yes," cried Rivaulx, "it is true; I own it!"

"Own what, marquis?"

He smote his breast and looked above her.

"I am the man!"

"Oh, what man?" squealed the duchess.

"I am the husband--and--and--the father," said Rivaulx, with a gulp, as if he were swallowing an apple whole.

"Of my Penelope?"

"Yes, yes," said the marquis. "Say nothing. It is a secret, full of oaths. Why, I know not, but she, the dear, insists, and what am I?"

Titania lay and gasped. The relief was tremendous. Three hours ago she would have refused to think of Rivaulx as Pen's husband. Now she welcomed the notion; she sighed and almost fainted. Rivaulx muttered strange things to himself.

"Can I announce it?"

"No," said the marquis, "it is a secret. But it is all right. I go."

"Take my blessing," said Titania. "Go to her quickly, poor dear, and implore her to let me come to her, and bid her tell all the world. What is her address?"

"I cannot give it," said Rivaulx, pallidly. "It is a secret. But I go, I hasten. Adieu, duchess; I am distracted. Oh, my mother and my country!"

He fled from the room, and, leaving his man to bring on his things, went away at an illegal speed toward London.

"Well, well," said Titania, with a gasp, "I cannot understand anything. But, after all, the marquis is a fine man and of a good family. I could almost sleep a little."

But just as she was composing herself to rest, Mr. Plant sent up word that he wished to see her for a few moments on urgent business before he went back to town.

"Let him come up," said the duchess. When Plant entered, he stood bolt upright in front of her, with a strange air of determination.

"I shall surprise you, I reckon," he said, in an American accent as thick as petrol fumes. "I know I shall."

"No, you won't," said Titania. "Nothing can surprise me now, I assure you."

"I shall surprise you, ma'am," said Plant, "and you'll have to own it. Prepare yourself and remember that what I tell you is in the nature of a secret. I can stand it no longer. I have to let it out. To hear Lady Penelope, whom I adore, spoken of as I do, makes my blood boil. She may have made some mistakes, but I've made some, too. I am going to surprise you--"

"No, you are not, Mr. Plant," said Titania.

"I--I am Lady Penelope's husband," said Plant, desperately, fixing his eyes on space.

"You are _what_?" shrieked Titania.

"Her husband--and--the parent of the announcement in the _Times_," said Plant, firmly.

"Am I mad?" asked Titania.

"No, but I am," said Plant, who was as pale as a traditional ghost. "I'm mad both ways. I want to kill."

"You mustn't," cried Titania, feebly. "I don't know where I am. What did you say? Oh, say it again!"

He said it again, and before she could say anything further, he rushed from the room and bounded down-stairs. She heard him turn his motor-car loose, and knew that in twenty seconds he was a mile away.

"What's wrong with everything, and me, and them?" asked Titania. "I wish I was a dairy-maid in a quiet farm, and had no relations. Am I mad? Did the marquis say it? Or did I dream it?"

Lord Bramber was announced.

"Oh, oh, oh!" said Titania. "Yes, I'll see him."

Bramber came in fuming, and, like the others, fixed his eyes over her head. He was nervous and abrupt.

"I can't stand any more, duchess," he began.

"I can't stand much," said Titania.

"It's a secret of course," said Bramber, "and I'm breaking my word!"

"Are you the husband of Penelope?" asked Titania.

"I--I am," replied Bramber, "and the cause, so to speak, of the notice in the _Times_."

"I thought so," said Titania. "Look at me, Ronald. Do I look mad? does my hair stand on end? do I seem wild and wandering?"

"No, of course not," said Bramber. "I'm telling you this because I feel I ought to. Now I'm going to her at once. This last news was rather unexpected, of course. Good-bye--"

"Stay!" shrieked Titania, but she was too late. Bramber was down-stairs and bounded into his motor-car and let her rip.

"What's the matter with everybody?" wailed Titania. "The marquis made me happy, but now I'm confused, very sadly confused, and I can't think she's married them all."

Gordon was announced, and in about three sentences he told her that, though the affair was a secret, he was Penelope's husband.

"I knew you were," said Titania. "When I heard you wanted to see me, I knew you were coming to say so. Oh, good-bye. Ask Lord Bradstock to send for a doctor. Good-bye, Mr. Gordon. Go now."

And Gordon went, just as De Vere came in.

"You have come to say you have married Penelope, I _know_," said Titania. "I feel sure you have."

"I have a heart for sorrow, for disgrace, for all things lovely. I--I am responsible for everything, even the _Times_," said De Vere, who was as pale as plaster.

"Leave me," said Titania. "Go and see her at once. Settle who it is. Go!"

And when he had gone, Carteret Williams and Carew came one after the other with the same confession. And she received them sadly, and appeared to wander. When the house was empty, she sent for Bradstock.

