Boothby Guy
The Red Rat's Daughter

"That would suit me admirably," said Browne. "You don't think any the worse of me, old chap, for asking so much of you, do you?"

"Angry with you?" answered the other. "Why should I be? You're offering me a jolly good holiday, in excellent company; and what's more, you are adding a spice of danger too, which will make it doubly enjoyable. The only question is whether I can get away."

"At any rate, I'll give you until to-night to make up your mind. I shall expect to hear from you before seven o'clock."

"You shall hear from me without fail," said Jimmy; "and, if by any chance I can't manage it, you will understand – won't you? – that it is not for any want of feeling for yourself."

"I know that, of course," said Browne; and thereupon the two young men shook hands.

A few moments later Browne bade him good-bye, and, calling a hansom, drove back to his own house. As soon as he had lunched he wrote to Katherine to tell her how things were proceeding. The afternoon was spent in the purchase of various articles which he intended to take with him. For this reason it was not until after six o'clock that he returned to his own house. When he did, the butler brought him a note upon a salver. He opened it, and found, as he expected, that it was from Jimmy.

"Dear old man," it ran, "I am coming with you, happen what may. – Always your friend, J. FOOTE."

"That is another step upon the ladder," said Browne.

CHAPTER XVII

In the morning following the receipt of the letter from Foote, as described in the previous chapter, Browne was walking from his house in Park Lane in the direction of Piccadilly, when he saw Maas coming towards him.

"This is a fortunate meeting, my dear Browne," said the latter, after they had greeted each other; "for I was on my way to call upon you. If you are walking towards Piccadilly perhaps you will permit me to save time by accompanying you."

Browne was not feeling particularly happy that morning, and this may have been the reason that he was glad of Maas's company. He stood in need of cheerful society. But though he wanted it, he was not destined to have it. It was a bleak, dreary morning, and once or twice during the walk the other coughed asthmatically. Browne noticed this, and he noticed also that Maas's face was even paler than usual.

"I am afraid you are not very well, old man," he said.

"What makes you say that?" asked Maas.

Browne gave him his reasons, and when he heard them the other laughed a little uneasily. "I am afraid you've hit it, my friend," he said. "I am not well. I've been to see my doctor this morning, and he has given me some rather unpleasant news."

"I am sorry indeed to hear that," said Browne. "What does he say is the matter with you?"

"Why, he says that it is impossible for me to stay in England any longer. He declares that I must go away for a long sea voyage, and at once. To tell the truth, I do not come of a very strong family; and, by way of making me feel better satisfied with myself, he tells me that, unless I take care of myself, I may follow in their footsteps. Of course it's all very well to say, 'Take care of yourself'; but the difficulty is to do so. In a life like ours, what chance have we of guarding against catching cold? We dance in heated rooms, and sit in cold balconies between whiles: we travel in draughty railway carriages and damp cabs, and invariably eat and drink more than is good for us. The wonder to me is that we last as long as we do."

"I've no doubt we are awfully foolish," said Browne. "But our fathers were so before us."

"A small satisfaction, look at it how you will," returned Maas.

"And so you're going to clear out of England, are you?" said Browne very slowly, after the pause that had followed his companion's speech. "Where are you thinking of going?"

"Now, that was just what I was coming to see you about," replied his friend. "You may remember that in Paris the other day, you spoke of undertaking a trip to the Farther East. I laughed at it at the time, for I thought I should never move out of Europe; since then, however, or rather since the doctor gave me his unwholesome news this morning, I have been thinking over it. I dined last night with the Rocktowers, who, as you know, are just back from Japan, and found that they could talk of nothing else. Japan was this, Japan was that, possessed the most beautiful scenery in the world, the most charming people, and the most perfect climate. So fascinated was I by their description that I went home and dreamt about it; and I've got a sort of notion now that, if I could only get as far as Japan, all would be well with me."

