Part 41 (2/2)

Rylton hesitates. To draw back is to betray disbelief in his wife; to go on is to join in a conspiracy against her. He had started on that conspiracy in a moment of intense pa.s.sion, but now his very soul revolts from it. And yet if he draws back it will show. . . .

It will give this woman beside him the victory over the woman he has married. And then a sudden thought comes to him. Why not go on? Why not put it to be proof? Why not win his wager? t.i.ta is thoughtless; but it would be madness in anyone to think her vile. It was madness in _him_ a moment since to dream of her being alone in that small, isolated arbour with Hescott. Much as he may revolt--as he does revolt--from this abominable wager he has entered into, surely it is better to go on with it and bring it to a satisfactory end for t.i.ta than to ”cry off,” and subject her to scoffs and jeers from her adversary.

”Let us go on,” says he quietly. ”I shall win my bet. But that is nothing! What really matters is, that I should have entered into such a wager with you or anyone. That is a debt I shall never be able to repay--Lady Rylton.”

His tone is bitterly self-condemnatory, but Marian has scarcely caught that. The ”Lady Rylton” has struck upon her ears, and hurt her to her heart's core! Oh, that she could destroy--blot out that small usurper!

”You have regained your courage? Come, then,” says she, in a low tone that is full of a strange mirth.

He follows her along the gra.s.sy path--a path noiseless--until presently, having skirted a few low bushes, he finds himself, with Marian beside him, at the southern side of the arbour.

Marian, laying her hand silently upon his arm, points through the evergreens that veil the seat within; a mocking, triumphant smile is on her lips.

There is no need for any indication on her part, however--Rylton can see for himself. On the low, rustic seat within the arbour is t.i.ta--with Hescott beside her. The two young heads are close together. t.i.ta is whispering to Hescott--something very secret, undoubtedly. Her small face is upturned to his, and very earnest.

_His_ face.

Rylton never forgets his face!

t.i.ta is speaking--she is smiling--she leans toward her companion; her voice is full of a delicious confidence.

”Well, remember it is a secret--a secret between us.”

Rylton draws back as if stabbed. He would have given his soul to hear the end of this terrible beginning--this beginning that, at all events, sounds so terrible to _him;_ but the fact that he _is_ longing to hear, that he has been listening, makes him cold from head to heel.

He moves away silently. Mrs. Bethune, catching his arm, says quickly:

”You heard--a secret--a secret between those two--_you heard!”_

There is something delirious in her tone--something that speaks of revenge perfected, that through all his agitation is understood by him. He flings her hand aside, and goes swiftly onwards alone into the dense darkness of the trees beyond, d.a.m.ning himself as he goes.

A very rage of hatred, of horror of his own conduct, is the first misery that a.s.sails him, and after that----

After that he sees only t.i.ta sitting there with Hescott beside her--he whispering to her, and she to him.

He stops in his rapid walk, and pulls himself together: he must have time--time to think, to control himself, to work it all out.

Things seem to come back to him with a strange clearness. He remembers how t.i.ta had once said to him that she never cared to kiss anyone except--Margaret. Her hesitation returns to him now; was Margaret the name she would have said had not fear, mixed with prudence, prompted her words? He remembers, too, that she had once refused to let _him_ kiss her lips--him, her husband! Why? He trembles with rage as he asks himself this question. Was it to keep them sacred for someone else--for that ”old lover” of hers, for example?

Who had called him that? Marian, was it not? Old lover!

He had laughed at the name then. That child to have a lover! Why, he had believed she did not know the meaning of the word ”love.” What a baby she had always seemed to him--a careless, troublesome baby. And now!

Great heavens! Who is to be trusted? Is anyone to be trusted? He had put his faith in t.i.ta; he had thought her wild, perhaps a little unmanageable, but--yes, he had thought her lovable; there had been moments when----

And now it had all come to this, that she had deceived him--is wilfully deceiving him.

He does not even in this, his angry hour, accuse her of more than a well-developed flirtation with her cousin; but that is the beginning of an end that he will put a stop to at once, and for ever. He will show her who is her master. If she cannot respect herself, he will, at all events, take care that she respects his name; she shall not disgrace _that_.

He has hardly known where his feet have taken him, but now he finds himself on a lighted path, with two or three couples coming towards him; evidently they have just left the dancing-room. He has therefore described a circle, and come back to the place from which he started. One of the men pa.s.sing him looks into his face.

<script>