"Augustin, dear Augustin," she said, "you won't let them put me in an asylum. Have me taken care of at home, won't you? Don't let Goring give me cruel keepers. I am quite gentle and broken down!"

"I won't let anything beastly be done," said Bradstock. "But, my dear child, what's the matter?"

And Titania told him:

"By the Lord," said Bradstock, "they are damned good chaps! but where the devil are we?"

He went down-stairs when the doctor came and told everything to Goring. And Goring told Bob. For Titania forgot to mention to Augustin that all the husbands had insisted it was a dead secret.

"I say," said Bob, "of all the larks I've ever heard of, this takes the cake! I wonder what I ought to do. I think I'll ask Baker."

And he asked Baker. And in less than twenty-four hours the world knew all about it.

*CHAPTER XV.*

But when it is said that all the world knew of it, Penelope herself must be excepted. She knew nothing for some time, and, whoever her husband was, he certainly never acquainted her with the horrible details of all the good men who sacrificed their honour in the noble attempt to save her from the results of the terrible misfortune they believed had happened to her. It was, indeed, Miss Mackarness who told her about it, and Miss Mackarness was the old governess whom Penelope had once sacked and sent away. The poor woman was in a terrible state of mind about the affair, and in that was no different from all the rest of the world. To her went Timothy Bunting with the strange story.

"If you please, ma'am, Geordie Smith 'as just brought in a paper wiv a true and pertic'ler account of 'ow all the gents that was courtin' our lady told the Duchess of Goring as 'ow they 'as married 'er!"

"What!" said Miss Mackarness.

"A true and perticuler account as 'ow they 'ad hall married our lady, sayin' as they 'ad concealed it till they could no longer!" repeated Timothy more loudly.

"Good heavens!" said Miss Mackarness, trembling very much, "I fear it will upset Lady Penelope, to say nothing of the infant. Do they all claim the infant, Bunting?"

"I presume so, ma'am," said Bunting. "It looks likely."

"Under these circumstances, Bunting," cried Miss Mackarness, "I feel it is my duty to communicate the facts to our lady. Give me the paper, Bunting!"

Bunting said he would get it, and came back with a hatful of fragments.

"If you please, ma'am, this is hall I can rescue of the details. The cook and the parlour-maid and the two 'ousemaids 'ave fought over it in the servants' 'all, and are now in tears, not 'aving read a word."

And Miss Mackarness took the hatful up to Penelope, who sat with her nurse and the cause of all the trouble in a south room overlooking the moat.

"In the name of all that is wonderful, what's in that hat?" asked Penelope.

"It is Timothy Bunting's hat, my lady," replied the Mackarness.

"So I perceive," said Penelope. "Is a bird in it?"

"Oh, no, my lady. It's the bits of a newspaper," replied the housekeeper, as if she served up the _Times_ in a groom's hat every day. "It's Timothy's hat, but a clean new one."

"But why do you bring it, and why do you put newspaper in it?" asked Penelope.

"If you please, my lady, I cannot help it. The cook and the parlour-maid and the two housemaids fought over it in the servants' hall, and are now in tears, not having read a word of it."

To all appearance the housekeeper had lost her senses. Though this was no wonder, Penelope wondered at it.

"Well," she said at last, "I see what's in the hat, but what's in the newspaper?"

"If you please, my lady, according to Timothy Bunting and Smith, who appear to have read it, it contains the true account of what happened at Goring House the other day, when all the gentlemen staying there, hearing from the _Times_ that your ladyship had a fine boy on the eighteenth, and no husband named by your ladyship's particular directions, all got up one after the other, and, requesting private interviews with her upset Grace, the duchess, declared upon their oaths, though in secret, that they had married you themselves!"

She recited this in a strange, mechanical way, which would have been extremely effective upon the stage, as a picture of hopeless conventionality wounded to death, and at last dying in sheer indifference to all things.

"Dear me!" said Penelope, "dear me!"

"It furthermore appears, my lady, begging your pardon for mentioning it, and I have reproved Bunting bitterly for daring to do so, though I haven't read the fragments in the hat, that no one believes your ladyship's word at all as to your being married."

"Oh, how shameful!" said Penelope. "Why, here's baby!"

The nurse coughed and hid her mouth with her hand.

"Yes, my lady, so he is," said Miss Mackarness. "There doesn't seem any doubt whatsoever about that, but--"

And Penelope sighed. Suddenly her face lighted up.

"Ah!" she said, "I see why they said it to aunty. How very, very noble of them! I knew they were all splendid men; men of the highest character and attainments and possibilities. Will you have telegrams written out to all of them, saying, 'Your conduct is noble, and I am deeply grateful'?"

"Yes, my lady," replied the housekeeper, "and how will you sign it?"

