"Hush! Pray do not speak to me like that," she cried. "He is my husband. I cannot--I will not think that he could do so great a wrong."
"Far be it from me," said Luke, gently, "to try and persuade you to think ill of him. I should think ill of you, Sage," he added, very softly, "if you fell away from your husband in his sore distress."
"Heaven bless you for those words, Luke Ross!" she cried, as she caught one of his hands and kissed it. "G.o.d will reward you for what you have done in coming to me now, wretched woman that I am, a miserable convict"s wife; but you will help me, will you not?"
"In any way," he said, earnestly.
She uttered a low sigh of relief, and stood with one hand pressed upon her side, the other upon her brow, as if thinking; while Portlock sat down by the fire, and, resting his elbows upon his knees, gazed thoughtfully at the warm glow, but intent the while upon what was going on.
"My uncle is very good to me," said Sage, at length, "and is ready to find me what money is required for the object I have in hand; but I can only obtain paid service, whereas I want the help of one who will work for me as a friend."
She looked at him to see the effect of her words.
Luke bowed his head sadly.
"I want one who, for the sake of the past," she continued, speaking excitedly, "and on account of his generous forgiveness of my cruelty and want of faith, will strain every nerve in my behalf."
She paused again, unable to continue, though fighting vainly to find words.
"I think I understand you," he replied. "You want me, on the strength of the legal knowledge you credit me with, to make some new effort on your husband"s behalf?"
"It is like madness to ask it," she said, "and I tremble as I say the words to you whom he so injured; but, Luke, have pity on me. He is my husband," she cried, piteously, as she wrung her hands, and then, before he could stay her, flung herself upon the carpet, and clung to his knees. "He is the father of my innocent children; for G.o.d"s sake try and save him from this cruel fate."
He remained silent, gazing down at the prostrate figure, as, after an effort or two on his part to raise her, she refused to quit her grovelling att.i.tude, save only to shrink lower, and lay her cheek against his feet.
"Mrs Mallow?" he said, at last.
"No, no!" she cried, pa.s.sionately. "Call me Sage again. You have forgiven the past."
"Sage Mallow!" he said, in a low, measured voice.
"You are going to retract your words," she cried, frantically, as she started up. "You are going to draw back."
"I have promised you," he said, quietly, "and my hands, my thoughts, all I possess, are at your service."
"And you will save him?" she cried, joyously.
He remained silent.
"You will work for him--you will forgive him, and bring him back to me?"
she cried, piteously. "Luke--Luke Ross--you will save him from this fate?"
"I did not seek this interview," he said, sadly. "Mrs Mallow, I would have spared you this."
"What do you mean?" she cried. "Will you not try?"
"It would be an act of cruelty," replied Luke, "to attempt to buoy you up with promises that must crumble to the earth."
"You will not try," she cried, pa.s.sionately. "I will try. I will try every plan I can think of to obtain your husband"s release, Mrs Mallow," said Luke, gravely. "Or get him a new trial?"
"Such a thing is impossible. The most we dare hope for would be some slight shortening of his sentence; but candour compels me to say that nothing I can do will be of the slightest avail after such a trial as Cyril Mallow has had."
Just then the old Churchwarden had thoughtfully raised the poker and broken a lump of coal, with the result that the confined gas burst into a bright light, filling the room with its cheerful glow, and Luke saw that Sage was looking at him with flashing eyes, and a couple of scarlet patches were burning in her cheeks.
She raised one hand slowly, and pointed to the door, speaking in a deep husky voice, full of suppressed pa.s.sion.
"And I believed in you," she said, wildly, "I thought you would be my friend. I said to myself, Luke Ross is true and n.o.ble, and good, and he loved me very dearly, when I was too weak and foolish to realise the value of this love. I said I would beg of you to come to me and help me in my sore distress, that I would humble myself to you, and that in the n.o.bleness of your heart you would forgive the past."
"As I have forgiven it, heaven knows," he said, gravely.
"And then," she cried, excitedly, "you come with your lips full of promises, your heart full of gall, ready to cheer me with words of hope, but only to fall away and leave me in despair."
"Do not misjudge me," he said, appealingly.
"Misjudge you!" she cried, with bitter contempt. "How could I misjudge such a man as you? I see now how false you can be. I see how you laid calmly in wait all these years that you might have revenge. You hurled my poor husband to the earth that afternoon in the lane; now you have crushed him down beneath your heel."
"Can you not be just?" he said.
"Just?" she cried, "to you? I thought to teach my children to bless and reverence your name as that of the man who had saved their father. I taught them to pray for you with their innocent little lips, and I sent to you and humbled myself to ask you to defend my husband in his sore need, but you refused--refused forsooth, because you were gloating over the opportunity you would have for revenge. The trial came, he was condemned through your words, but I still believed you honest, and trusted in you for help. I sent to you once again to pray you to try and restore my husband to me, but you coldly refuse, while your lips are yet hot with promises and lies."
"Sage," he cried, pa.s.sionately, "you tear my heart."
"I would tear it," she cried, fiercely, in her excitement, "coward that you are--cruel coward, full of deceit and revenge. Go: leave me, let me never see you again, for I could not look upon you without loathing, and I shudder now to think that I have ever touched your hands."
"Sage, my girl, Sage!" said the Churchwarden, as he rose and took her hands, "this is madness, and to-morrow you will be sorry for what you have said."
"Uncle," she cried wildly, as she clung to him, "I cannot bear his presence here. Send him from me, or I shall die."
She hid her face upon her uncle"s shoulder, and he held out his right hand, and grasped that of Luke.
"G.o.d bless you, my boy!" he said, with trembling voice. "She is beside herself with grief, and knows not what she says."
Luke returned the warm pressure of the old farmer"s hand, and would have gone, but Portlock held it still.
"I thank you for coming, Luke Ross," he said; "and I know you to be just and true. Would to heaven I had never made that great mistake!"
He said no more, but loosed their visitors hand, Luke standing gazing sadly at the sobbing woman for a few moments, and then leaving the room to seek old Michael, with whom he was soon on his way back to chambers, faint and sick at heart.
Hardly had the sound of his footsteps pa.s.sed from the stairs than, with a wild cry, Sage threw herself upon her knees, sobbing wildly.
"Heaven forgive me!" she cried. "What have I said? Uncle, uncle, a lying spirit has entered into my heart, making me revile him as I have-- Luke--so generous, and good, and true."
PART THREE, CHAPTER NINE.
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