Copyright Story. The Eleventh Hour

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 8, 23 February 1910, Page 55

Copyright Story. The Eleventh Hour

By

J. M. JACOBS.

URELY mortal feelings were Vrlfo. never more mixed than Philip /(Ji Gower’s, as he hade the cabman drive at full speed to his uncle's house in Westburne-square." It ■was not many minutes since the last post had brought him from the other end of the world the news that had aroused all the best and the worst elements of his nature in strang association. For all his instinctive antipathy to the dashing Australian who was to lead his cousin to the altar on the morrow. never in his wildest dreams had he conceived him half so base as this. But, thank Heaven, the truth had come to light at the eleventh hour! Wild joy and fierce anger, shamefaced triumph and wounded pride, struggled for the mastery. Fortunate, indeed, that it should have fallen to his lot to unmask the villain; although he reflected uneasily, messengers of illtidings have never been the more welcome for having been themselves the prophets of the evil. He pictured vividly in his mind’s eye his Uncle’s wrath, his Aunt’s lamentations, Helen’s despair. He shuddered to recall his previ* ous rebuff, when he had but ventured to hint that, after all, they really knew very little about their precious Captain Alstone. Helen was lost to him in any case; and what concern of his'was the welfare of tjie folk, whose house he had vowed to set foot in no more?

But all that was selfish in his love for Helen joined forces with all that was not selfish, instantly to sweep away the unworthy thought. He called himself harsh names for his timidity; to keep silence now would be nothing short of a crime. And must not Helen, once the first shock over, needs be grateful for his timely intervention? Would she not—the treacherous interloper once ignominiously dismissed —of a surety return to her old liking, her old love, .for the friend of her childhood? Yes, his course wasfelear;- he must seek out his Uncle at' once. Together they would concert the best means of putting off the invited guests; together they would offer the vile? scoundrel the choice between instant flight ’and public horsewhipping; togethe* they would contrive to hush up th® affair and to assuage poor Helen's solrow. And it was with a lighter heairt than he had entered, that he sprangliut of the cab and rang the bell. ■

He was glad it was old Martha who admitted. him, and that—trifling though it was —she did not remark on the lateness of his call. Could she manage, he asked her in confidential tones, to get him to see Mr. Gower without letting the others know? “Thev will hear of it soon enough,” he could not refrain from adding.

“I see, Mr. Philip,” beamed the old servant fussily, “a little surprise for the happy couple! But won’t you wait in here?” and she opened the door of the cosy smoking-room, that gave upon the hall. Then she bustled upstairs with an air of mystery plainly showing on every feature.

Tes, a surprise for the happy couple!” repeated Philip to himself with a mocking laugh. “A nice,, pleasant, little surprise!”

Up and down the room he paced in restless impatience, his eyes continually straying towards the charming portrait of Helen, that smiled upon him Irom the wall. And at last came the sound of a quick step in the hall, the handle turned a sharp click, the door opened abruptly, and with a martial tune' upon his lips there gaily -entered —Captain Alstone!

Tall, erect, with the ruddy stamp of >n outdoor life glowing from a face upon which the frank expression and the long, fair moustache equally impressed one at the first glance, the Captain appeared delighted to welcome his cousin that was to be. > “How do you do, Mr. Gower?” he cried cordially. ' “It must really be some hind fairy that sent you. round —I was just off to my hotel in sheer despair.”

Philip retreated a step or two with illdisguised repugnance. “I wish to’see my uncle particularly,” said he, frigidly, “and if you’ll excuse me I’ll go upstairs.” The other looked disappointed at this brusque damping of his cheery advances, but only for a moment. After all, Philip’s manner towards him had even been cold and uninviting; and he had often regretted to Helen that he could not hit it off better with her favourite cousin. And to-night he felt friendly to all the world.

“I’m sorry,” said he, after a slgiht pause, “but you’ll hardly be able to see Mr. Gower to-night”—Philip started—“for after dinner he comp'ained of one of his usual headaches, and by common consent of the ladies was bundled off to bed. I really think,” he laughed, recovering his good-humour, “they’d have liked to do the same by me; for her mother, two aunts, and a dressmaker have taken possession of my little girl for the past two hours.” “But I must see Mr. Gower,” cried

