I wrote a note of sympathy to Lady Gascoyne, and the same day received a wild letter of self-reproach from Esther Lane. She accused herself of being a murderess, and of having betrayed Lady Gascoyne’s confidence in the most despicable manner. There was only one way out of her misery, she declared, and that was by suicide. I hardly dared hope that she would take any step so drastic, or so convenient. I was much reassured as to my own safety by her imploring me not to write to her, as she did not know what might happen, and if her correspondence were opened it might involve my ruin, and she blamed nobody but herself. The unexpected happened. Lord Hammerton died, and I was now very near the succession indeed. This was the time to strike. Whatever happened, Lord Gascoyne must go, and as quickly as possible. I was asked down to the funeral. Lady Gascoyne wrote me a heart-broken letter, recalling the fondness of the dead child for me. Mr. and Mrs. Gascoyne and Edith had returned to London the day before the catastrophe. “It seems, Israel,” said Mr. Gascoyne, “as if the direct line were doomed to extinction. I sincerely pray that the title may never pass to me. It would be really very inconvenient at my time of life and with all my other interests. It is not likely, however, for my life is not as good a one as most people imagine.” I looked at him earnestly. This was the first I had heard of his health being anything but exceedingly good. He interpreted my glance in his own way. “Don’t be alarmed, Israel. Nothing immediate is likely to happen, but my doctor tells me my heart is not the sound organ it ought to be, and that I must be very careful.” “You must leave as much of the work to me as possible, sir,” I said feelingly. “So I do, so I do, Israel; but you don’t want to turn me out altogether, do you?” I looked hurt. “My dear boy,” he continued good-humouredly, “I should not have ventured to take so long a holiday if I had not had you to depend on. Let us go to lunch and talk things over.” I found that talking things over meant that he was anxious to make matters easier for my marriage, and, in fact, he made them so easy that Miss Gascoyne and I were able to fix a date within two months of their return. Once we were married I did not mind so much what Edith discovered. Nevertheless, I had to admit that if I was frightened of anybody I was frightened of my future wife. I had imagined at one time that it would be possible to live with her on quite a dignified, unfamiliar footing, but I had now realised what I ought to have guessed before, that Miss Gascoyne to the man she loved was very different from the woman the world knew. Perhaps that is a wrong way of putting it. She was English, and a certain self-consciousness towards the world at large was born of a morbid dread of betraying the strength of her nature to the vulgar. Chapter XXIV