"Sign it Penelope Brading," said Penelope. "And tell Smith to take his car as quickly as he can to Spilsborough, and send them from there."

She lay back in her pillows.

"They are noble fellows," she said. "I have done them an immense amount of good. A year ago not one of them could have risen to such heights of abnegation, such love, such tenderness. I shall see them bringing in a new era yet. Leopold Gordon will inaugurate a new and pure finance. The dear marquis will abolish anti-Semitism and duelling in France. De Vere will write poems of a purity appealing equally to Brixton and Belgravia, and my dear friend Carew will vindicate the Royal Academy's policy of showing that charity begins at home. And the rest--ah, me! Poor dear aunty, how I love her!"

And by the time that she had pondered over a renewed world, Geordie Smith was sending off the wires from Spilsborough with wonderful results.

"I like this," said Smith. "This is what I like! There's nothing dull about it. I wonder what'll happen now? I'll lay five to one I can guess!"

He guessed right as to some, for in about four hours Rufus Plant arrived in Spilsborough on his racing-car, and put up at the Grand Hotel.

"I guess she must be somewhere in this neighbourhood," said Plant. "And here I stay till I find her. And by the tail of the sacred bull, whatever happens, I'll marry her right here in this hyer noble pile of a cathedral. And if she'll do it, I'll restore it for the authorities free of charge, till it's as gawdy as a breastpin and right up to date."

He ran against Gordon, and the two men fell back in horrible surprise.

"You--"

"You!"

"Oh, yes," said Plant, "I'm here on business connected with the cathedral."

"And I'm to see the--bishop, who will join the board on allotment," mumbled Gordon.

And then Goby roared into town on his motorcar. The others saw him, and he saw them, and ignored them palely. He, too, put up at the Grand, but never spoke to them. And De Vere came in while they were at dinner, and sat down opposite to Goby. He said, "Oh!" and, rising, at once bolted from the table.

"I'm damned," said Goby, and he lost his appetite.

"How many more of us?" they asked themselves.

They looked up at every one who entered.

"Bramber will be in any moment," said Plant.

Poor De Vere sat in his bedroom and was ill.

"If I look out into the corridor, I know I shall see that beast Williams," he sobbed.

"Where's that French fool, Rivaulx?" asked Gordon. They all believed the other was the scoundrel of the dreadful drama.

And then the evening papers came in. They declared in big lines that there had been "A Fracas in High Life." They added that it had taken place in the Row at four o'clock that very afternoon. They went on to say that Lord Bramber and the Marquis de Rivaulx, well known as a great sportsman and a balloonist, had fought in a flower-bed, and had been torn from each other's arms and a big rhododendron by two dukes, three earls, and a viscount. They further declared that it was a matter of public notoriety that all the trouble rose out of the mystery connected with the _Times_ and Lady Penelope Brading. They promised more details in later editions.

"They'll fight," said Gordon, savagely. "I hope they'll kill each other. But especially I hope that the marquis will be killed first and most!"

And about eleven o'clock Rivaulx turned up with his chauffeur and a bad black eye.

"He shall fight me here," said Rivaulx. "This is a quiet town. No one will think of Spilsborough! He does not know that _she_ sent me a telegram from here!"

He put up at the Angel, and escaped seeing the others for the time. On his way up he had sent a defiant telegram to Bramber, desiring him to come to Spilsborough, and fight there with swords or pistols or any weapon that commended itself to him. This telegram Bramber never got, for, on reaching home and washing away the traces of the struggle in Hyde Park before all the loveliness of London, he had found his telegram from Spilsborough sent by Geordie Smith. After looking in the ABC guide, and finding no good train, he pelted off in his motor-car, leaving a note for Rivaulx, saying that, though duels were absurd and illegal, he would not refuse to meet the marquis in France or Belgium, if he desired to make a bigger fool of himself than he had already done in the park.

"Curse and confound them all," said Bramber, who was horribly cross and exceedingly sick of the whole world, even including Penelope. "I wonder what she means by this telegram. I wish I was dead! Is she at Spilsborough?"

Just in the middle of Spilsborough he met Rivaulx and pulled up short, not having the least notion, of course, that he would meet him there. But Rivaulx grinned a ghastly smile and raised his hat, as Bramber stopped.

"Ha, I am pleased to see you," said the French marquis. "You have come quickly. It is a fine night, there is a moon, and close by here under the shadow of the cathedral there is a most beautiful piece of grass. There we will fight. I have brought swords with me. Or have you brought guns?"

"I haven't brought guns," said Bramber, who was entirely stunned and at a loss for a word.

The marquis bowed.

"We will fight with swords, my lord. I think this hotel is good; the lady is amiable; there are rooms to spare. When the moon rises, ha! I will call you forth."

And Bramber went to the hotel to think what he should do.

"The ass! the lunatic! How did he get here? I can't get out of fighting him."