Philip fiercely, moving towards the door, “and at once, too!” The Captain shrugged his shoulders and made way. “As you please, my dear fellow. You know his room, I daresay—and also what sort of a reception you’re likely to get while these attacks are on. But, 1 say, can't' I be of any use? Won’t 1 do?” With a maddening sensation of being played with, Philip glared furiously at the displayer of such ill-timed levity. But a little more and, regardless of consequences, he must have hurled himself upon the smiling ruffian. And then suddenly a new idea seized upon him. What need of his uncle after all? Why not himself deal with the adventurer? Yes —he set his teeth—he would. And so, looking his enemy squarely in the face and raising his voice to shrillness in his excitement, he cried out: “Yes, you'll do! By God, Captain Alstone, you will!” The prospective bridegroom started back in amazement at this unlooked-for vehemence; but', apparently, did not dream that it was any act of his which had called it forth. “Take my advice, my dear Gower,” he went on amicably, unconscious " of the sting that lurked in his every word, “and never get married. Matrimony is a fine thing, but weddings are a nuisance.” “There’s many a slip ” quoted Philip with marked significance, wondering at

the man's impudent sang fraid: but now with a provoking rise of the eye-brows, the Captain regarded him curiously. “You’re a nice Job's comforter,” said he, in a puzzled tone. “Captain Afstone,” went on Philip with tantalising deliberateness, "what if this marriage were never to take place?” The other’s calmness vanished in a moment. With a righteous indignation Philip traced in his' features astonishment—anger—alarm. “ “And pray, Mr. Gower,” he exclaimed, definantly, “who is going to prevent ib'j” “I am!” cried Philip, excitedly. “1!” With a menacing look the Captain took a step forward. But as he did so he caught a glimpse of Helen's portrait with the corner of his eye, and checked himself with a mocking laugh.

“I don’t quite see the joke,” he said, with cutting irony; “nor,. indeed, what right you have to play it. But I assure you, even an inquest on your remains wouldn’t' alter our .arrangements now, for our passage is already booked.” “I don’t care if you’ve booked your passage to the Devil,” retorted Philip, hotly, “so long as Helen Gower doesn’t

go with you.” “Oh, is that all?” queried the other, in tones which made his rival writhe. “Why, of course she won’t—but Helen Alstone will!”

Philip’s patience was completely exhausted. “Enough of this fooling, Captain Alstone!” he cried with set teeth. “I, at least, have never been the dupe of your pretence of bonhomie!”

■ “Well,” rejoined the Captain, bluntly, “if you're sober enough to understand” —his auditor started indignantly at the word—“l must confess that, had you not been Helen’s cousin, you'd have been the last person in the world upon whom I’d have wasted any "bonhomie,’ as you call it. But come, come, man; what is it you do want? I'm sorry if 1 don’t meet with your approval, but your veto comes a bit too late in the day—better go home, Gower, and sleep it off!” he ended, abruptly. , "Thanks for your kind advice,” answered the infuriated Philip, “but I only re; ceived this from Australia an hour ago.” And taking from his pocket the momentous letter, he brandished it accusingly at Alstone. “Can I help the delay in the post?” queried the latter, in mock commiseration. "Blame it on the Postmaster; General!” "This is from Perth!” cried Philip, threateningly. “Ah, you wince, do you?” “I’m not at all interested in your private correspondence,” disclaimed the other with a sneer. "But you will be in this,” shouted Philip triumphantly, “for it’s about yourself—and now I know your secret!” “The deuce you do!” cried Alstone in undisguised surprise. “Yes,” replied Philip; now fairly letthing himself go, “and thank Heaven

I’m not yet too late—you villain,. v«® hearties.-, aiercemiry scoundrel!” A hoarse cry escaped die lips of the other. "Steady, man, steady!;’*’ h« gasped in tones of deadly warning. “Jfcny other place— any other tone -•» “Where did you leave your wife?” broke iu. Philip point-Wank Had a thunderbolt fallen al the other’a feet, he could hardly have looked mara astonished, more utterly eunfoundedL Hu swayed to and fro wirfi a nervous trembling; and for the first time he seemed abaebed and at a loss for a reply. At length he spoke in strangely subdued tones. “What—did—yen—sny't” he stammered, almost humbly. “Yes,” cried Philip in relentless scorn, “your wife, you brute, your Australian wife 1” The other's momentary calmness vanished as if by magic. With darkening face he glared savagely at his accuser; then, utterly losing self-control, sprang wildly towards him. In another instant the two men would have been locked in a deadly struggle; when suddenly the door opened and the sound of an eager, laughing voice caused their hands io fall helplessly by tbeir sides and each to endeavour to compose himself as best he might. For that slight figure, that pretty child-like face, those smiling lips that a charming breathlessness kept apart, belonged to none o-the.r -than Helen herself. “Will, Will,” she panted, running up coquettishly to Alstone, “I’ve been look-

