"He came a week ago and remained a couple of hours."
"But he shall not blackmail you in this manner! If I cannot remain your lover. I"ll nevertheless still stand your champion, Mabel!" I cried in determination. "He shall reckon with me."
"Ah no!" she gasped, turning to me in quick apprehension. "You must do nothing. Otherwise he may--"
"What may he do?"
She was silent, gazing aimlessly out of the window across the broad meadow-lands, now misty and silent in the dusk.
"He may," she said, in a low, broken voice, "he may tell the world the truth!"
"What truth?"
"The truth he knows--the knowledge by which he compelled me to become his wife," and she held her hand to her breast, as though to stay the wild beating of her young heart.
I tried to induce her to reveal that secret to me, her most devoted friend, but she refused.
"No," she said in a low, broken voice, "do not ask me, Gilbert--for I know now that I may be permitted to call you by your Christian name-- because I cannot tell you of all men. It is for me to remain silent-- and to suffer."
Her face was very pale, and I saw by her look of determination that her mind was made up; even though she trusted me as she did, nevertheless no power would induce her to reveal the truth to me.
"But you know what reason your father had in appointing his friend Dawson to be controller of your fortune," I said. "I felt confident that a word from you would result in his withdrawal from the office he now holds. You cannot affect ignorance of this mysterious motive of your father"s?"
"I have already told you. My poor father also acted under compulsion.
Mr. Leighton also knows that."
"And you are aware of the reason?"
She nodded in the affirmative.
"Then you could checkmate the fellow"s plans?"
"Yes, I might," she answered slowly, "if I only dared."
"What do you fear?"
"I fear what my father feared," was her answer.
"And what was that?"
"That he would carry out a certain threat he has many times made to my father, and later to myself. He threatened me on the day I left home-- he dared me to breathe a single word."
Yes, that one-eyed man held power complete and absolute over her, just as he had boasted to Mrs. Percival. He also knew the truth concerning the Cardinal"s secret.
We sat together in that small, low, old-fashioned room, until dusk darkened into night, when she rose wearily and lit the lamp. Then I was startled by discovering by its light how her sweet face had changed.
Her cheeks had grown wan and pale, her eyes were red and swollen, and her whole countenance betrayed a deep, burning anxiety a terror of what the unknown future held for her.
Surely hers was a strange, almost inconceivable position--a pretty young woman with a balance of over two millions at her bankers, and yet hounded by those who sought her ruin, degradation and death.
The fact that she was married had struck me a staggering blow. To her I could now be no more than a mere friend like any other man, all thoughts of love being bebarred, all hope of happiness abandoned. I had never sought her for her fortune, that I can honestly avow. I had loved her for her own sweet, pure self, because I knew that her heart beat true and loyal; that in strength of character, in disposition, in grace and in beauty she was peerless.
For a long time I held her hand, feeling, I think, some satisfaction in thus repeating the action of other times, now that I had to bid farewell to all my hopes and aspirations. She sat silent, troubled sighs escaping her as I spoke, telling her of that strange, midnight adventure in the streets of Kensington, and of how near I had been to death.
"Then, knowing that you have gained the secret written upon the cards, they have made an attempt to seal your lips," she said at last, in a hard, mechanical voice, almost as though speaking to herself. "Ah! did I not warn you of that in my letter? Did I not tell you that the secret is so well and ingeniously guarded that you will never succeed in either learning it or profiting by it?"
"But I intend to persevere in the solution of the mystery of your father"s fortune," I declared, still with her hand in mine, in sad and bitter farewell. "He left his secret to me, and I have determined to start out to Italy to-morrow to search the spot indicated, and to learn the truth."
"Then you can just save yourself that trouble, mister," exclaimed the voice of a common, uneducated man, startling me, and on turning suddenly, I saw that the door had opened noiselessly, and there upon the threshold, watching us with apparent satisfaction, was the man who stood between me and my well-beloved--that clean-shaven, skulking fellow who claimed her by the sacred name of wife!
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
FACE TO FACE.
"I"d much like to know what your business is "ere?" demanded the coa.r.s.e-featured fellow, whose grey bowler hat and gaiters gave him a distinctly horsey appearance. And as he stood in the doorway, he folded his arms defiantly and looked me straight in the face.
"My business is my own affair," I answered, facing him in disgust.
"If it concerns my wife, I have a right to know," he persisted.
"Your wife!" I cried, advancing towards him, with difficulty repressing the strong impulse within me to knock the young ruffian down. "Don"t call her your wife, fellow! Call her by her true name--your victim!"
"Do you mean that as an insult?" he exclaimed quickly, his face turning white with sudden anger, whereupon Mabel, seeing his threatening att.i.tude, sprang between us and begged me to be calm.
"There are some men whom no words can insult," I replied forcibly. "And you are one of them."
"What do you mean?" he cried. "Do you wish to pick a quarrel?" and he came forward with clenched fists.
"I desire no quarrel," was my quick response. "I only order you to leave this lady in peace. She may be legally your wife, but I will stand as her protector."
"Oh!" he sneered, with curling lip. "And I"d like to know by what right you interfere between us?"
"By the common right every man has to shield an unprotected and persecuted woman," I replied, firmly. "I know you, and am well aware of your shameful past. Shall I recall one incident, that, now you attempt to defy me, you appear to have conveniently forgotten? Do you not recollect a certain night in the park at Mayvill not so very long ago, and do you not recollect that you there attempted to commit a foul and brutal murder--eh?"
He started quickly, then glared at me with the fire of a murderous hatred in his eyes.
"She"s told you, d.a.m.n her! She"s given me away!" he exclaimed, with a contemptuous glance at his trembling wife.
"No, she has not," was my response. "I myself chanced to be witness of your dastardly attempt upon her. It was I who succeeded in rescuing her from the river. For that action of yours you must now answer to me."
"What do you mean?" he inquired, and from the lines in his countenance I saw that my outspoken manner caused him considerable uneasiness.
"I mean that it is not for you to attempt defiance, having regard to the fact that, had it not been for the fortunate circ.u.mstance of my presence in the park, you would to-day be a murderer."
He shrank at that final word. Like all his cla.s.s, he was arrogant and overbearing to the weak, but as easily cowed by firmness as a dog who cringes at his master"s voice.
"And now," I continued, "I may as well tell you that, on the night when you would have killed this poor woman who is your victim, I also overheard your demands. You are a blackmailer--the meanest and worst type of criminal humanity--and you seem to have forgotten that there is a severe and stringent law against such an offence as yours. You demanded money by threats, and on refusal made a desperate endeavour to take your wife"s life. In the a.s.size court the evidence I could give against you would put you into a term of penal servitude--you understand? Therefore I"ll make this compact with you; if you will promise not to molest your wife further, I will remain silent."
"And who the deuce are you, pray, to talk to me in this manner--like a gaol chaplain on his weekly round!"