He sat outside in his car.

"No, I won't. I'm damned if I do!" he said.

He went in and wrote a note for Rivaulx, who was out in the cathedral close picking what he considered a good place for a duel. The spot he chose was not far from the dean's house.

"I wish it had been Mr. Plant," he said. "Of Bramber, who is a young ass, I am not jealous. But of Plant I am horribly jealous, and he is a bad man. If I met Plant I would say, 'Fight me at once now, and I will put off Lord Bramber till another day.'"

And, going around the corner, he ran right into Plant, who was raging about the town, wondering where Penelope was and how everything was going to end.

"The scoundrel is that marquis," said Plant. And he ran into the scoundrel's arms.

And just while Bramber was shaking the dust of Spilsborough from the tires of his motor-car, Bob himself came into the town in a hired Daimler, full of the most extraordinary news. And Titania was having a series of fits down at Goring, with Dr. Lumsden Griff in attendance.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

It cannot be imagined that Titania, who had survived so many shocks, was ill for nothing. When Bob discovered what she was ill of, he stood outside on the lawn with his hands deep in his pockets and with his legs wide apart.

"I must tell 'em this at once," said Bob, gloomily. "If I don't tell Gordon, he'll forget he's invested a hundred of mine in something to make hair curl, and I shall lose the money. I mean to make money to keep up Goring by and by. And he said he'd make me a director, too. For the sake of the family, I can't neglect him. Or De Vere, either. Or any of 'em. But--but I never thought it of Pen!"

With his pockets full of money derived from the sale of dogs to De Vere, he rushed off to the station and caught a train for town. When he reached London, he sent a wire to "Old Guth."

"I'm in town on important business. Break it to grandmother between fits. I hope to be back to-morrow."

He rushed off to Park Lane to find Gordon.

"Mr. Gordon has gone to Spilsborough, sir," said Gordon's man.

"D-- I mean confound it!" said Bob. He went to Plant's.

"Mr. Plant went to Spilsborough in a great hurry this afternoon, sir," said Plant's landlady. The American millionaire still lived in Bloomsbury, though not on ten shillings a week.

"Oh," said Bob, "I wonder what this means. There's a secret here!"

He drove in a hansom to find Bramber. A very ingenuous piece of humanity in buttons told Bob that Lord Bramber came in about four o'clock torn to ribbons, and found a telegram waiting him.

"And off he went in his motor-car."

"Where?" asked Bob.

"I don't know," said the buttons. But on Bob's going to Bramber's room, he found the ABC open on the table at the page with Spilsborough on it.

"Sherlock Holmes would say he has gone to Spilsborough," cried Bob. "And if Gordon and Plant have gone there, too, I'll bet all the rest have gone. I'll go, too."

But there was no train for three hours!

"I'm done," said Bob, "No, I'm not. I'll hire a motor-car."

He went to the nearest place in Regent Street and hired one.

"Very well, sir," said the man, "but it's rather expensive, you know."

Bob pulled out a handful of sovereigns.

"Take as many as you think fair," he said, grandly. "And don't forget I want a speedy one, and a man that can drive, and I'll pay the fines of course!"

That was how he came to Spilsborough just in time and about the hour when the moon was to rise. He passed a motor-car in the ditch about ten miles out of the cathedral city, and did not stop to find out what was the matter. He thus missed the discovery that Bramber and his chauffeur were both sitting upon the wreck, using very awful language to each other on the subject of losing the way and coming bolt down a side road into the opposing hedge. It is astonishing how an accident at thirty miles an hour brings owners and mechanics down to the same human level.

When Bob reached Spilsborough, he was covered with dust, but was as spry as a grasshopper and awfully full of his news.

"You _can_ drive," said Bob to his man. "I'm very much pleased with you. Stop at this hotel."

He went into the Angel, and staggered blithely to the office.

"Is Mr. Gordon here, or Mr. Plant, or the Marquis of Rivaulx?" he demanded.

He thus discovered the marquis.

He drove off to the Grand, and found Plant and Goby and De Vere and Gordon were there. They were all in bed but Plant, and Plant had gone to see the cathedral by moonlight.

"All right, we'll put up here," said Bob, "and I'll see if I can find Plant. I say, I wonder what Baker will think of this? It beats me!"

He got to the cathedral precincts just about an hour after Rivaulx and Plant had run into each other's arms. Much had occurred since then.

For Rivaulx started back from Plant and almost forgot the existence of Bramber.

"You are a scoundrrrel," said Rivaulx, rolling his r's in the most fearful manner.

"You are a lunatic," replied Plant, coolly; "when did you escape?"

"I have not escaped, I am here," snorted Rivaulx, "but you shall not escape. I meant to kill Lord Bramber upon this spot, but I prefer to keel you. I let him go; he is nothing. You are the scoundrrel!"

