The necessity of speaking enabled her to ignore these turbulent speculations, which yet were anything but new to her.
'They met at Budleigh Salterton,' she said, quietly.
'Who did? Warricombe and Peak?'
'Yes. At the Moorhouses'. It was when I was there.'
Christian stared at her.
'When you were there? But--_you_ met Peak?'
His sister smiled, turning from the astonished gaze.
'Yes, I met him.'
'But, why the deuce----? Why didn't you tell me, Marcella?'
'He asked me not to speak of it. He didn't wish you to know that--that he has decided to become a clergyman.'
Christian was stricken dumb. In spite of his sister's obvious agitation, he could not believe what she told him; her smile gave him an excuse for supposing that she jested.
'Peak a clergyman?' He burst out laughing. 'What's the meaning of all this?--Do speak intelligibly! What's the fellow up to?'
'I am quite serious. He is studying for Orders--has been for this last year.'
In desperation, Christian turned to another phase of the subject.
'Then Malkin _was_ mistaken?'
'Plainly.'
'And you mean to tell me that Peak----? Give me more details. Where's he living? How has he got to know people like these Warricombes?'
Marcella told all that she knew, and without injunction of secrecy. The affair had passed out of her hands; destiny must fulfil itself. And again the tremor that resembled an uneasy joy went through her frame.
'But how,' asked Christian, 'did this fellow Warricombe come to know that _I_ was a friend of Peak's?'
'That's a puzzle to me. I shouldn't have thought he would have remembered my name; and, even if he had, how could he conclude----'
She broke off, pondering. Warricombe must have made inquiries, possibly suggested by suspicions.
'I scarcely spoke of Mr. Peak to anyone,' she added. 'People saw, of course, that we were acquaintances, but it couldn't have seemed a thing of any importance.'
'You spoke with him in private, it seems?'
'Yes, I saw him for a few minutes--in Exeter.'
'And you hadn't said anything to the Walworths that--that would surprise them?'
'Purposely not.--Why should I injure him?'
Christian knit his brows. He understood too well why his sister should refrain from such injury.
'You would have behaved in the same way,' Marcella added.
'Why really--yes, perhaps so. Yet I don't know.--In plain English, Peak is a wolf in sheep's clothing!'
'I don't know anything about that,' she replied, with gloomy evasion.
'Nonsense, my dear girl!--Had he the impudence to pretend to you that he was sincere?'
'He made no declaration.'
'But you are convinced he is acting the hypocrite, Marcella. You spoke of the risk of injuring him.--What are his motives? What does he aim at?'
'Scarcely a bishopric, I should think,' she replied, bitterly.
'Then, by Jove! Earwaker may be right!'
Marcella darted an inquiring look at him.
'What has he thought?'
'I'm ashamed to speak of it. He suggested once that Peak might disguise himself for the sake of--of making a good marriage.'
The reply was a nervous laugh.
'Look here, Marcella.' He caught her hand. 'This is a very awkward business. Peak is disgracing himself; he will be unmasked; there'll be a scandal. It was kind of you to keep silence--when don't you behave kindly, dear girl?--but think of the possible results to _us_. We shall be something very like accomplices.'
'How?' Marcella exclaimed, impatiently. 'Who need know that we were so intimate with him?'
'Warricombe seems to know it.'
'Who can prove that he isn't sincere?'
'No one, perhaps. But it will seem a very odd thing that he hid away from all his old friends. You remember, I betrayed that to Warricombe, before I knew that it mattered.'
Yes, and Mr. Warricombe could hardly forget the circumstance. He would press his investigation--knowing already, perhaps, of Peak's approaches to his sister Sidwell.
'Marcella, a man plays games like that at his own peril. I don't like this kind of thing. Perhaps he has audacity enough to face out any disclosure. But it's out of the question for you and me to nurse his secret. We have no right to do so.'
'You propose to denounce him?'
Marcella gazed at her brother with an agitated look.
'Not denounce. I am fond of Peak; I wish him well. But I can't join him in a dishonourable plot.--Then, we mustn't endanger our place in society.'
'I have no place in society,' Marcella answered, coldly.
'Don't say that, and don't think it. We are both going to make more of our lives; we are going to think very little of the past, and a great deal of the future. We are still young; we have happiness before us.'
'We?' she asked, with shaken voice.
'Yes--both of us! Who can say'----
Again he took her hand and pressed it warmly in both his own. Just then the door opened, and dinner was announced. Christian talked on, in low hurried tones, for several minutes, affectionately, encouragingly. After dinner, he wished to resume the subject, but Marcella declared that there was no more to be said; he must act as honour and discretion bade him; for herself, she should simply keep silence as hitherto. And she left him to his reflections.
Though with so little of ascertained fact to guide her, Marcella interpreted the hints afforded by her slight knowledge of the Warricombes with singular accuracy. Precisely as she had imagined, Buckland Warricombe was going about on Peak's track, learning all he could concerning the theological student, forming acquaintance with anyone likely to supplement his discoveries. And less than a fortnight after the meeting at the theatre, Christian made known to his sister that Warricombe and he had had a second conversation, this time uninterrupted.
'He inquired after you, Marcella, and--really I had no choice but to ask him to call here. I hardly think he'll come. He's not the kind of man I care for--though liberal enough, and all that.'
'Wasn't it rather rash to give that invitation?'
'The fact was, I so dreaded the appearance of--of seeming to avoid him,' Christian pleaded, awkwardly. 'You know, that affair--we won't talk any more of it; but, if there _should_ be a row about it, you are sure to be compromised unless we have managed to guard ourselves. If Warricombe calls, we must talk about Peak without the least show of restraint. Let it appear that we thought his choice of a profession unlikely, but not impossible. Happily, we needn't know anything about that anonymous _Critical_ article.--Indeed, I think I have acted wisely.'
Marcella