"And say that I was afraid to stake his money, but a friend of mine, that is a bold player, undertook it, and had a great run of luck. 'There is money owing you,' says I, 'and my friend has brought it.' Then he is sure to come. You will have your veil down, I'll open the carriage-door, and tell him to jump in, and, when you have got him you must make him hear reason. I'll give you a good chance--I'll shut the carriage-door."Ina smiled at his ingenuity--her first smile that day. "You are indeed a friend," said she. "He fears reproaches, but, when he finds he is welcome, he will stay with me; and he shall have money to play with, and amuse himself how he likes. I kept too tight a rein on him, poor fellow!
My good mother taught me prudence."
"Yes, but," said Ashmead, "you must promise me one thing: not to let him know how much money you have won, and not to go, like a goose, and give him a lot at once. It never pays to part with power in this wicked world.
You give him twenty pounds a day to play with whenever he is cleaned out.
Then the money will last your time, and he will never leave you.""Oh, how cold-hearted and wise you are!" said she. "But such a humiliating position for _him!"_"Don't you be silly. You won't keep him any other way.""I will be as wise as I can," sighed Ina. "I have had a bitter lesson.
Only bring him to me, and then, who knows? I am a change: my love may revive his, and none of these pitiable precautions may be needed. They would lower us both."Ashmead groaned aloud. "I see," said he. "He'll soon clean you out. Ah, well! he can't rob you of your voice, and he can't rob you of your Ashmead."They soon reached Frankfort. Ashmead put her into a carriage as agreed, and went to the Russie.
Ina sat, with her veil down, in the carriage, and waited Ashmead's return with Severne. He was a long time coming. She began to doubt, and then to fear, and wonder why he was so long.
At last he came in sight.
He was alone.
As he drew nearer she saw his face was thoroughly downcast.
"My dear friend," he faltered, "you are out of luck to-day.""He will not come with you?"
"Oh, he would come fast enough, if he was there; but he is gone.""Gone! To Homburg?"
"No. Unfortunately, he is gone to England. Went off, by the fast train, an hour ago."Ina fell back in silence, just as if she had been struck in the face.
"He is traveling with an English family, and they have gone straight home. Here are their names. I looked in the visitors' book, and talked to the servant, and all. Mr. Vizard, Miss Vizard--""Vizard?"
"Yes--Miss Maitland, Miss Dover. See, I wrote them all down.""Oh, I am unfortunate! Why was I ever born?""Don't say that, don't say that. It is annoying: but we shall be able to trace him now; and, besides, I see other ways of getting hold of him."Ina broke in upon his talk. "Take me to the nearest church," she cried.
"Man's words are vain. Ah, Jesu, let me cry to thee!"He took her to the nearest church. She went in, and prayed for full two hours. She came out, pale and listless, and Ashmead got her home how he could. Her very body seemed all crushed and limp. Ashmead left her, sad at heart himself.
So long as she was in sight Ashmead could think only of her misery: but the moment she was out of sight, he remembered the theater. She was announced for Rosina that very night. He saw trouble of all sorts before him. He ran to the theater, in great alarm, and told the manager she had been taken very ill. He must change the bill.
"Impossible!" was the reply. "If she can't sing, I close."Ashmead went back to "The Star."
Ina was in her bedroom.
He sent in a line, "Can you sing tonight? If not he says he must close."The reply came back in rather a trembling hand. "I suffer too much by falsehood to break faith myself. I shall pray till night: and then Ishall sing. If I die on the stage, all the better for me."Was not this a great soul?