Two Sides of the Face | Page 6

of his coat. His habits were not pretty,
and his manners scarcely ingratiating. The foxy look in his eyes would
have spoilt a pleasanter face, and his person left an impression that it
had, at some time in the past and to save the expense of washing, been
coated with oil and then profusely dusted over with snuff. "Shall we
begin?" he asked, drawing a parcel of papers from his breast-pocket.
Roger Stephen glared at him, somewhat as a bull-dog might eye a
shrew-mouse. "Who is this?" he demanded.
"This is Mr. Alfonso Trudgian, my lawyer from Penzance," explained
the widow, and felt her voice shaking.
"Then he's not wanted."
"But excuse me, Mr. Stephen, this lady's interests--," began Mr.
Trudgian.
"If my father's will makes any provision for her I can attend to it

without your interference." Roger glanced at Mr. Jose.
"I think," said that very respectable lawyer, "there can be no harm in
suffering Mr. Trudgian to remain, as an act of courtesy to Mrs. Stephen.
We need not detain him long. The will I have here was drawn by me on
the instruction of my late respected client, and was signed by him and
witnessed on the 17th of March, one thousand seven hundred and
twenty-five. It is his last and (I believe) his only one; for, like many
another man otherwise sensible, the deceased had what I may call an
unreasoning dislike--"
"What date?" put in Mr. Alfonso Trudgian pertly.
"I beg your pardon?--the 17th of March, one thousand seven hundred
and twenty-five."
"Then I'm sorry to interrupt ye, Jose, but since Mr. Roger wants me
gone, I have here a will executed by Mr. Stephen on February the 14th
last-- St. Valentine's day. And it reads like a valentine, too. 'To my dear
and lawful wife, Elizabeth Stephen, I devise and bequeath all my estate
and effects, be they real or personal, to be hers absolutely. And this I do
in consideration of her faithful and constant care of me. --Signed,
Humphrey Stephen. Witnesses, William Shapcott'--that's my
clerk--'and Alfonso Trudgian.' That's short enough, I hope, and sweet."
Mr. Jose reached out a shaking hand for the document, but Roger was
before him. At one stride he had reached Mr. Trudgian and gripped him
by the collar, while his other hand closed on the paper.
The attorney shrank back, squealing like a rabbit. "Let me go! 'Tis only
a copy. Let me go, I say!"
"You dirty cur!" Roger's broad palm crumpled up the paper, and with a
swift backward movement tossed it at Mrs. Stephen's feet. "Out of the
way, Jose; he asks me to let him go, and I will." He lifted the wretched
man, and, flinging him on the window-seat, pinned him there for a
moment with his knee while he groped for the latch and thrust open the
broad lattice.

A moment later, as she stood and shook, Mrs. Stephen saw her legal
adviser swung up by his collar and the seat of his breeches and hurled,
still squealing, out upon the flagstones of the courtlage; saw him
tumble sprawling, pick himself up, and flee for the gate without even
waiting to pick up his wig or turning to shake his fist. Nay, without one
backward look, but weakly clutching at his coat, which had been split
up the back and dangled in halves from his neck, he broke for the open
country and ran.
"Thank you," said she, as Roger swung round upon her in turn. Her lips
were smiling, but she scarcely recognised her own voice. "Am--am I to
follow by the same way?"
Roger did not smile, but took her by the wrist.
"Gently, Mr. Stephen--gently, I implore you!" interposed Mr. Jose.
Roger did not seem to hear, and the woman made no resistance. He led
her through the hall, across the threshold of Steens, and up the
courtlage path. At the gate, as he pushed it wide for her, his grip on her
wrist relaxed, and, releasing her, he stood aside.
She paused for one instant, and gently inclined her head.
"Stepson, you are a very foolish man," said she. "Good-day to you!"
She passed out. Roger closed the gate grimly, slipped forward its bolt,
and walked back to the house.
But the woman without, as he turned his back, stepped aside quickly,
found the wall, and, hidden by it, leaned a hand against the stonework
and bowed her head.
A moment later, and before Roger had reached the front door, her hand
slipped and she fell forward among the nettles in a swoon.

VI.

"Well, that's over!" said Roger, returning to the dining-room and
mopping his brow. "Upon my word, Jose, that nasty varmint gave me
quite a turn for the moment, he spoke so confident."
"Tut, tut!"