Part 53 (2/2)

”Let me tell you,” he said, ”that that does not follow at all. There is _some_ importance in signatures--or rather in the local movement that the signatures imply. It enables a case to be reopened, which, in any event, this case is sure to be. But any Home Secretary who could decide a murder case on any other grounds whatever than those of law and his own conscience would not deserve his place a day--an hour! Believe me, you mistake the whole situation.”

He spoke slowly, with the sharp emphasis natural to his age and authority. Marcella did not believe him. Every nerve was beginning to throb anew with that pa.s.sionate recoil against tyranny and prejudice, which was in itself an agony.

”And you say the same?” she said, turning to Aldous.

”I cannot sign that pet.i.tion,” he said sadly. ”Won't you try and believe what it costs me to refuse?”

It was a heavy blow to her. Amply as she had been prepared for it, there had always been at the bottom of her mind a persuasion that in the end she would get her way. She had been used to feel barriers go down before that ultimate power of personality of which she was abundantly conscious. Yet it had not availed her here--not even with the man who loved her.

Lord Maxwell looked at the two--the man's face of suffering, the girl's struggling breath.

”There, there, Aldous!” he said, rising. ”I will leave you a minute. Do make Marcella rest--get her, for all our sakes, to forget this a little.

Bring her in presently to us for some coffee. Above all, persuade her that we love her and admire her with all our hearts, but that in a matter of this kind she must leave us to do--as before G.o.d!--what we think right.”

He stood before her an instant, gazing down upon her with dignity--nay, a certain severity. Then he turned away and left the room.

Marcella sprang up.

”Will you order the carriage?” she said in a strangled voice. ”I will go upstairs.”

”Marcella!” cried Aldous; ”can you not be just to me, if it is impossible for you to be generous?”

”Just!” she repeated, with a tone and gesture of repulsion, pus.h.i.+ng him back from her. ”_You_ can talk of justice!”

He tried to speak, stammered, and failed. That strange paralysis of the will-forces which dogs the man of reflection at the moment when he must either take his world by storm or lose it was upon him now. He had never loved her more pa.s.sionately--but as he stood there looking at her, something broke within him, the first prescience of the inevitable dawned.

”_You_,” she said again, walking stormily to and fro, and catching at her breath--”_You_, in this house, with this life--to talk of justice--the justice that comes of slaying a man like Hurd! And I must go back to that cottage, to that woman, and tell her there is _no_ hope--none! Because _you_ must follow your conscience--you who have everything! Oh! I would not have your conscience--I wish you a heart--rather! Don't come to me, please! Oh! I must think how it can be.

Things cannot go on so. I should kill myself, and make you miserable.

But now I must go to _her_--to the _poor_--to those whom I _love_, whom I carry in my heart!”

She broke off sobbing. He saw her, in her wild excitement, look round the splendid room as though she would wither it to ruin with one fiery, accusing glance.

”You are very scornful of wealth,” he said, catching her wrists, ”but one thing you have no right to scorn!--the man who has given you his inmost heart--and now only asks you to believe in this, that he is not the cruel hypocrite you are determined to make him!”

His face quivered in every feature. She was checked a moment--checked by the moral compulsion of his tone and manner, as well as by his words.

But again she tore herself away.

”_Please_ go and order the carriage,” she said. ”I cannot bear any more.

I _must_ go home and rest. Some day I will ask your pardon--oh! for this--and--and--” she was almost choked again--”other things. But now I must go away. There is some one who will help me. I must not forget that!”

The reckless words, the inflection, turned Aldous to stone.

Unconsciously he drew himself proudly erect--their eyes met. Then he went up to the bell and rang it.

”The brougham at once, for Miss Boyce. Will you have a maid to go with you?” he asked, motioning the servant to stay till Miss Boyce had given her answer.

”No, thank you. I must go and put on my things. Will you explain to Miss Raeburn?”

<script>