Part 31 (1/2)
”But what _can_ you do?” she asked, after considering his words. ”You're so involved. All this business--and the people in South America--”
”Oh, there are ways and means. I haven't made plans, but I've thought, from time to time, of what I should do if I ever came to just this pa.s.s.
The first thing would be to tell the few people who are most concerned, confidentially. Then I should go back to South America, and settle things give me your respect again--not even the little you've given me hitherto--and G.o.d knows that can't have been much. I could stand anything in the world--anything--rather than that you should come to that.”
”But I shouldn't, when I myself had dissuaded you--”
”No, no; don't try. You'd be doing wrong. You've been to me so high and holy that I don't like to think you haven't the strength to go on to the end. I've got it, because you've given it me. Don't detract from your own gift by holding me back from using it. You found me a prisoner--or an escaped one--and I've been a prisoner all these years, the prisoner of something worse than chains. Now I'm going free. Look!” he cried, with sudden inspiration. ”I'll show you how it's done. You'll see how easy it will be.”
He moved to cross the room.
”What are you going to do?”
She sprang up as if to hold him back, but his finger was on the bell.
”You don't mind, I hope?” he asked; but he had rung before she could give an answer. The maid appeared in the doorway.
”Ask Mr. Wayne if he would be good enough to come in here a minute. Tell him Mr. Strange particularly wants to see him.”
He went back to his place by the fireside, where he stood apparently calm, showing no sign of excitement except in heightened color and the stillness of nervous tension Miriam sank into her chair again.
”Don't do anything rash,” she pleaded. ”Wait till to-morrow There will always be time. For G.o.d's sake!”
If he heard her he paid no attention, and presently Wayne appeared. He hesitated a minute on the threshold, and during that instant Ford could see that he looked ashy and older, as if something had aged him suddenly.
His hands trembled, too, as he felt his way in.
”Good-evening,” he said, speaking into the air as blind men do. ”I thought I heard your voice.”
Having groped his way across the room and reached the table that stood between the arm-chairs Miriam and Ford had occupied, he stopped. He stood there, with fingers drumming soundlessly on the polished wood, waiting for some one to speak.
In spite of the confidence with which he had rung the bell, Ford found it difficult now to begin. It was only after one or two inarticulate attempts that he was able to say anything.
”I asked you to come in, sir,” he began, haltingly, ”to tell you something very special. Miss Strange knows it already.... If I've done wrong in not telling you before ... you'll see I'm prepared to take my punishment....
My name isn't Strange ... it isn't Herbert.”
”I know it isn't.”
The words slipped out in a sharp tone, not quite nervous, but thin and worn. Miriam's att.i.tude grew tense. Ford took a step forward from the fireside. With his arm flung over the back of his chair, and his knee resting on the seat of it, he strained across the table, as if to annihilate the s.p.a.ce between Wayne and himself.
”You _knew_?”
The blind man nodded. When he spoke it was again into the air.
”Yes; I knew. You're Norrie Ford. I ought to say I've only known it latterly--about a fortnight now.”
”How?”