Now, from the very first moment that Maas had spoken of leaving England, Browne had had an uneasy suspicion that something of the kind was coming. In his inmost heart he knew very well what his companion wanted; but, unfortunately for him, he did not see his way to get out of it. When he had told Maas in Paris that he intended taking a yachting cruise to the Farther East, and had laughingly suggested that the latter should accompany him, he had felt quite certain in his own mind that his invitation would be refused. To find him now asking to be allowed to accept after all was almost too much for his equanimity. Pleasant companion as Maas undoubtedly was, he was far from being the sort of man Browne would have taken with him on such an excursion, had he had the choice. Besides, he had already arranged that Jimmy should go with him. Therefore, like the ingenuous youth he was, he took the first way of getting out of his difficulty, and in consequence found himself floundering in a still greater quagmire immediately.

"You have not booked your passage yet?" he inquired, as if the matter of the other's going with him had never for a moment crossed his mind.

Maas threw a searching glance at him. He had a bold stroke to play, and he did not quite know how to play it. Though he had known Browne for some considerable time, and was well aware that he was far from being an exceptionally clever young man, yet, for a reason which I cannot explain, he stood somewhat in awe of him.

"Well, to tell the truth," he said, "that was just what I was coming to see you about. I wanted to find out, whether you would permit me to withdraw my refusal of your kind invitation, in favour of an acceptance. I know it is not quite the thing to do; but still our friendship is old enough to permit of such a strain being placed upon it. If, however, you have filled your cabins, do not for a moment consider me. It is just possible I may be able to secure a berth on one of the outgoing mail-boats. Get away, however, I must, and immediately."

Browne scarcely knew what to say in reply. He knew that every person he added to the party meant an additional danger to all concerned; and he felt that, in common justice to Maas, he could not take him without giving him some hint of what he was about to do. Maas noticed his hesitation; and, thinking it betokened acquiescence to his plan, was quick to take advantage of it.

"My dear fellow," he said, "if I am causing you the least inconvenience, I beg of you not to give it a second thought. I should not have spoken to you at all on the subject had you not said what you did to me in Paris."

After this speech Browne felt that he had no opening left, save to declare that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to have the other's society upon the voyage.

"And you are quite sure that I shall not be in the way?" Maas inquired.

"In the way?" Browne replied. "Not at all; I have only Jimmy Foote going with me. We shall be a snug little party."

"It's awfully good of you," said Maas; "and I'm sure I don't know how to thank you. When do you propose to sail?"

"On Monday next from Southampton," answered Browne. "I will see that you have a proper notice, and I will also let you know by what train we shall go down. Your heavier baggage had better go on ahead."

"You are kindness itself," said Maas. "By the way, since we have come to this arrangement, why should we not have a little dinner to-night at my rooms as a send off? I'll find Foote and get him to come, and we'll drink a toast to the Land of the Rising Sun."

"Many thanks," said Browne, "but I'm very much afraid it's quite out of the question. I leave for Paris this afternoon, and shall not be back until Saturday at earliest."

"What a pity!" said Maas. "Never mind; if we can't celebrate the occasion on this side of the world, we will do so on the other. You are turning off here? Well, good-bye, and many, many thanks to you. You cannot imagine how grateful I feel to you, and what a weight you have taken off my mind."

"I am glad to hear it," said Browne; and then, shaking him by the hand, he crossed the road and made his way down St. James's Street. "Confound it all!" he said to himself, as he walked along, "this is just the sort of scrape my absurd mania for issuing invitations gets me into. I like Maas well enough as an acquaintance, but I don't know that he is altogether the sort of fellow I should have chosen to accompany me on an expedition like this. However, what's done cannot be undone; and it is just possible, as his health is giving way, that he will decide to leave us in Japan; then we shall be all right. If he doesn't, and elects to go on with us – well, I suppose we must make the best of it."

As he came to this philosophical conclusion, he turned the corner from St. James's Street into Pall Mall, and ran into the arms of the very man for whom he was in search. Foote was evidently in as great a hurry as himself, and, such was the violence of the shock, that it was a wonderful thing that they did not both fall to the ground.

"Hang it, man, why don't you look where you're going?" Foote cried angrily, as he put his hand to his head to hold on his hat. As he did so he recognised Browne.

"Hullo, old chap, it's you, is it?" he cried. "By Jove! do you know you nearly knocked me down?"

"It's your own fault," Browne answered snappishly. "What do you mean by charging round the corner like that? You might have known what would happen."

They stood and looked at one another for a moment, and then Foote burst out laughing. "My dear old fellow," he said, "what on earth's wrong with you? You don't seem to be yourself this morning."