ing for you everywhere, you naughty boy. How do you like my new travelling costume? Isn’t it a love? 1 made them let me run down to show it you, so as to make sure you’ll know me. irt it to-morrow. And, Philip, too!” becoming aware of his presence—“l’ve beett dying to see you. You wicked creature to decline our invitation —I never dreamt? you'd be absent from my wedding!” “Nor did 1!” said her cousin with a, sigh. "Why, what’s the matter?” she went on, looking from one to the other with wide-opened eyes. "You both seem hofi and flushed, for all the world as if you'va been having a great big quarrel!” The two men looked sheepishly aside anil neither could trust himself to speak. "Uh, 1 knowl” she continued eeaaingly. "Philip has come round to sajr we shall see him to-morrow after allnow isn't it so. Philip?” Iler cousin made a poor attempt to hide his embarrassment. “I'm very, very sorry, Helen, but I was just trying to explain to Mr l . Alstone,” —and he looked almost pleacTingly at his hated rival—“why I coul<l not possibly bo present.” “Yen!” confirmed the other, setting his 'teeth hard, “ft’s no use, I fear, trying to persuade Mr. Gower.” “But I won’t have itl” declared Helen with a pretty pout. “Phil mMI

tome —unless, of course, Pm not worth bo much trouble!”

‘’My darfing girl,” said the Captain, tenderly stroking her hair, at sight of •which the other could have killed him there and then, “if you will leave us alone for a minute or two, I think I can find a way out of the difficulty.” 'Wondering at her lover’s serious tone and her cousin’s averted look, Helen suf* tfered herself to be coaxed from the room with moistening eyes; and the two men confronted each other once more.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude for keeping silence before her,” said Alstons hoarsely, “and now in Heaven’s name rwhat is it you want me to do?” “What I want?” replied Philip Sternly. “That you leave the house with me at once and never outer it again.”

“Ah!” cried the Captahk strangely. “And then?” “You will sign a written confession of your knavery,” pursued Philip, amazed to find himself calmly parleying with the rogue, “and I will book your passage to any part of the world you Choose.”

“And suppose,” replied the Captain (with an enigmatical expression, “suppose lor a moment I don’t choose to agree jto these terms?”

“Then,” said the other with flashing feyes, “I will expose you publicly, and you’ll hardly escape with a whole skin.” “Just one thing more,” asked Alstons oeprecatingly. “Suppose I deny the Whole thing?”

“Deny it?” repeated Philip scornfully. “Yes, suppose I say your charge is false •—we may as well play with cards on table—what proof have you? Come!” “Are you mad? Will it not'suflace for me to publish the fact that you have a .wife already?”

“But you may publish—and I may deny! You have no proof?” ‘.“Have I not?” replied Philip grimly.

[Knd producing onee more the letter he ihad hastily concealed on Helen’s entrance, he read out the damning passage with due emphasis: “Yon inquire whether I know anything of a Captain Alstone of these parts. Well, rather! Who doesn’t, out here? There may be bigger scoundrels in the Colony, but so fax I haven’t come neross one. Why, his past treatment of his wife alone would suffice to ensure him a good horsewhipping, if he ever dares to show his face in the neighbourhood of Perth again. But what makes you ask about the fellow?” As he read, he had the satisfaction of Seeing the baffled fortune-hunter’s face (turn all colours; and the singular smile that seemed to lurk at the corner of his mout h only ■confirmed Philip’s opinion of his utter lieartlessness.

“All Ulis is very fine, I admit,” was his comment, submiasive enough, apparently, yet not entirely free from a suspicion of insolence. “But isn’t there a little flaw in your piece de conviction?” Philip could but stare at bhe speaker in vague disquietude.

“Assuming, entre nous, that I have been married before—” “Ah!” interected the other in disgust. “ —it doesn't by any means follow my wife is still alive—”

“What!” cried Philip, aghast at this un.l roamed-of possibility.

“And, as a matter of fact, she isn’t!” resumed Alstone with brazen effrontery. “So, pray, why • shouldn’t I marry again if 1 vlioose ?”

“It’s a lie!” cried Philip fiercely.' “I don't lulieve it —no, not one single word!” But the blood flying from his ■hecks betrayed him.