"Oh, dry up!" said Plant, crossly. "You tire me, you fatigue me very much. I am exhausted by looking at you. Go home, or I will break you in three pieces and eat them!"

Rivaulx foamed at the mouth.

"Do you refuse to fight me, sare?"

"Certainly not," said Plant. "Take your coat off and hang it on a tombstone, and I'll leave nothing of you but a smear."

"I do not fight with fists," said Rivaulx, contemptuously. "I fight with swords, with steel, with guns or pistols."

Plant shook his head.

"I've none of 'em about me, my son!"

"At the hotel I have swords," cried Rivaulx, eagerly. "I brought them to kill Bramber, who punched my eye in the Rotten Row, and we rolled in bushes. But I will first fight you. Wait and I fetch the swords."

He ran violently into the darkness, and Plant sat on a railing.

"What am I to do? Am I to wait and fight a lunatic? Or shall I go back to the hotel? I think I'll go back. If that raging idiot is found prancing about here with swords, they will run him in."

But he did not know how fast the marquis could run and how near the hotel was. Before he had made up his mind to go, Rivaulx came back again. He flung the swords at Plant's feet.

"Take one and let us begin," he said.

"I think on the whole I'll have both," said Plant, suiting the action to the word. "Now go home, marquis, like a good little boy, and come to the Grand Hotel in the morning and tell me why you want to be hanged in England."

He put both the weapons under his arm.

"You will not fight?" said the marquis, gasping like a dying dolphin.

"What kind of a galoot do you reckon me?" asked Plant, quite unintelligibly.

"Ha!" said the marquis, "I know not what a galoot is, but I will fight you here and leave your body on the grass."

Neither of them had observed the approach of a portly and pleasant gentleman behind them. He was now leaning upon the railing, watching them with a great deal of kindly curiosity.

"I think, gentlemen, that the dean will object," he said at length, and they both turned around suddenly.

"You must not interfere," said Rivaulx; "we do not know you."

"To be sure, to be sure," replied the gentleman, who was dressed very curiously, as Rivaulx noticed. "I hate interfering, especially with anything belonging to a dean. Deans, gentlemen, are very touchy about matters connected with their cathedrals. Now Dean Briggs, gentlemen, takes the very greatest care of that grass on which you both are now illegally trampling, and I understand that he has made a rule never to have duels upon it. He is very firm on that point. Do I mistake you if I say that it looks to an unprejudiced observer as if you were going to fight a duel?"

Rivaulx bowed.

"I do not know you, sare, and I do not want to. I want to keel this man, who is a scoundrrel."

The stranger addressed Plant.

"And are you equally anxious to break this very rigid rule of the dean's?" he asked, suavely.

"Certainly not," replied Plant; "I want to go to bed."

"I am delighted to hear it. I am intensely gratified to hear it. If one duellist, having possession of both deadly weapons, desires to go to bed, I cannot see anything to hinder him, unless, indeed, he wants to lie down on Mr. Dean's grass. You see, gentlemen, I am a bishop, and a bishop's first desire is to be on good terms with the dean. If Mr. Dean heard that I encouraged any one to break his rules about duelling or going to bed in the precincts of this cathedral, I should _not_ be on good terms with him, I assure you."

"I do not understand," said Rivaulx. "I want to fight, that is all I want to do!"

"Stay!" said the bishop, mildly. "If the somewhat excited gentleman, who is, I gather, not an Englishman, will accompany me a few yards, we will go to the dean's, with whom I have been dining, and will refer the matter to him."

"Of course," said Plant, "that is the right thing to do. Marquis, his lordship the bishop suggests the only course open to gentlemen. I trust you will accept his offer, and, if you do, I undertake to fight you if the dean gives his permission."

"Stay, sare, my lord the bishop," said Rivaulx, "one moment, sare, the bishop. Is this dean of whom you speak a gentleman?"

"Certainly, certainly," replied the bishop, hastily. "He is of the highest breeding, and in his youth he fenced like a fencing-master."

"Then he understands the code of honour, sare the bishop?"

"Absolutely, for a dean," replied his lordship.

"Then I agree, sir lord," cried Rivaulx.

"Ha, we will go to his house, then," said the bishop, "if you will step over this railing. But stop here one moment and observe the moon rising over Mr. Dean's cathedral. Is it not a peaceful, pleasant spot, gentlemen?"

"It beats thunder," said Plant.

"It does, it does," nodded his lordship. "Many Americans, who admire this cathedral immensely, have made the same acute observation. May I ask your names, gentlemen? I am the bishop of this diocese."

"My name is Plant, Rufus Q. Plant, and my friend is the Marquis of Rivaulx."

"Indeed," returned the bishop, "is the gentleman the French nobleman who is interested in balloons?"

"Yes," said Plant.

