Part 74 (2/2)

He remembered so well that unpleasant episode. It was Hadria who stood _then_ in the more powerful position. He had actually feared to meet her eye. He remembered how bitterly she had spoken, of her pa.s.sion for revenge, of the relentless feud between man and woman. They had discussed the question of vengeance; he had pointed out its futility, and Hadria had set her teeth and desired it none the less. Lady Engleton had reminded her of a woman's helplessness if she places herself in opposition to a man, for whom all things are ordered in the society that he governs; her only chance of striking a telling blow being through his pa.s.sions. If he were in love with her, _then_ there might be some hope of making him wince. And Hadria, with a fierce swiftness had accepted the condition, with a mixture of confidence in her own power of rousing emotion, if she willed, and of scorn for the creature who could be appealed to through his pa.s.sions, but not through his sense of justice.

That she might herself be in that vulnerable condition, had not appeared to strike her as possible. It was a challenge that he could not but accept. She attracted him irresistibly. From the first moment of meeting, he had felt her power, and recognized, at the same time, the strange spirit of enmity that she seemed to feel towards him, and to arouse in him against her. He felt the savage in him awake, the desire of mere conquest. Long had he waited and watched, and at last he had seen her flush and tremble at his approach; and as if to make his victory more complete and insolent, it was at _this_ grave that she was to confess herself ready to lose the world for his sake! Yes; and she should understand the position of affairs to the full, and consent nevertheless!

Her adoption of the child had added to his triumph. He could not think of it without a sense of something humourous in the relation of events.

If ever Fate was ironical, this was the occasion! He felt so sure of Hadria to-day, that he was swayed by an overpowering temptation to reveal to her the almost comic situation. It appealed to his sense of the absurd, and to the savagery that lurked, like a beast of prey, at the foundation of his nature. Her evident emotion when he arrived yesterday afternoon and all through his visit, her agitation to-day, at the mere sound of his voice, a.s.sured him that his hold over her was secure. He must be a fool indeed if he could not keep it, in spite of revelations. To offer himself to her threatened vengeance of his own accord, and to see her turned away disarmed, because she loved him; that would be the climax of his victory!

There was something of their old antagonism, in the att.i.tude in which they stood facing one another by the side of the grave, looking straight into one another's eyes. The sound of the child's happy laughter floated back to them across the spot where its mother lay at rest. Whether Theobald's intense consciousness of the situation had, in some way, affected Hadria, or whether his expression had given a clue, it would be difficult to say, but suddenly, as a whiff of scent invades the senses, she became aware of a new and horrible fact which had wandered into her mind, she knew not how; and she took a step backwards, as if stunned, breathing shortly and quickly. Again he interpreted this as a sign of intense feeling.

”Hadria,” he said bending towards her, ”you do love me?” He did not wait for her answer, so confident did he feel. ”You love me for myself, not for my virtues or qualities, for I have but few of those, alas!” She tried to speak, but he interrupted her. ”I want to make a confession to you. I can never forget what you said that day of Marion Fenwick's wedding, at the side of this very grave; you said that you wanted to take vengeance on the man who had brought such misery to this poor woman. You threatened--at least, it amounted to a threat--to make him fall in love with you, if ever you should meet him, and to render him miserable through his pa.s.sion. I loved you and I trembled, but I thought to myself, 'What if I could make her return my love? Where would the vengeance be _then_?'”

Hadria had remained, for a second, perfectly still, and then turned abruptly away.

”I knew it would be a shock to you. I did not dare to tell you before.

Think what depended on it for me. Had I told you at that moment, I knew all hope for me would be at an end. But now, it seems to me my duty to tell you. If you wish for vengeance still, here I am at your mercy--take it.” He stretched out his arms and stood waiting before her. But she was silent. He was not surprised. Such a revelation, at such a moment, must, of necessity, stun her.

”Hadria, p.r.o.nounce my fate. Do you wish for vengeance still? You have only to take it, if you do. Only for heaven's sake, don't keep me in suspense. Tell me your decision.”

Still silence.

”Do you want to take revenge on me now?” he repeated.

”No;” she said abruptly, ”of what use would it be? No, no, wait, wait a moment. I want no vengeance. It is useless for women to try to fight against men; they can only _hate_ them!”

The Professor started, as if he had been struck.

They stood looking at one another.

”In heaven's name, what is the meaning of this? Am I to be hated for a sin committed years ago, and long since repented? Have you no breadth of sympathy, no tolerance for erring humanity? Am I never to be forgiven?

Oh, Hadria, Hadria, this is more than I can bear!”

She was standing very still and very calm. Her tones were clear and deliberate.

”If vengeance is futile, so is forgiveness. It undoes no wrong. It is not a question of forgiveness or of vengeance. I think, after all, if I were to attempt the impossible by trying to avenge women whom men have injured, I should begin with the wives. In this case” (she turned to the grave), ”the tragedy is more obvious, but I believe the everyday tragedy of the docile wife and mother is even more profound.”

”You speak as coldly, as bitterly, as if you regarded me as your worst enemy--I who love you.” He came forward a step, and she drew back hurriedly.

”All that is over. I too have a confession to make.”

”Good heavens, what is it? Are you not what I thought you? Have you some history, some stain--? Don't for pity's sake tell me that!”

Hadria looked at him, with a cold miserable smile. ”That is really amusing!” she cried; ”I should not hold myself responsible to you, for my past, in any case. My confession relates to the present. I came up here with this pencil and paper, half resolved to write to you--I wanted to tell you that--that I find--I find my feelings towards you have changed----”

He gave a hoa.r.s.e, inarticulate cry, and turned sharply round. His hands went up to his head. Then he veered suddenly, and went fiercely up to her.

”Then you _are_ in earnest? You _do_ hate me! for a sin dead and buried?

Good G.o.d! could one have believed it? Because I was honest with you, where another man would have kept the matter dark, I am to be thrown over without a word, without a chance. Lord, and this is what a woman calls love!”

He broke into a laugh that sounded ghastly and cruel, in the serene calm of the churchyard. The laugh seemed to get the better of him. He had lost self-control. He put his hands on his hips and went on laughing harshly, yet sometimes with a real mirth, as if by that means only could he express the fierce emotions that had been roused in him. Mortified and furious as he was, he derived genuine and cynical amus.e.m.e.nt from the incident.

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