Part 26 (1/2)
I hastened to apologise, but her reply was--
”Ah! Willoughby! I am so doubly cursed that I can laugh to scorn all other ills of life. My cup of misery is full; one drop more and it must overflow, and life will ebb with it.”
”But can I do nothing to help you--absolutely nothing?” I demanded, looking earnestly into her eyes.
She shook her beautiful head despondently, and her breast heaved and fell in a long deep-drawn sigh.
”You saw the Frenchwoman, and you failed,” was her despairing reply.
”It was the last chance afforded to me, and it is lost--lost. I know, now Richard Keene has returned, that I must suffer.”
”But if Marigold can save you from this terrible fate that threatens you, why does she refuse?”
”She has, I suppose, some motive known to her in secret,” was my love's reply. ”You know her character just as well as I do. Before her marriage there was--well, an incident. And I presume it is this which she fears that George may know.”
”But if you are aware of it, will you still conceal it though this woman is your enemy? Recollect,” I said, ”that she has no love for her husband. Hers was a mere marriage of convenience.”
”Ah, yes, I know,” she said. ”But would you have me condemn a woman even though she be my enemy? No, Willoughby, that is not like you. I know that revenge is never within your heart, you are always too generous.”
I regretted that I had made such a suggestion, and bowed beneath her reproachful words. Yet it somehow seemed that if she possessed the knowledge of this ”incident,” whatever it was, she might hold it over her enemy as a threat, and use it as a lever to obtain the information she desired from the Countess's lips.
”Poor George!” I exclaimed. ”What, I wonder, can be the end of his life with such a woman? And yet he is so utterly infatuated by her. I threatened to speak to him regarding certain of her actions but she has openly defied me, saying that he is too deeply in love with her to hear any word of condemnation. And she's absolutely right, I believe,” I added, sighing.
”She is right. He is more deeply in love with her than before their marriage, while on her part her open flirtations and love of admiration are little short of scandalous!” she declared.
”And yet you would protect such a woman--even though she seek your downfall?”
”The divine lesson taught us, Willoughby, is to forgive our enemies, and to allow them an opportunity for reform,” she answered calmly. ”Were I to hound her down by an exposure of the past, I should myself merit neither pity nor compa.s.sion.”
”But she remains silent in order that you shall go to your ruin,” I remarked.
”Her silence may be the result of ignorance,” she suggested. ”She may not really know the truth, but for some secret reason has made Keene believe she is aware of everything.”
There was something in that argument which caused me to ponder, for I recollected that her whole object had been to deceive the man who was her husband's guest.
”But had you no suspicion that she knew the truth?” I asked.
”None whatever.”
”It seems, however, that Marigold is also in possession of some secret concerning this man Keene, for she threatened that if he revealed his real name to her husband, or sought to expose her, that she would inform the police of his whereabouts. Does that threat of hers convey anything to you?”
”Did she really say that?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed my love in blank surprise. ”If she did, then it throws a new light upon the affair. She must have met the woman Lejeune, and the latter has told her certain very important facts in order to place Keene in her power. And yet,” she added, pausing, ”I doubt very much if Marigold dare denounce Keene for her own sake.”
”Then she is implicated in this ugly affair as well as him?” I exclaimed quickly.
She saw that she had unintentionally revealed to me one very important fact, but having made such an a.s.sertion there was no withdrawing it, therefore she was forced to respond in the affirmative.
”Ah!” she cried desperately, gripping my hand in both hers. ”You do not know, Willoughby, what conflicts wring my soul. I would barter worlds to tell you the truth, yet dare not. Because if I did so I would lose all your esteem and all your fond affection. I--I cannot live in this uncertainty,” she cried bursting into a torrent of tears. ”I wander now a melancholy woman, and seem unthankful where most I should be grateful.
Religion stays my hand from the self infliction of that blow which I have vainly sought within the jaws of death. Where can I go? Where can I hide my miserable self? A trackless desert would be paradise to all I suffer here. But it cannot be. I shall--I must--relieve my woes in everlasting sleep.”
”No, no,” I cried, kissing the trembling hands of my white-faced desperate love. ”You must not talk like that, Lolita. You are marked down as the victim of these intriguers, but you shall not be. There is still life and love for us. Be patient, be brave--tell me the truth of the allegation against you and trust in me.”