"I'm not," said Browne. "Nothing seems to go right with me, do what I will. I tell you, Jimmy, I'm the biggest ass that walks the earth."

Jimmy whistled softly to himself. "This is plainly a case which demands the most careful treatment," he said aloud. "From what I can see of it, it will be necessary for me to prescribe for him. My treatment will be a good luncheon and a pint of the Widow to wash it down. Come along." So saying, he slipped his arm through that of his companion, and led him back in the direction of the Monolith Club. "Now, Master Browne," he said, as they walked along, "you will just tell me everything, – hiding nothing, remember, and setting down naught in malice. For the time being you must look upon me as your father-confessor."

"In point of fact, Jimmy," Browne began, "I have just seen our friend Maas."

"Well, what of that?" replied the other. "How has that upset you? From what I know of him, Maas is usually amusing, except when he gets on the topic of his ailments."

"That's exactly it," said Browne. "He got on the subject of his ailments with me. The upshot of it all was that he reminded me of an invitation I had given him in Paris, half in jest, mind you, to visit the East with me."

"The deuce!" said Jimmy. "Do you mean to say that he has decided to accompany us, now?"

"That's just it," said Browne. "That's why I'm so annoyed; and yet I don't know exactly why I should be, for, all things considered, he is not a bad sort of a fellow."

"Nevertheless, I wish he were not coming with us," said Jimmy, with unwonted emphasis. "Did you tell him anything of what you are going to do?"

"Of course not," said Browne. "I did not even hint at it. As far as he knows, I am simply visiting Japan in the ordinary way, for pleasure."

"Well, if I were you," said Jimmy, "I should let him remain in that belief. I should not say anything about the real reason at all, and even then not until we are on the high seas. Of course I don't mean to imply, for an instant, that he would be likely to say anything, or to give you away in any possible sort of fashion; but still it would be safer, I should think, to keep silence on the subject. You know what we are going to do, I know it, Miss Petrovitch knows it, and Madame Bernstein also. Who else is there you have told?"

"No one," said Browne. "But I dropped a hint to Mason that the errand, that was taking us out, was a peculiar one. I thought he ought to know as much as that for more reasons than one."

"Quite right," said Jimmy; "and what's more, you can trust Mason. Nevertheless, say nothing to Maas."

"You may depend upon it I will not do so," said Browne.

"Now here's the club," said Jimmy, as they reached the building in question. "Let us go in and have some luncheon. After that what are you going to do?"

"I am off to Paris this afternoon," the other replied. "Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch leave for Japan in one of the French boats the day after to-morrow, and I want to see them before they go."

After luncheon with Foote, Browne returned to his house, wrote a letter containing the most minute instructions to Captain Mason, and later on caught the afternoon express for Paris. The clocks of the French capital were striking eleven as he reached his hotel that night. He was worn out, and retired almost immediately to bed, though it would have required but little persuasion to have taken him off to the Rue Jacquarie. As it was, however, he had to content himself with the reflection, that he was to see her the very first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER XVIII

Nine o'clock on the following day, punctual almost to the minute, found Browne exchanging greetings with the concierge at the foot of the stairs, who, by this time, had come to know his face intimately. The latter informed him that Mademoiselle Petrovitch was at home, but that Madame Bernstein had gone out some few minutes before. Browne congratulated himself upon the latter fact, and ran upstairs three steps at a time. Within four minutes from entering the building Katherine was in his arms.

"Are you pleased to see me again, darling?" he inquired, after the first excitement of their meeting had passed away.

"More pleased than I can tell you," she answered; and as she spoke Browne could see the love-light in her eyes. "Ever since your telegram arrived yesterday, I have been counting the minutes until I should see you. It seems like years since you went away, and such long years too!"

What Browne said in reply to this pretty speech, it does not behove me to set down here. Whatever it was, however, it seemed to give great satisfaction to the person to whom it was addressed. At length they sat down together upon the sofa, and Browne told her of the arrangements he had made. "I did not write to you about them, dear," he said, "for the reason that, in a case like this, the less that is put on paper the better for all parties concerned. Letters may go astray, and there is no knowing what may happen to them. Therefore I thought I would keep all my news until I could tell it to you face to face. Are you ready for your long journey?"