"Dear me! I am delighted," said his lordship. "I, too, am interested in balloons. I saw one go up once."

"You like them?" asked Rivaulx, warmly. "That is good! I will take you up in one."

"We will talk of it later," said the bishop, rather hastily for a man of his gentle flowing speech. "But this is the dean's house. If I knock at this window, he will put his head out."

He knocked at the window, and Mr. Dean did put his head out.

"I am _so_ loath to disturb you, Mr. Dean," said his lordship, "but, as I was leaving you and taking a little stroll before retiring, I met two gentlemen, one from the United States and one a French marquis, who were engaged in a warm discussion on a point of honour. I am ignorant of the exact point, and I dare say there is no necessity for our knowing. As a result of this discussion, the French marquis desired to fight a duel with swords (you will observe them under the arm of the gentleman from the United States), and I ventured to intervene, as the duel was to take place upon your grass."

"Humph, indeed!" said the dean, in great astonishment. "And what did you say?"

"I said that it was against your rules to allow any one to fight duels there. Was I not right?"

"Rather!" said the dean. "I should say so."

"And on the other hand," continued the bishop, "the gentleman from across the Atlantic wished to go to bed."

"Then why the--why doesn't he?" asked the dean.

"It seemed to me that the gentleman from across the water wanted to go to bed upon your grass," said the bishop. "I pointed out to him that there was a very old and strict rule dating from the time beyond record which forbade this. Was I not right?"

"You were," said the dean. "I never go to bed on the grass myself, and do not permit others to do so. I never fight duels there, either, and do not allow it."

"You see, gentlemen," said the bishop, but before he could add another word Bob rushed right upon the group outside the dean's windows, and saw that Plant made one of them. He saw the swords also, and then recognized Rivaulx.

"Oh, I say," said Bob, "you were going to fight a duel about Pen! I've come in time! It's no good. She has married Timothy Bunting, her groom!"

*CHAPTER XVII.*

It was such an awful shock to Plant and Rivaulx, and, for the matter of that, to his lordship the Bishop of Spilsborough, that they all gasped dreadfully. Plant took the bishop by the sleeve. Rivaulx lay down upon the grass under the dean's window, and howled as he tore at the turf. The dean said:

"I'll come out! This is becoming serious!"

He came out, and, as he opened the door, the light of the hall lamp fell upon Bob's face.

"Good heavens!" said the bishop, "I thought I knew the voice. Is that you, Robert Goring?"

Bob said it was, but added that he didn't know the bishop.

"Boy, I christened you," said the bishop. "Is all this trouble about Penelope Brading, whom I also christened?"

"Yes," replied Bob; "shall I tell you about it?"

"Let us retire a few paces, and you can tell me," said the bishop. "In the meantime, Mr. Dean, I beg you to exercise patience with the French nobleman on the grass. Come, Bob."

"Well, it's awful rot, you know," said Bob, speaking very rapidly. "We don't know where we are in the family, and grandmother is lying on a sofa screaming."

"Why, Bob?"

"You must have heard of it."

The bishop had heard a great deal, but not all.

"Pen says she's married and has a kid," said Bob, "and she won't say who it is. And all these jossers, including Plant, he's the American over there, and the marquis chewing the grass, said they had married her themselves. Do you see, sir,--my lord, I mean?"

"I see," said the bishop, putting his finger-tips together. "It was, I think, very noble of them."

"But granny said it was very trying, and it made her ill, for she wasn't any further than before, unless Pen had married them all. And grandfather, who kept cool, said that was unlikely."

"It certainly seems unlikely," said the bishop. "But when you came to us, you made some very astonishing remarks about a groom, one Bunting, I think. Now what is there to know about him?"

"Weekes said that, the beast!" cried Bob.

"Who is the beast Weekes?" asked the bishop.

Bob told him who Miss Harriet Weekes was.

"And not an hour after these had said they were married to Pen, this Weekes woman came in black and in a cab and said she must see granny. And granny saw her, and is now in fits, with the doctor feeling her pulse and giving her brandy. For Weekes was very solemn (I listened), and she said: 'Your Grace, I shall reveal the truth, which lies upon my bosom like a tombstone. Her ladyship treated me cruel, and gave me the sack moreover, and I've no call to be silent no more 'avin' diskivered the truth.' She talks like that. Weekes is an uneducated beast, and why Pen ever had her as a maid I can't tell. And granny was confused with the others, having said they were all married to Pen, and she waggled her head awfully. 'I shall surprise your Grace,' said Weekes, and granny said she wouldn't. And she said, 'I shall surprise your Grace, for I've to reveal that I know the man, the serpent, that her ladyship 'as married.' And granny smiled very curiously, and said, 'Weekes, who do you say it is?' And then Weekes cried, the crocodile, and she said that Penelope had married Timothy Bunting, the groom, and that Timothy had been engaged to her, and had as good as told her that he was looking high and despised a public-house at a corner. I don't know what she meant. And she was so solemn and furious that granny believed her, and went off into fit after fit most awful, my lord, and they sent for the doctor, and I came away, for I knew the others would fight when they learnt that all of them had said the same thing. And I believe it is Timothy myself."

