Part 31 (1/2)

Dimsdale shook his head. ”It's not the same as usual, my lady. I've never seen him like this before. There's something--I don't rightly know what--about him that fair scares me. If your ladys.h.i.+p will only let me send for the doctor--”

He paused. Anne's eyes had gone back to the fire. She seemed to be considering.

”I don't think the doctor would be at home,” she said at last. ”Wait till the morning, Dimsdale--unless he is really ill.”

”My lady, it's not that,” said Dimsdale. ”There's nothing ails his body.

But--but--” he faltered a little, and finally, ”It's his mind,” he said, ”if I may make so bold as to say it. I don't believe as he's safe. I'm afraid he'll be doing a mischief to--someone.”

His pause was not lost upon Anne. Again she raised her eyes and steadily regarded him.

”To whom, Dimsdale?” she asked.

”My lady--” the old man murmured unwillingly.

”To me?” she questioned in a quiet, unmoved voice. ”Why are you afraid of that?”

Dimsdale hesitated.

”Tell me,” she said. But again her eyes had sunk to the fire. She seemed as one not vitally interested, as one whose thoughts were elsewhere.

Reluctantly Dimsdale made answer: ”He's been cutting your ladys.h.i.+p's portrait into strips and burning 'em in the study fire. It was dreadful to see him, so intent like and quiet. I saw him put his hand right into the flame once, and he didn't seem to know. And he came in in one of his black moods with his hunting-crop broken right in two. Carrying the pieces he was, and glaring like as if all the world was against him. I was afraid there would be trouble when he came home to lunch and found your ladys.h.i.+p not there.”

He stopped, arrested by a sudden movement from Anne. She had leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. The tension of her att.i.tude was such that Dimsdale became strongly aware that his presence was an intrusion. Yet, the matter being urgent, he stood his ground.

He waited silently, and presently Anne lifted her head. ”I think you must leave the matter till the morning, Dimsdale,” she said. ”It could do no good to have the doctor at this hour. Besides, I doubt if he could come. And Sir Giles will be himself again after a night's rest.”

”I'm very much afraid not, my lady,” said Dimsdale lugubriously. ”He's drinking brandy--neat brandy--all the while. I've never seen him drink like that before. It fair scares me, and that's the truth.”

”You are not afraid on your own account?” Anne asked.

”Oh, no, my lady. He wouldn't interfere with me. It's your ladys.h.i.+p--”

”Ah, well,” she said, quietly interrupting, ”you need not be afraid for me either. I shall not go downstairs again to-night. He will not be expecting me.”

”Very good, my lady.”

Dimsdale looked somewhat relieved but not wholly satisfied. He lingered as if he longed yet did not dare to say more.

As for Anne, she sat quite motionless gazing into the fire, her hands clasped very tightly before her. She seemed to have dismissed the subject under discussion and the faithful Dimsdale simultaneously from her mind.

After a few seconds the old butler realised this, and without further ado he removed the tea-things and went quietly away.

Anne did not notice his departure. She was too deep in thought. Her brain was steadier now, and she found it possible to think. For the first time she was asking herself if she would be justified in bringing her long martyrdom to an end. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain, patiently, conscientiously, unflaggingly, throughout those seven bitter years. She had married her husband without loving him, and he had never sought to win her love. He had married her for the sake of conquering her, attracted by the very coldness with which she had tried in her girlhood to repel him. She had caught his fancy in those far-off days.

Her queenliness, her grace, had captivated him. And later, with the sheer hunter's instinct, he had pursued her, and had eventually discovered a means of entrapping her. He had named his conditions and she had named hers. In the end he had dispatched the father to Canada and made the daughter his wife.

But his fancy for her had scarcely outlasted his capture. He had taken pleasure for a while in humiliating her, counting it sport if he succeeded in arousing her rare indignation. But soon even this had ceased to amuse him. He had developed into that most odious of all bullies, the domestic tyrant, and had therewith sunk back into those habits of intemperance which his marriage had scarcely interrupted. He was many years her senior. He treated her as a slave, and if now and then an uncomfortable sensation of inferiority a.s.sailed him, he took his revenge upon her in evil, glowering tempers that rendered him more of a beast than a man.