"Yes, we are quite ready," said Katherine. "We are only waiting for you. Madame has been very busy for the last few days, and so have I." She mentioned Madame's name with some little trepidation, for she feared lest the old subject, which had caused them both so much pain on the last occasion that they had met, might be revived. Browne, however, was careful, as she was, not to broach it.

"And when will your yacht leave England?" she inquired, after he had detailed his arrangements to her.

"On Monday next at latest," he answered. "We shall not be very far behind you."

"Nevertheless it will be a long, long time before I shall see you again," she continued in a sad tone. "Oh, Jack, Jack, I cannot tell you how wicked I feel in allowing you to do so much for me. Even now, at this late hour, I feel I have no right to accept such a sacrifice at your hands."

"Stop," he replied, holding up his finger in warning. "I thought we had agreed that nothing more should be said about it."

At this juncture there was the sound of a footstep in the passage outside, and a few seconds later Madame Bernstein entered the room. On seeing Browne she hastened forward, and greeted him with all the effusiveness of which she was mistress. "Ah, Monsieur Browne," she said, "now that I see you my courage returns. As Katherine has doubtless told you, everything is prepared, and we are ready to start for Marseilles as soon as you give the order. Katherine is looking forward to the voyage; but as for me – Ah! I do hate the sea more than anything in the world. That nasty little strip of salt water which divides England from France is a continual nightmare to me, and I never cross it without hoping it may be the last time."

Browne tried to comfort her by telling her of the size of the vessel in which they were to travel, and assured her that, even if she should be ill, by the time they were out of the Mediterranean she would have recovered. Seeing that no other consolation was forthcoming, Madame was compelled to be content with this poor comfort.

Though Browne had already breakfasted in the solid, substantial English fashion, he was only too glad to persuade Madame Bernstein and his sweetheart to partake of déjeuner at one of the famous cafés on the Boulevards. After the meal Madame returned to the Rue Jacquarie in order to finish a little packing, which she had left to the last moment; while Browne, who had been looking forward to this opportunity, assumed possession of Katharine, and carried her to one of the large shops in the Rue de la Paix, where he purchased for her the best dressing-bag ever obtained for love or money; to which he added a set of sables that would have turned even Russian Royalty green with envy. Never had his money seemed so useful to Browne. These commissions executed, they returned to the Rue Jacquarie, where they found Madame Bernstein ready for the journey. The express was due to leave Paris for Marseilles at 2.15 p.m. Twenty minutes before that hour a cab drove up to the door, and in it Browne placed Madame Bernstein and Katherine, following them himself. Wonderful is the power of a gift! Browne carried the bag, he had given Katherine that morning, down to the cab with his own hands, and without being asked to do so, placed it on the seat beside her. He noticed that her right hand went out to take it, and held it lovingly until they reached the station, where she surrendered it to him again.

When they made their appearance on the platform an official hurried forward to meet them, and conducted them forthwith to the special saloon carriage Browne had bespoken for their use that morning. As she stepped into it Katherine gave a little grateful glance at her lover to show that she appreciated his generosity. Poor as she had always been, she found it hard to realize what his wealth meant. And yet there were many little signs to give her evidence of the fact – the obsequious railway officials; his own majestic English servant, who brought them a sheaf of papers without being instructed to do so; and last, but by no means least, the very railway carriage itself, which was of the most luxurious description. On Madame Bernstein entering the compartment she placed herself in a corner, arranged her travelling-rug, her smelling-salts, her papers, and her fan to her satisfaction; and by the time she had settled down the journey had commenced. The train was an express, and did not stop until it reached Laroche at 4.40. Here afternoon tea was procured for the ladies; while on reaching Dijon, two hours and a half later, it was discovered that an unusually luxurious dinner had been ordered by telegraph, and was served in the second compartment of the carriage. Having done justice to it, they afterwards settled themselves down for the night. It is a very significant fact that when Browne looks back upon that journey now, the one most important fact, that strikes his memory, is that Madame Bernstein fell asleep a little after eight o'clock, and remained so until they had passed Pontanevaux. During the time she slept, Browne was able to have a little private conversation with Katherine; and whatever trouble he had taken to ensure the journey being a successful one, he was amply compensated for it. At ten o'clock the polite conductor begged permission to inform mesdames and monsieur that their sleeping apartments were prepared for them. Browne accordingly bade the ladies good-night.