"Dear, dear me!" said the bishop, "this is even more remarkable than I anticipated from the very strange reports in the papers. But I think you have done well, Robert, and I do not regret having christened you by any means, which is more than I can say for some of the aristocracy. Let us return to the dean, who is, I am afraid, having some trouble with the French marquis. He is not accustomed to foreign noblemen and to Americans, except when they come here to see his cathedral."

They turned toward the deanery, where Rivaulx was still rolling on the grass.

"Do you think it is Timothy?" asked Bob.

The bishop shook his head gently.

"I do not see what grounds we have to go on, Robert. Here we have an American who states, if I understand you rightly, that he has married my poor Penelope, and a French marquis of high repute who also states the same. And there are others--"

"Five or six!" said Bob.

"And there are five or six others who commit themselves to the same statement. And then a lady's maid says she knows that Penelope has married a groom. I do not see what logical grounds we have for concluding anything more than that some one has told a lie, or that Penelope has been breaking the law by marrying more than one man at a time. Speaking _a priori_, I think this latter alternative unlikely, and, as a matter of probability, I am forced to believe that only one at least out of seven (is it seven?) gentlemen of unblemished reputation has told the truth."

It was all very sad. But there were practical details to be attended to. Though the marquis had ceased to raise the echoes of the stilly night, to say nothing of the echoes of the cathedral's west front, he was still in a fearfully mournful condition. He was now weeping in the dean's arms, and the dean was endeavouring to soothe him as best he could. When the bishop came back, Mr. Dean seemed much relieved.

"Don't you think you could get them to go away, bishop?" he inquired, pathetically. "This kind of thing is beyond my experience, and I am extremely fatigued by it."

"I will do my best," replied the bishop.

Turning to the marquis, he said:

"Get up, marquis. I will walk with you to the hotel. Mr. Plant, please follow with Robert, and be good enough to take care of those lethal instruments, which are, I rejoice to say, little understood in a quiet cathedral town. It appears to me we are all in a state of mind which needs repose. On the morrow, after I have slept upon it, I shall be happy to receive you all and give you the best advice in my power. Now, marquis, I am waiting for you. The grass is damp."

And they walked to the hotel, leaving the dean staring open-mouthed.

"This is very unusual," sighed the dean. "I cannot recollect anything exactly like it in my long experience."

No more could the bishop. Plant was in the same state of mind. Rivaulx wept silently. Bob was in the seventh heaven of delight, in spite of Bunting. He thoroughly believed in what Harriet Weekes said. Neither Plant nor Rivaulx knew that he knew they both claimed to be Pen's husband.

"This story of Bunting is a goldarned lie," said Plant, hoarsely. Bob did not reply. He was sorry for them all, and relied on the bishop. What he relied on him for he did not know. All he did know was that the bishop seemed fully equal to the situation.

"How many more of you are there, Mr. Plant?" he asked at length.

"Gordon and Goby and De Vere," replied Plant, miserably.

"I must see Mr. Gordon," said Bob. And then they came to the Angel. By this time Rivaulx and the bishop were great friends, for Rivaulx was a clerical in his heart of hearts, and, if there wasn't a Catholic bishop to lean on, a Protestant one was a good substitute. He stopped weeping, and held the bishop's hand.

"You are a good man, sare bishop," he said. "I wish I was a good bishop, but I cannot. Life is a very terrible thing. I wish I could cut my throat. I am weary."

"I should go to bed," said the bishop, "and I'll look in and see you in the morning. Bed is the best place when one is weary. I assure you that I am not wholly ignorant of the world, or of the desire to cut my throat, but I find that after a good night's rest the wish to do so evaporates, and one determines to live for another twelve hours at least. But before you go, I hope you will give me your word that you will cut no one else's."

"I give it," said Rivaulx. "The desire to kill Mr. Plant has left me. I am no longer furious, even with Bramber. I am simply sad and fearfully mournful. I thank you, sare; good night."

"Good night," said the bishop. "Stay, marquis, I think Mr. Plant has the weapons."

The marquis waved them off.

"I have no need of them. I give them you, sare bishop. Take them."

And when the bishop had bidden Plant and Bob good night, and had arranged to see Bob in the morning, the curious sight might have been witnessed of a great ornament of the Episcopal bench walking through the precincts of the cathedral to his palace, with a couple of duelling-swords under his arm.

"This has been a very interesting evening," said the bishop. "I very much wonder what Ridley will think when he sees me come in. A butler's mind is naturally limited."

