Tyrrel left Erasmus Walker’s house that morning in a turmoil of mingled exultation and fear. At least he had done his best to atone for the awful results of his boyish act of criminal thoughtlessness. He had tried to make it possible for Cleer to marry Eustace, and thereby to render the Trevennacks happier in their sonless old age; and what was more satisfactory still, he had crippled himself in doing it. There was comfort even in that. Expiation, reparation! He wouldn’t have cared for the sacrifice so much if it had cost him less. But it would cost him dear indeed. He must set to work at once now and raise the needful sum by mortgaging Penmorgan up to the hilt to do it.
After all, of course, the directors might choose some other design than Eustace’s. But he had done what he could. And he would hope for the best, at any rate. For Cleer’s sake, if the worst came, he would have risked and lost much. While if Cleer’s life was made happy, he would be happy in the thought of it.
He hailed another hansom, and drove off, still on fire, to his lawyer’s in Victoria Street. On the way, he had to go near Paddington Station. He didn’t observe, as he did so, a four-wheel cab that passed him with luggage on top, from Ivybridge to London. It was the Trevennacks, just returned from their holiday on Dartmoor. But Michael Trevennack had seen him; and his brow grew suddenly dark. He pinched his nails into his palm at sight of that hateful creature, though not a sound escaped him; for Cleer was in the carriage, and the man was Eustace’s friend. Trevennack accepted Eustace perforce, after that night on Michael’s Crag; for he knew it was politic; and indeed, he liked the young man himself well enough—there was nothing against him after all, beyond his friendship with Tyrrel; but had it not been for the need for avoiding scandal after the adventure on the rock, he would never have allowed Cleer to speak one word to any friend or acquaintance of her brother’s murderer.
As it was, however, he never alluded to Tyrrel in any way before Cleer. He had learnt to hold his tongue. Madman though he was, he knew when to be silent.
That evening at home, Cleer had a visit from Eustace, who came round to tell her how Tyrrel had been to see the great engineer, Erasmus Walker; and how it was all a mistake that Walker was going to send in plans for the Wharfedale Viaduct—nay, how the big man had approved of his own design, and promised to give it all the support in his power. For Tyrrel was really an awfully kind friend, who had pushed things for him like a brick, and deserved the very best they could both of them say about him.
But of course Eustace hadn’t the faintest idea himself by what manner of persuasion Walter Tyrrel had commended his friend’s designs to Erasmus Walker. If he had, needless to say, he would never have accepted the strange arrangement.
“And now, Cleer,” Eustace cried, jubilant and radiant with the easy confidence of youth and love, “I do believe I shall carry the field at last, and spring at a bound into a first-rate position among engineers in England.”
“And then?” Cleer asked, nestling close to his side.
“And then,” Eustace went on, smiling tacitly at her native simplicity, “as it would mean permanent work in superintending and so forth, I see no reason why—we shouldn’t get married immediately.”
They were alone in the breakfast room, where Mrs. Trevennack had left them. They were alone, like lovers. But in the drawing-room hard by, Trevennack himself was saying to his wife with a face of suppressed excitement, “I saw him again to-day, Lucy. I saw him again, that devil—in a hansom near Paddington. If he stops in town, I’m sure I don’t know what I’m ever to do. I came back from Devonshire, having fought the devil hard, as I thought, and conquered him. I felt I’d got him under. I felt he was no match for me. But when I see that man’s face the devil springs up at me again in full force, and grapples with me. Is he Satan himself? I believe he must be. For I feel I must rush at him and trample him under foot, as I trampled him long ago on the summit of Niphates.”
In a tremor of alarm Mrs. Trevennack held his hand. Oh, what would she ever do if the outbreak came ... before Cleer was married! She could see the constant strain of holding himself back was growing daily more and more difficult for her unhappy husband. Indeed, she couldn’t bear it herself much longer. If Cleer didn’t marry soon, Michael would break out openly—perhaps would try to murder that poor man Tyrrel—and then Eustace would be afraid, and all would be up with them.
By and by, Eustace came in to tell them the good news. He said nothing about Tyrrel, at least by name, lest he should hurt Trevennack; he merely mentioned that a friend of his had seen Erasmus Walker that day, and that Walker had held out great hopes of success for him in this Wharfedale Viaduct business. Trevenn............