As the young man lay in his sleeping compartment that night, and the train made its way across France towards its most important sea-port, Browne's dreams were of many things. At one moment he was back in the Opera House at Covent Garden, listening to Lohengrin, and watching Katherine's face as each successive singer appeared upon the stage. Then, as if by magic, the scene changed, and he was on the windy mountain-side at Merok, and Katherine was looking up at him from her place of deadly peril a few feet below. He reached down and tried to save her, but it appeared to be a question of length of arm, and his was a foot too short. "Pray allow me to help you," said Maas; and being only too grateful for any assistance, Browne permitted him to do so. They accordingly caught her by the hands and began to pull. Then suddenly, without any warning, Maas struck him a terrible blow upon the head; both holds were instantly loosed, and Katherine was in the act of falling over the precipice when Browne awoke. Great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead, and, under the influence of this fright, he trembled as he did not remember ever to have done in his life before. For upwards of an hour he lay awake, listening to the rhythm of the wheels and the thousand and one noises that a train makes at night. Then once more he fell asleep, and, as before, dreamt of Katherine. Equally strange was it that on this occasion also Maas was destined to prove his adversary. They were in Japan now, and the scene was a garden in which the Wistaria bloomed luxuriously. Katherine was standing on a rustic bridge, looking down into the water below, and Maas was beside her. Suddenly the bridge gave way, and the girl was precipitated into the water. Though she was drowning, he noticed that Maas did nothing to help her, but stood upon what remained of the bridge and taunted her with the knowledge that, if she were drowned, her mission to the East would be useless. After this no further sleep was possible. At break of day he accordingly rose and dressed himself. They were passing through the little town of Saint-Chamas at the time. It was a lovely morning; not a cloud in the sky, and all the air and country redolent of life and beauty. It was a day upon which a man might be thankful for the right to live and love. Yet Browne was sad at heart. Was he not about to part from the woman he loved for nearly two whole months? Brave though he was in most things, it must be confessed he feared that separation, as a confirmed coward fears a blow. But still the train flew remorselessly on, bringing them every moment nearer and nearer their destination.

When they reached it they drove direct to an hotel. Here they breakfasted, and afterwards made their way to the steamer. Browne's heart was sinking lower and lower, for never before had Katherine seemed so sweet and so desirable. Once on board the vessel they called a steward to their assistance, and the two ladies were shown to their cabins. As they afterwards found out, they were the best that Browne could secure, were situated amidships, and were really intended each to accommodate four passengers. While they were examining them Browne hunted out the chief steward, and the stewards who would be likely to wait upon his friends. These he rewarded in such a way that, if the men only acted up to their protestations, the remainder of the passengers would have very good cause to complain. Having finished this work of bribery and corruption, he went in search of the ladies, only to be informed by the stewardess that they had left their cabins and had gone on deck. He accordingly made his way up the companion-ladder, and found them standing beside the smoking-room entrance.

"I hope you found your cabins comfortable," he said. "I have just seen the chief steward, and he has promised that everything possible shall be done to make you enjoy your voyage."

"How good you are!" said Katherine in a low voice, and with a little squeeze of his hand; while Madame protested that, if it were possible for anything to reconcile her to the sea, it would be Monsieur Browne's kindness. Then the warning whistle sounded for non-passengers to leave the ship. Madame Bernstein took the hint, and, having bade him good-bye, made her way along the deck towards the companion-ladder, leaving the lovers together. Katherine's eyes had filled with tears and she had grown visibly paler. Now that the time had come for parting with the man she loved, she had discovered how much he was to her.

"Katherine," said Browne, in a voice that was hoarse with suppressed emotion, "do you know now how much I love you?"

"You love me more than I deserve," she said. "I shall never be able to repay you for all you have done for me."

"I want no repayment but your love," he answered.

"Si vous n'êtes pas un voyageur, m'sieu, ayez l'obligeance de débarquer," said a gruff voice in his ear.

Seeing that there was nothing left but to say good-bye, Browne kissed Katherine, and, unable to bear any more, made for the gangway. Five minutes later the great ship was under way, and Katherine had embarked upon her voyage to the East.