He went in and gave the swords to Ridley.

"Take these," said his lordship.

"Yes, m'lord," said Ridley, stolidly.

"I think you can hang them up in the dining-room, Ridley."

"Yes, m'lord."

"They are trophies, Ridley."

"So I perceive, m'lord," said Ridley.

"What are trophies, Ridley?"

"These, m'lord," said Ridley.

"Exactly so," said his lordship.

And while he was taking off his gaiters and thinking of Penelope, Bob was sitting on the edge of Gordon's bed and telling him all about it.

"Why are you here?" asked Bob.

"She sent me a telegram," said poor Gordon.

"I say, what about?"

"Sayin' I wath a noble character and so on," replied Gordon, miserably, "and I came here at onth becauth the telegram came from here."

As the sleep went out of his eyes, he talked less Hebraically.

"I thought she might be here," he added, shaking his curly head.

Bob thought very hard.

"I say, this is awfully mixed, Mr. Gordon, because I know you told granny you were married to Pen!"

Gordon gulped something down. It was probably very bad language.

"So--so I am," he said, sternly, without looking at Bob.

"Rivaulx says so, too."

"The devil!" cried Gordon.

"And so does Goby and Rivaulx and Bramber and De Vere and all of 'em!"

Gordon fell back on his pillows.

"So you see," said Bob, "we're no further than we were, except that Weekes, who used to be Pen's maid, came to granny this afternoon and told her, the beast, that Pen had married Timothy Bunting!"

Gordon bounced out of bed in his night-shirt.

"Who the devil is Timothy Bunting?" he roared.

Bob told him.

"It's a lie--a lie!"

"Of course it must be, if you've married her, as you say," said Bob. "But perhaps I'm disturbing you. Would you like to go to sleep?"

"Very much indeed," replied Gordon. "I should like to go to sleep and stay asleep. I wish you'd go and serve Goby and De Vere as you've served me!"

"I'm so sorry," said Bob, "but you always said you wanted any news, and that's why I told you first."

Gordon held out his hand, and Bob shook it warmly.

"By the way," he asked, "what about the hair restorer?"

"What hair restorer?" asked the astonished Hebrew.

"The one you put ninety pounds of mine in, sir."

"It wasn't in a hair restorer. What makes you say so?"

"Well," replied Bob, "I thought it was. You said it would make my hair curl. How much did it make, whatever it was?"

A glow of pleasure spread over Gordon's sad countenance. Making money was something even in despair.

"My boy, I bought you Amalekites at half a crown, five hundred and sixty of 'em, and now they're at L4."

"Dear me," said Bob, "how much does that make? Why, it's L2,240."

"Less commission," agreed the financier.

"By Jove, that's a very, very good beginning," said Bob. "Do you think they will go up more, Mr. Gordon?"

Gordon looked at him and sighed.

"They might. But don't you think it would be safer to get out now, Bob?"

Bob shook his head.

"I'll follow your advice, sir, of course. If it was only myself, I'd take the money, but I'm thinking of Goring, when my father and grandfather and uncle die. What I want is fifty thousand, at least. Grandfather often says that is the least that can put the house on its legs again. Let me see, L2,240 is eight times four times L90. That's thirty-two times L90. What's thirty-two times L2,240?"

"Seventy-one thousand six hundred and eighty," replied Gordon, promptly.

"That would do very well indeed," said Bob. "Please go on, sir, till it's that. Or shall I take half and ask Mr. Plant to do something with it? He offered to help me."

"Certainly not," replied Gordon, angrily. "Plant's a reckless speculator and a liar, and he'll wake up some day worth half a million less than nothing. I'll do my best for you and Goring, Bob."

"I'm sure you will, sir," said Bob. "Good night, Mr. Gordon. I'm sorry if I've worried you."

And he went off to worry Goby. Gordon walked up and down the room weeping.

"If I only had a boy like that!" he cried. "By Moses and all the prophets, I'll put Amalekites up sky-high, and squeeze the bears till they howl. Oh, Pen, Pen!"

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

By breakfast-time or a little later, Goby and Gordon and De Vere and Rivaulx knew not only what was said about Timothy Bunting, but also that every one of them had told the Duchess of Goring that he was married to Penelope. When the bishop looked in to see the marquis, he found him exceedingly difficult to manage. He wanted the duelling-swords back in order to fight every one. His especial desire now was to put cold steel through Gordon, and this led to a general evacuation of Spilsborough.

"I say, Mr. Gordon," said Bob, rushing in upon the financier while he was shaving, "I've just met the bishop, and he wanted to know if I knew you, and I said 'rather,' and he said would I ask you, in the interests of peace, to go back to London, because the marquis wanted to cut your throat with swords hanging in the bishop's dining-room. I say, will you go, or stay and fight?"