He never knew what was the fashion of his countenance. He could not have a.n.a.lysed his feelings to save his life. But, as he looked at her, his wife of yesterday, the woman whom he loved, she seemed to shrivel up before his eyes, and sank upon the floor. There was silence. Then she made a little gesture towards him with her two hands. She fell forward, hiding her face on the ground at his feet, prisoning his legs with her arms.
"How came these things into your bag?"
He did not know his own voice, it was so dry and harsh. She made no answer.
"Did you steal them?"
Still silence. He felt a sort of rage rising within him.
"There are one or two questions you must answer. I am sorry to have to put them; it is not my fault. You had better get up from the floor."
She never moved. For his life he could not have touched her.
"I suppose--." He was choked, and paused. "I suppose that woman"s jewels are some of these?"
No answer. Recognising the hopelessness of putting questions to her now, he gathered the various articles together and put them back into the bag.
"I"m afraid you will have to dine alone."
That was all he said to her. With the bag in his hand he left the room, leaving her in a heap upon the floor. He sneaked rather than walked out of the hotel. Supposing they caught him red-handed, with that thing in his hand? He only began to breathe freely when he was out in the street.
Possibly no man in Paris spent the night of that twentieth of June more curiously than Mr. Burgoyne. When he returned it was four o"clock in the morning, and broad day. He was worn-out, haggard, the spectre of a man. In the bedroom he found his wife just as he had left her, in a heap upon the floor, but fast asleep. She had removed none of her clothes, not even her bonnet or her gloves. She had been crying--apparently had cried herself to sleep. As he stood looking down at her he realised how he loved her--the woman, the creature of flesh and blood, apart entirely from her moral qualities. He placed the bag within his trunk and locked it up. Then, kneeling beside his wife, he stooped and kissed her as she slept. The kiss aroused her. She woke as wakes a child, and, putting her arms about his neck, she kissed him back again. Not a word was spoken. Then she got up. He helped her to undress, and put her into a bed as though she were a child. Then he undressed himself, and joined her. And they fell fast asleep locked in each other"s arms.
That night they returned to London. The bag went with them. On the morning after their arrival, Mr. Burgoyne took a cab into the city, the fatal bag beside him on the seat. He drove straight to Mr. Staunton"s office. When he entered, unannounced, his father-in-law started as though he were a ghost.
"Burgoyne! What brings you here? I hope there"s nothing wrong?"
Mr. Burgoyne did not reply at once. He placed the bag--Minnie"s bag--upon the table. He kept his eyes fixed upon his father-in-law"s countenance.
"Burgoyne! Why do you look at me like that?"
"I have something here I wish to show you." That was Mr. Burgoyne"s greeting. He opened the bag, and turned its contents out upon the table. "Not a bad haul from Breton peasants,--eh?"
Mr. Staunton stared at the heap of things thus suddenly disclosed.
"Burgoyne," he stammered, "what"s the meaning of this?"
"Are you quite sure you don"t know what it means?"
Looking up, Mr. Staunton caught the other"s eyes. He seemed to read something there which carried dreadful significance to his brain. His glance fell and he covered his face with his hands. At last he found his voice.
"Minnie?"
The word was gasped rather than spoken. Mr. Burgoyne"s reply was equally brief.
"Minnie!"
"Good G.o.d!"
There was silence for perhaps a minute. Then Mr. Burgoyne locked the door of the room and stood before the empty fire-place.
"It is by the merest chance that I am not at this moment booked for the _travaux forces_. Some of those jewels were stolen from a woman"s dressing case at the Grand Hotel, with the woman herself in bed and more than half awake at the time. She talked about having every guest in the place searched by the police. If she had done so, you would have heard from us as soon as the rules of the prison allowed us to communicate."
Mr. Burgoyne paused. Mr. Staunton kept his eyes fixed upon the table.
"That"s what I wanted to tell you the night before the wedding, only you wouldn"t stop. She"s a kleptomaniac."
Mr. Burgoyne smiled, not gaily.
"Do you mean she"s a habitual thief?"
"It"s a disease."
"I"ve no doubt it"s a disease. But perhaps you"ll be so kind as to accurately define what in the present case you understand by disease."
"When she was a toddling child she took things, and secreted them--it"s a literal fact. When she got into short frocks she continued to capture everything that caught her eye. When she exchanged them for long ones it was the same. It was not because she wanted the things, because she never attempted to use them when she had them. She just put them somewhere--as a magpie might--and forget their existence. You had only to find out where they were and take them away again, and she was never one whit the wiser. In that direction she"s irresponsible--it"s a disease in fact."
"If it is, as you say, a disease, have you ever had it medically treated?"
"She has been under medical treatment her whole life long. I suppose we have consulted half the specialists in England. Our own man, Muir, has given the case his continual attention. He has kept a regular journal, and can give you more light upon the subject than I can. You have no conception what a life-long torture it has been to me."
"I have a very clear conception indeed. But don"t you think you might have enlightened me upon the matter before?"
Rising from his seat, Mr. Staunton began to pace the room
"I do! I think so very strongly indeed. But--but--I was over persuaded.
As you know, I tried at the very last moment; even then I failed.
Besides, it was suggested to me that marriage might be the turning point, and that the woman might be different from the girl. Don"t misunderstand me! She is not a bad girl; she is a good girl in the best possible sense, a girl in a million! No better daughter ever lived; you won"t find a better wife if you search the whole world through; There is just this one point. Some people are somnambulists; in a sense she is a somnambulist too. I tell you I might put this watch upon the table"--Mr. Staunton produced his watch from his waistcoat pocket--"and she would take it from right underneath my nose, and never know what it was that she had done. I confess I can"t explain it, but so it is!"
"I think," remarked Mr. Burgoyne, with a certain dryness, "that I had better see this doctor fellow--Muir."
"See him--by all means, see him. There is one point, Burgoyne. I realised from the first that if we kept you in the dark about this thing, and it forced itself upon you afterwards, you would be quite justified in feeling aggrieved."
"You realised that, did you? You did get so far?"
"And therefore I say this, that, although my child has only been your wife these few short days, although she loves you as truly as woman ever loved a man--and what strength of love she has I know--still, if you are minded to put her from you, I will not only not endeavour to change your purpose, but I will never ask you for a penny for her support--she shall be to you as though she had never lived."
Mr. Burgoyne looked his father-in-law in the face.
"No man shall part me from my wife, nor anything--but death." Mr.
Burgoyne turned a little aside. "I believe I love her better because of this. G.o.d knows I loved her well enough before."
"I can understand that easily. Because of this she is dearer to us, too."
There was silence. Moving to the table, Mr. Burgoyne began to replace the things in the bag.
"I will go and see this man Muir."
Dr. Muir was at home. His appearance impressed Mr. Burgoyne favourably, and Mr. Burgoyne had a keen eye for the charlatan in medicine.