Part 28 (2/2)
”You hold the secret of Muriel's hiding-place and refuse to tell me; you openly defy me; therefore I am at liberty to act in whatever manner pleases me--am I not?”
”Certainly,” she answered, slowly twisting her rings around her finger.
”Then listen,” I said. ”You told me once that you could not love me because you loved another. You spoke the truth, for since then that fact has been proved. Some time ago a man, honest and upright, who on account of his religious convictions had resolved to give himself up to labour in the interests of the poor, accepted a curacy in a poor London parish. He worked there, striving night and day, denying himself rest and the comforts he could well afford in order that the sufferings of a few might be alleviated. Into foul dens where people slept on mouldy mattresses upon the floor, where ofttimes a paraffin lamp was placed in the empty grate in place of a fire, and where hunger and dirt bred disease, this man penetrated and distributed food and money, endearing himself to those dregs of humanity, often the sc.u.m of the gaols, by his untiring efforts, his justice, and his kindness of heart. Men who were known to the police as desperate characters welcomed him and were tractable enough beneath his influence. He never sought to cram religion down their throats, for he knew that at first they would have none of it. So he went to work to first gain their hearts, and succeeded so completely that many a confession of crime was in the silence of those bare rooms whispered into his ear by one who was repentant.”
I paused and glanced at her. Her arms had fallen to her sides; she was standing motionless as a statue.
”While pursuing this good work--work undertaken without any thought of the laudation of his fellow-men--there came into that man's life a woman. She came to tempt him from the path of righteousness, to dazzle his eyes with her beauty, and to absorb his love. He saw himself on the verge of a fatal fascination, an entrancement which would inevitably cause him to break his vow to G.o.d; and relinquis.h.i.+ng his work for a time, he fled from her secretly. He wished to avoid her; for although he loved her, he knew that she had been sent into his life by the Tempter to rend and destroy him, for he, alas! knew too well that the evil influences in the world are far more potent than the good, and that the G.o.dly are as rocks among the pebbles of the sea.”
I paused. Again our eyes met.
”And the rest?” she asked hoa.r.s.ely, in a low voice.
”You know the rest, Aline,” I said. ”You know that the name of that man was John Yelverton, and that the woman of evil was yourself, Aline Cloud. You have no need to inquire of me.”
”How did you know?” she gasped, trembling.
”That matters not,” I replied, in as calm a tone as I could. ”Suffice it to know that I have knowledge of the truth.”
”And you know my lover?”
”He is one of my oldest friends,” I answered. ”He fled from you, but by your devilish ingenuity you discovered him and sought him out in the remote village where he had hidden himself. You travelled from London, and he was compelled to meet you clandestinely out upon the high road.
By the evil spell you have cast upon him you are now hoping that he will return to London.”
”And if I am?” she inquired, with a sudden boldness.
”If you are, then you may at once give up all hope that he will still remain your lover,” I answered firmly. ”When I have told him of the truth he will hate you with the same hatred in which he holds the Evil ONE.”
”What, then, do you intend telling him?” she inquired.
”He is my friend, as Roddy Morgan was,” I answered. ”The latter died mysteriously under circ.u.mstances which were undoubtedly known to you, and I have resolved that John Yelverton shall not suffer at your hands.”
”I do not intend that he should suffer!” she cried quickly. ”I love him. I will be his helpmate, his adviser, his protector. I confess to you that I love him with as great an affection as I can love anything on earth.”
”Did you not tell me once that even though you might love, your influence must nevertheless necessarily be that of evil?”
”Yes, yes, I know,” she said. ”The baneful power I possess is not of my own seeking. I suppress it so that it may not injure him.”
”This mysterious power of yours injured poor Roddy. You cannot deny that,” I cried.
She sighed, but made no answer. Her thin hands were clenched; she was desperate.
”Yelverton knows nothing of your inexplicable potency for the working of evil. But he must--he shall know.”
”He will not believe you!” she cried defiantly. ”You may tell him what you choose, but it cannot alter the love between us.”
”Not if I prove that you were responsible for Roddy Morgan's death--that it was you who visited him during his valet's absence?”
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