Part 8 (2/2)

He had not been deeply attached to his brother. Their ways were wide apart. All his life he had known Challis for what he was; his heart if not his hand was against him. From the first, he had regarded Sara's marriage as a bad bargain for her, and toward the last bluntly told her so. Not once but many times had he taken it upon himself to inform her that she was a fool to put up with all the beastly things Challis was doing. He characterised as infatuation the emotion she was p.r.o.ne to call love when they met to discuss the escapades of the careless Challis, for she always went to him with her troubles. In direct opposition to his counselling, she invariably forgave the erring lover who was her husband. Once Leslie had said to her, in considerable heat: ”You act as if you were his mistress, instead of his wife. Mistresses have to forgive; wives don't.” And she had replied: ”Yes, but I'd much rather have him a lover than a husband.” A remark which Leslie never quite fathomed, being somewhat literal himself.

Carroll, her lawyer, an elderly man of vast experience, was not surprised to find her quite calm and reasonable. He had come to know her very well in the past few years. He had been her father's lawyer up to the time of that excellent tradesman's demise, and he had settled the estate with such unusual despatch that the heirs,--there were many of them,--regarded him as an admirable person and--kept him busy ever afterward straightening out their own affairs. Which goes to prove that policy is often better than honesty.

”I quite understand, my dear, that while it is a dreadful shock to you, you are perfectly reconciled to the--er--to the--well, I might say the culmination of his troubles,” said Mr. Carroll tactfully, after she had related for his benefit the story of the night's adventure, with reservation concerning the girl who slumbered in the room beyond.

”Hardly that, Mr. Carroll. Resigned, perhaps. I can't say that I am reconciled. All my life I shall feel that I have been cheated,”

she said.

He looked up sharply. Something in her tone puzzled him. ”Cheated, my dear? Oh, I see. Cheated out of years and years of happiness.

I see.”

She bowed her head. Neither spoke for a full minute.

”It's a horrible thing to say, Sara, but this tragedy does away with another and perhaps more unpleasant alternative: the divorce I have been urging you to consider for so long.”

”Yes, we are spared all that,” she said. Then she met his gaze with a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. ”But I would not have divorced him--never. You understood that, didn't you?”

”You couldn't have gone on for ever, my dear child, enduring the--”

She stopped him with a sharp exclamation. ”Why discuss it now? Let the past take care of itself, Mr. Carroll. The past came to an end night before last, so far as I am concerned. I want advice for the future, not for the past.”

He drew back, hurt by her manner. She was quick to see that she had offended him.

”I beg your pardon, my best of friends,” she cried earnestly.

He smiled. ”If you will take PRESENT advice, Sara, you will let go of yourself for a spell and see if tears won't relieve the tension under--”

”Tears!” she cried. ”Why should I give way to tears? What have I to weep for? That man up there in the country? The cold, dead thing that spent its last living moments without a thought of love for me? Ah, no, my friend; I shed all my tears while he was alive.

There are none left to be shed for him now. He exacted his full share of them. It was his pleasure to wring them from me because he knew I loved him.” She leaned forward and spoke slowly, distinctly, so that he would never forget the words. ”But listen to me, Mr.

Carroll. You also know that I loved him. Can you believe me when I say to you that I hate that dead thing up there in Burton's Inn as no one ever hated before? Can you understand what I mean? I hate that dead body, Mr. Carroll. I loved the life that was in it. It was the life of him that I loved, the warm, appealing life of him.

It has gone out. Some one less amiable than I suffered at his hands and--well, that is enough. I hate the dead body she left behind her, Mr. Carroll.”

The lawyer wiped the cool moisture from his brow.

”I think I understand,” he said, but he was filled with wonder.

”Extraordinary! Ahem! I should say--Ahem! Dear me! Yes, yes--I've never really thought of it in that light.”

”I dare say you haven't,” she said, lying back in the chair as if suddenly exhausted.

”By the way, my dear, have you breakfasted?”

”No. I hadn't given it a thought. Perhaps it would be better if I had some coffee--”

”I will ring for a waiter,” he said, springing to his feet.

”Not now, please. I have a young friend in the other room--a guest who arrived last night. She will attend to it when she awakes. Poor thing, it has been dreadfully trying for her.”

”Good heaven, I should think so,” said he, with a glance at the closed door, ”Is she asleep?”

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