Tempest-Driven: A Romance (Vol. 3 of 3). Dowling Richard
emphatic.
"I am sure," said Mrs. Paulton, looking round the table, "that my husband has said nothing but the simple fact."
She turned her eyes upon the widow.
"Mrs. Davenport, I hope you will always allow me to be your friend. Your troubles have, I know, been very great, and you are now no doubt suffering so severely that you think the whole world is against you. We, at all events, are not. Anything we can do for you we will; and, believe me, Mrs. Davenport, doing anything for you will be a downright pleasure."
The widow bowed her head for a moment before speaking. It seemed as though she could not trust her voice. After a brief pause she sat up, and, resting the tips of the fingers of both hands on the table, said:
"As I told you earlier to-day, I have been alone all my life, and the notion of fellowship is terrible to me, coming now upon me when my life is over."
"Indeed you should not talk of your life being over. You are still quite young. Many a woman does not begin her life until she is older than you."
"I am thirty-four, and that is not young for one to begin life."
"But, may I ask," said Mr. Paulton, "how it is that the will becomes inoperative? How is it that you cannot avail yourself of your husband's bequests?"
"My reasons for not taking my husband's money must, for the present-I hope for ever-remain with myself. Mr. Blake has told me certain things, and I have found out others myself. I am now without money-I do not mean," she said, flushing slightly, "for the present moment, for a month or two-but I am without any money on which I can rely for my support. I shall have to begin life again-or, rather, begin it for the first time. I shall have to work for my living, just as any other widow who is left alone without provision. This is very plain speaking, but the position is simple."
"But, my dear Mrs. Davenport, you must not in this way give yourself up to despair," said Mr. Paulton, as he rose and stood beside her.
"Despair!" she cried, looking up at him with a quick glance of angry surprise. "Despair! You do not think me so poor a coward as to despair. How can one who never knew hope know despair? I am in no trouble about the future. I shall take to a line of life in which there is room and to spare for such as I."
"Do not do anything hastily, I have a good deal of influence left."
Mrs. Paulton, who saw that Mrs. Davenport was excited, over-wrought, rose and moved towards the door. The others stood up, excepting Mrs. Davenport, who, as she was excited and looking up into Mr. Paulton's face, did not hear the stir or see the move.
"I am most sincerely obliged to you, Mr. Paulton, but I greatly fear that, much as I know you would wish it, you could not aid me in my business scheme."
"May I ask what the business is?"
"The stage."
"The stage, Mrs. Davenport! You astound me."
"I have lived alone and secluded all my life. For the future I shall, if I can, live among thousands of people, whom I will compel to sympathise with my mimic trials, since I never had any one to sympathise with my real ones. I shall flee from an obscurity greater than a cloister's to the blaze and full publicity of the footlights. You think me mad?"
"No; ill-advised. Who suggested you should do this?"
She glanced around, and saw that the ladies were waiting for her.
"I beg your pardon," she said to them, as she rose and walked towards the door, which Alfred held open.
She turned back as she went out, and answered Mr. Paulton's question with the two words:
"Mr. Blake."
Alfred closed the door. The three men looked in amazement at one another.
"There's something devilish in her or Blake," said the old man.
"Or both," said Jerry O'Brien.
By a tremendous effort, Alfred Paulton sat down and kept still. He did not say anything aloud, but to himself he moaned:
"If I lose her, my reason will go again-this time for ever!"
CHAPTER XXXIV
A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL
When the men found themselves alone and somewhat calmed down after the excitement caused by Mrs. Davenport's astonishing announcement, Mr. Paulton and Jerry discussed the proposed step with great minuteness and intelligence, while Alfred sat mute and listless. He pleaded the necessity of his going to bed early on account of to-morrow's journey. In the course of the discussion between the two elder men, Jerry held that if she did take to the stage, she would make one of the most startling successes of the time.
"She has beauty enough," he said, "to make men fools, and fire enough to make them lunatics. What a Lady Macbeth she would be!"
Mr. Paulton was anything but a fogey. He did not forget that he had been once young, nor did he forget that, when young, a pretty face and a fine figure had seemed extremely bewitching things. He was liberal in all his views, except in the matter of betting. To that vice he would give no quarter whatever. He never once sought to restrain his son's reading, and Alfred had a latchkey almost as soon as he was tall enough to reach the keyhole. Although he did not smoke himself, he saw no objection to others, his son included, smoking in suitable places, and with moderation. He did not exclude shilling whist from his code, although he never played. He rarely went out after dinner now, but when he made his mind up to move, he did not think there was anything unbecoming in his visiting a theatre-the front of a theatre, mind you, sir. He supposed and believed there were many excellent men behind the scenes, and he did not feel himself called upon to say that the majority of the ladies were not all that could be desired; but-ah, well, he would be very sorry-it would, in fact, break his heart if either of his daughters-Madge, for instance-went upon the stage.
With the latter part of this somewhat long-winded speech Jerry heartily concurred. He felt furious and full of strength when he fancied Madge behind the curtain, subjected to dictation and uncongenial associations, not to speak of anything more disagreeable still. There were nasty draughts and nasty smells, and nasty ropes and nasty dust, and sometimes the carefully-attuned ear might catch a nasty word. It was blasphemy to think of Madge in such an atmosphere, amid such surroundings. And then fancy any "young man" of fifty-six putting his arm round Madge, and administering even a stage kiss to his darling! The thing was preposterous, and not to be entertained by any sane mind.
Coffee was sent into the dining-room, and the whole household retired early.
Alfred's reflections that night were the reverse of pleasant. He had that day seen the woman he loved. She had come before his eyes as unsought as the flowery pageant of summer. She had filled his heart with tropical heat, had set fancy dancing in his head, and restored strength and vigour to his invalid body. He had, before the moment his eyes rested on her that day, been satisfied with the hope of seeing her in weeks, months. She had come voluntarily, no doubt, without special thought of him, to their home; she had once more accepted their hospitality, and he and O'Brien were to accompany her to Ireland. They would not travel together, but he should know she was near-know she was in the same train, in the same steamboat; they should meet frequently on the journey, and, crowning thought of all, they had one common destination!
He had that day spent some delicious minutes in her company. While she was by he had forgotten his late illness, his present weakness. The immediate moment had been filled with incommunicable joy, and the future with splendid happiness.
What had befallen all this dream of enchantment? Ruin-ruin complete and irreparable! She was, owing to some secret and mysterious cause or other, no longer rich. In her own estimation she was a pauper. That was little. If that was all, it could be borne with a smile-nay, with gratitude; for riches would act as a lure to other men, and he wanted only herself and, if it might come in time, her love.
She had determined to go upon the stage. That was bad-entirely bad; but if this evil resolve stood alone, it might be combated. If she had determined merely with herself to follow the profession of an actress, she might be persuaded to abandon her design. But the unfortunate course she had made up her mind to follow had been suggested