L With bewildered eyes and swimming

brain he scanned the fatal words once shore. God in Heaven, it was true! Not a. syllable was there to give the lie to the fellow's impudent explanation; indeed, did not his very coolness show he felt himself secure? “His past treatment of his wife,” —there was nothing to indicate that she waa still living; nay, was not the very contrary implied? Perhaps the wretch could legally marry Helen after all; and the thought drove him to despair.

“We will see what Mr. Gower says,” he faltered, catching at the last hope, “whether lie will still be content to entrust his only child to the care of such a man—even if you have succeeded somehow in getting rid of your unfortunate wife.”

“My dear fellow,” replied Alstone, with spirits rising as the other’s fell, “had you shown him this letter a month ago, I grant you that he might have hesitated. But now, at the eleventh hour, are you simpleton enough to dream he would take action on a document obviously got up for the occasion? Especially when I deny every word of it!” Philip listened in a stuper of consternation. He was crushed, he had no more to say. While a groan he staggered to a chair and covered his face with his hands.

The Captain regarded his enemy’s collapse with a curious expression of countenance. “And so you see,” he pursued remorselessly, “the best thing you can do is to let well alone and welcome your new cousin with open arms.”

Philip pulled himself together at the sneer. “You must be the Devil in person!” he cried bitterly. “But at whatever cost to myself I will do my duty. I will show this letter to my Uncle and you can tell him whatever lies you choose. But I daresay you are right. No doubt it is too late and you have

nothing to fear—nothing,” he added haM to himself, “save one thing.” “And that is?” bantered Alstone. “If,” cried Philip, rising and looking the other unflinchingly in the face, “if you are going to wreck the life of a pure and innocent girl; if, whatever you may have been guilty of in the past, Helen is to be sacrifieced too, after the same fashion—then I will follow you even to the other end of the world ——”

“Thanks!” interjected the Captain, Ironically. “ and shoot you like the dog you are! And this 1 swear, so help me God!” At this he raised his right hand solemnly and for an instant let it rest—■ tightly, not menacingly—upon the other’s rbrnilder; then turned inside with a eatch in his throat.

“In the name of all that’s sacred,” cried the Captain in amazement, not unmingled with respect, “what is this business of yours?”

“It is my business,” exclaimed Philip With unconcealed emotion, “for I love Helen, and I have loved her all my life. Now you know!” And he gazed defiantly at the other. Then to his astonishment he saw a change creep over the Captain’s features; saw him, too, deeply moved, and filled with undisguised remorse. “By heaven!” cried this one, feelingly. “How I have misjudged you! You ore a far better man than 1. Can you forgive me?” Philip could hardly believe his ears, apd Btared at the Captain distrustfully.

“Wait but a moment,” resumed the latter, .earnestly, “and 1 will show you what will save you the trouble of disturbing Mr. Gower at all,” And he hastily left' the room. Philip gazed after him with his head in a whirl. What was the Captain going

to say—to do? A thousand wild cojectures darted confusedly through his brain. The moments semed hours until the other returned with a paper in his hand. Without a word he passed it to Philip, only pointing to a brief paragraph, headed, “A Colonial Tragedy.” It was a cable from Perth and read as follows: “A notorious resident of Western Australia, known as Captain. Alstone, was shot dead outside the Town Hall to-day by his wife, "whom his brutality had driven out of her mind.”

“What does it all mean?” stammered Philip, striving to collect his scattered thoughts. “Eorgiv.e me, Mr. Gower,” said the Captain penitently, “but' it seems 1 have—• or, rather, had—a blackguard uamesake, to whom, no doubt, your letter also referred. I was so annoyed at your absurd suspicion—when I did begin to realise Wl-at you were driving at—that 1 didn't tell you your Uncle had been chaffing me unmercifully over dinner about this very paragraph. I thought you, I confess, an impudent meddler, and so I led you on. It was cruel, it was wicked, and now that I understand you better, I humbly beg your pardon. Come, won’t you shake hands?’’ At' this unexpected dispelling of the clouds, Philip experienced a whole world of conflicting emotions. He felt —he knew—it was true, and the Captain’s every word carried conviction with it. What an ass he had made of himself! And yet how immeasurable the relief to feel that Helen was not to marry a scoundrel after all!

“Can you forgive me?” —he grasped the proffered hand—“l wish you every happiness!”

Could Helen have chosen a mire opportune moment for her return? She was delighted beyond measure to witness tlie good understanding between the two men. “I’m so glad!” she eried, gleefully clapping her hands. “So you’ve managed to

persuade Philip at last! And yet—l’m net surprised!” she ended with a whisper and a blush.