Elster's Folly. Henry Wood
has not come, either." So for that day recognition was escaped.
It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, came down, putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's guests indoors all the morning; but late in the afternoon some unlucky star put it into Lord Hartledon's head to go down to the Rectory. His throat was better—almost well again; and he was not a man to coddle himself unnecessarily.
He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with Mrs. Ashton, whose company he liked, and took his departure about six o'clock. "You and Anne might almost walk up with me," he remarked to the doctor as he shook hands; for the Rector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledon that day. It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race—the race which now had not taken place.
Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no occasion to open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry bright rays in the west seemed to give hope that the morrow would be fair; and, rejoicing in this cheering prospect, he crossed the broad Rectory lawn. As he went through the gate some one laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe?"
Lord Hartledon looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long coat and red whiskers, who held out something to him.
"Who are you?" he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp movement.
"I'm sorry to do it, sir; but you know we are only the agent of others in these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir."
"Indeed!" said Lord Hartledon, taking the matter coolly. "You have got hold of the wrong man for once. I am not Mr. Percival Elster."
The capturer laughed: a very civil laugh. "It won't do, sir; we often have that trick tried on us."
"But I tell you I am not Mr. Elster," he reiterated, speaking this time with some anger. "I am Lord Hartledon."
He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again on the supposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go with him.
"You cannot take me; you cannot arrest a peer. This is simply ridiculous," continued Lord Hartledon, almost laughing at the real absurdity of the thing. "Any child in Calne could tell you who I am."
"As well make no words over it, sir. It's only waste of time."
"You have a warrant—as I understand—to arrest Mr. Percival Elster?"
"Yes, sir, I have. The man that was looking for you in London got taken ill, and couldn't come down, so our folks sent me. 'You'll know him by his good looks,' said they; 'an aristocrat every inch of him.' Don't give me trouble, sir."
"Well now—I am not Percival Elster: I am his brother, Lord Hartledon. You cannot take one brother for another; and, what's more, you had better not try to do it. Stay! Look here."
He pulled out his card-case, and showed his cards—"Earl of Hartledon." He exhibited a couple of letters that happened to be about him—"The Right Honble. the Earl of Hartledon." It was of no use.
"I've known that dodge tried before too," said his obstinate capturer.
Lord Hartledon was growing more angry. He saw some proof must be tendered before he could regain his liberty. Jabez Gum happened to be standing at his gate opposite, and he called to him.
"Will you be so kind as to tell this man who I am, Mr. Gum. He is mistaking me for some one else."
"This is the Earl of Hartledon," said Jabez, promptly.
A moment's hesitation on the officer's part; but he felt too sure of his man to believe this. "I'll take the risk," said he, stolidly. "Where's the good of your holding out, Mr. Elster?"
"Come this way, then!" cried Lord Hartledon, beginning to lose his temper. "And if you carry this too far, my man, I'll have you punished."
He went striding up to the Rectory. Had he taken a moment for consideration, he might have turned away, rather than expose this misfortune of Val's there. The doctor came into the hall, and was recognized as the Rector, and there was some little commotion; Anne's white face looking on from a distance. The man was convinced, and took his departure, considerably crestfallen.
"What is the amount?" called the doctor, sternly.
"Not very much, this, sir. It's under three hundred."
Which was as much as to say there was more behind it. Dr. Ashton mentally washed his hands of Percival Elster as a future son-in-law.
The first intimation that ill-starred gentleman received of the untoward turn affairs were taking was from the Rector himself.
Mr. Percival Elster had been chuckling over that opportune sore throat, as a means of keeping his brother indoors; and it never occurred to him that Lord Hartledon would venture out at all on the Monday. Being a man with his wits about him, it had not failed to occur to his mind that there was a possibility of Lord Hartledon's being arrested in place of himself; but so long as Hartledon kept indoors the danger was averted. Had Percival Elster seen his brother go out he might have plucked up courage to tell him the state of affairs.
But he did not see him. Lounging idly—what else had he, a poor prisoner, to do?—in the sunny society of Maude Kirton and other attractive girls, Mr. Elster was unconscious of the movements of the household in general. He was in his own room dressing for dinner when the truth burst upon him.
Dr. Ashton was a straightforward; practical man—it has been already stated—who went direct to the point at once in any matters of difficulty. He arrived at Hartledon a few minutes before the dinner-hour, found Mr. Elster was yet in his dressing-room, and went there to him.
The news, the cool, scornful anger of the Rector, the keen question—"Was he mad?" burst upon the unhappy Val like a clap of thunder. He was standing in his shirt-sleeves, ready to go down, all but his coat and waistcoat, his hair-brushes in the uplifted hands. Hands and brushes had been arrested midway in the shock. The calm clerical man; all the more terrible then because of his calmness; standing there with his cold stinging words, and his unhappy culprit facing him, conscious of his heinous sins—the worst sin of all: that of being found out.
"Others have done so much before me, sir, and have not made the less good men," spoke Val, in his desperation.
Dr. Ashton could not help admiring the man, as he stood there in his physical beauty. In spite of his inward anger, his condemnation, his disappointment—and they were all very great—the good looks of Percival Elster struck him forcibly with a sort of annoyance: why should these men be so outwardly fair, so inwardly frail? Those good looks had told upon his daughter's heart; and they all loved her, and could not bear to cause her pain. Tall, supple, graceful, strong, towering nearly a head above the doctor, he stood, his pleasing features full of the best sort of attraction, his violet eyes rather wider open than usual, the waves of his silken hair smooth and bright. "If he were only half as fair in conduct as in looks!" muttered the grieved divine.
But those violet eyes, usually beaming with kindness, suddenly changed their present expression of depreciation to one of rage. Dr. Ashton gave a pretty accurate description of how the crisis had been brought to his knowledge—that Lord Hartledon had come to the Rectory, with his mistaken assailant, to be identified; and Percival Elster's anger was turned against his brother. Never in all his life had he been in so great a passion; and having to suppress its signs in the presence of the Rector only made the fuel burn more fiercely. To ruin him with the doctor by going there with the news! Anywhere else—anywhere but the Rectory!
Hedges, the butler, interrupted the conference. Dinner was waiting. Lord Hartledon looked at Val as the two entered the room, and was rather surprised at the furious gaze of reproach that was cast back on him.
Miss Ashton was not there. No, of course not! It needed not Val's glance around to be assured of that. Of course they were to be separated from that hour; the fiat was already gone forth. And Mr. Val Elster felt so savage that he could have struck his brother. He heard Dr. Ashton's reply to an inquiry—that Mrs. Ashton was feeling unusually poorly, and Anne remained at home with her—but he looked upon it as an evasion. Not a word did he speak during dinner: not a word, save what was forced from him