ralph crossed the great hall in the direction of the drawing-room. he had made up his mind what to do. so far as he could judge, the blow would have to fall before long. when once mayfield had an inkling of the truth, ralph felt pretty sure that mary would be no longer under the necessity of submitting to his persecutions. mayfield posed as a rich man, and indeed he seemed to have the command of money when he needed it, but ralph had reason to know that there was a deal of tinsel mixed up with the gold. if it could be proved to mayfield that mary was no longer an heiress he would refuse to carry out his part of the contract. he would recognise at once that the whole scheme was a failure, and his cautious philosophy would do the rest.
there were two ways of getting rid of mayfield, the first being for ralph to declare his own identity. but by doing so he would go far to defeat his darling ambition of winning mary's love on his own merits. still, he had been prepared to run this risk if mayfield's persecutions continued. but now fate had placed in his hands another weapon by which it was possible to be rid of mayfield and carry on the love campaign at the same time. whether this alternative would have to be used without delay depended on mary. ralph meant to see her now and force her to say what she was going to do. there was no time like the present. in the silence and the moonlight this thing should be done.
just for a moment it seemed to ralph that the drawing-room was empty. there were the shaded lamps throwing a subdued light on the old furniture and the panelled walls. ill at ease as he was, ralph was conscious of the refined, soothing air of the place. then a gentle voice called him, and he crossed to a distant corner of the room where lady dashwood was seated. her face was white and troubled.
"my dear lad," she whispered, "i felt certain that you would come to me. sir george cares nothing so long as he has his comforts. mary is out of the room; she has gone up to see old patience, so that you can speak freely. this is a terrible catastrophe; it places that poor child absolutely in the grip of the scoundrel. she recognises that; she is prepared to bow to the inevitable. you have only to look into her face to see what she is going to do. and i am to blame for the whole miserable crime."
"my dear lady dashwood, how could you possibly avoid it?"
"oh, you will know some day when the truth is told. ah, if you had a bare idea of what a miserable, wicked old woman i am. . . . but there is no occasion to go into that here. the question is, can you help me, can you do anything to prevent this thing? i used to pride myself on the fact that i had a great deal of influence over mary. but when it comes to a question of family pride, i am helpless. still, this marriage must be prevented at any cost. if you will not speak out, i shall be compelled to do so."
"there is no occasion," ralph said. "i pray you to leave me to do this in my own way. mary will never become the wife of horace mayfield."
a murmur of relief came from the aged listener. her face cleared somewhat, but the tears were still dim in her eyes. at the same time, ralph's words were a great comfort to her. she laid her fingers on his hand lovingly.
"i like to hear you speak like that," she whispered. "it reminds me of your--of my dear son. ralph, are you sure that you can carry out your boast?"
"quite, lady dashwood. as surely as i am standing here before you, i can prevent this hateful marriage. i can prevent it even if mary tries to thwart me. but i must have her decision from her own lips first. i am going to be very cruel to be very kind in the long run. and whatever happens, i am going to ask you to trust me implicitly. even if things look very dark for us all, you are not to lose your faith. remember, if events seem to point to the triumph of one who is hateful to you, it is all being done with one end in view. now promise."
"my dear boy, i promise freely. when you look at me with those brown eyes and speak to me with that voice from the other side of the grave, i could promise you anything. i feel that you have come to save me; that my life is destined to end in peace. but i am afraid that mary is going to suffer yet."
"oh, she is," ralph said almost sternly. "it is good for her that she should suffer. but i shall have no fear for the result after she is tried in the furnace. maybe i am no better than a quixotic fool, but i have my aim clear before me. and now i must see mary for some moments alone."
"i will send her to you," lady dashwood murmured as she rose from the chair. "ralph, you fill me with new hope and courage. i feel that i am going to do some good with the remainder of my life yet. but do not be too hard on the child, remember that she is more or less what i have made her. and may she listen to the voice of reason!"
it was a little time later that mary came in. she looked white and weary; her eyes had a metallic gleam in them. all the same, she flushed under ralph's steady gaze. she murmured something to the effect that she had no idea lady dashwood was not there.
"never mind about lady dashwood for the present," ralph said. "in fact, i asked her to leave us together for a time. i have something important to say to you, mary. come out on the terrace with me."
it was not so much a request as a command and mary felt the hot blood rising to her face. and yet she could not decline coldly with ralph's eyes on hers. he seemed to possess some magnetic influence over her. without a word they passed side by side out on to the terrace.
it was a perfect night, with a full moon swinging high overhead. in the distance the silver light played on the roofs and chimneys of the hall. ralph stood in rapt contemplation of the scene for a moment.
"it is absolutely perfect," he said. "a good old house in a grand old english landscape. and for three hundred years a dashwood has reigned here. truly a thing to swell the heart with honest pride. no wonder you are fond of it, mary; no wonder you would make any sacrifice to retain possession of it. but the price is too heavy. tomorrow you must send horace mayfield about his business."
"it is too late," mary said coldly. "i have made up my mind. other women have made far heavier sacrifices than this. and i shall get used to it."
"never! you are not going to do it. i will not permit you to commit this sin."
the girl's face blazed with anger, then her cheeks grew white again. she would have liked to turn upon ralph with passionate scorn, but her sense of truth and justice held her back. for what he said she knew to be dreadfully, hopelessly true.
"yes, a sin," ralph said quietly. "the deliberate violation of a sacrament. you will go to the altar with a lie on your lips, your whole life will be a lie. to my mind, one of the most horrible things is the sight of a young girl who has married an old man for the sake of his money. to me it is hideous. and your sin will be worse than that, far worse. picture it, think of it, mary, before it is too late."
the girl's head drooped, in spite of her pride and her courage, the tears streamed down her face, her frame was shaken by passionate sobs.
"too late," she said. "oh, i cannot draw back."
"because you sacrifice everything to your foolish pride," ralph replied. "i see that it is quite useless for me to plead any longer. therefore, i must take my own way to prevent your wasting your life in this fashion. would horace mayfield care for you if he heard that you had lost your fortune?"
"the question is needless," mary whispered. "of course he wouldn't."
"let us argue the matter out from that point of view, then. say that a merciful providence interferes to prevent this sin of yours. you lose your fortune. mind, there are many less likely things than this. your fortune takes wings and flies away. you are free from mayfield, and also you lose the hall. what would you do then?"
"but you are picturing an almost impossible case. such a thing is not the least likely."
"indeed, it is. the late heir to the estate vanished and never returned. there was a violent quarrel, the facts of which are only known to lady dashwood. her son died far away without even communicating with his relatives again. so far as we know, he may have left a son behind him. he may have told that son everything or nothing. but suppose that son finds out the truth. what is to prevent his coming back and claiming everything? he would get the title as a matter of course; he would get the estates also if he puts in an appearance before another six months have gone by. if this happens, you are no better than a pauper, mary. what do you say to that?"
"i do not believe in the existence of the man."
"no, but i do. mary, that young man lives. he will declare himself and bring in his proofs before many days are over. he is the instrument chosen by providence to prevent this deliberate sin of yours. your reign at dashwood is over; within a few days you will be as poor as--as myself. thank god, we shall save you yet."
a little cry came from the girl's lips and she stood like a white statue in the moonlight.
