Part 47 (1/2)
She knew she had said too much, and tried to hide her confusion in the intense grief which his announcement had caused.
”You said her name was Duvauchel?” he said quietly.
”Did I? Well, what of that?”
”You are acquainted with incidents of her past. What is it you know?
Tell me.”
She hesitated. Her face was white and agitated, but she had shed no tears. Her heart was stricken with grief, yet she strove to conceal her intense love for the man who was reported dead.
”Why,” she answered slowly, ”I know that she--but--indeed, I know nothing,” she added hysterically.
”That's not the truth,” he said reproachfully.
”Perhaps not. Nevertheless, what I know I shall keep secret. The time may come when I shall have my revenge upon the woman who has robbed me of the man I love--the vile, heartless woman who has killed him.”
”You cannot prove that he met with his death by foul means,” he said reflectively. ”The report says he died suddenly--nothing more. Read for yourself,” and he handed her the paper, at the same time pointing to the paragraph.
”Then she has obtained all his money?” Dolly observed mechanically, after she had glanced at it. ”Is not that sufficient motive for his death?”
The artist admitted that it was. The unutterable sadness of ten minutes before had given place to a strange apprehensive dread. It was clear that Dolly was in possession of some facts connected with the hidden pages of the Frenchwoman's history. In that case, he told himself, it was more than probable she would ultimately discover his own secret--the secret which fettered him to this clever, handsome adventuress, even if she were not acquainted with it already. His heart sank within him as he recognised that alienation and loathing would be the inevitable result Dolly would shrink from his touch as from some unclean thing.
She would regard him as a debased criminal.
He tried to fix upon some means by which to ascertain the extent of her information. The thought suggested itself that he should tell her something of Valerie's history, and lead her on to divulge what she knew. Such a course, however, did not commend itself to him. He was bound to preserve the secret, for full well he knew that Valerie's threats were never idle--that she would show him no mercy if he divulged.
Thus he was as powerless as before. The maddening thought flashed through his mind that a plain, straightforward statement of facts to Hugh when first he had met her would have obviated his ruin and prevented his death.
To and fro he paced the studio in a frenzy of grief and despair.
The pretty model watched him for a moment, then, sinking upon a couch, and covering her face with her hands, burst into a torrent of tears.
Unable to control her bitter sorrow, her pent-up feelings obtained vent in a manner that was heart-rending to the kind, sensitive man who stood before her.
”Dolly, I know what a terrible blow this is to you,” said he sympathetically, removing her hat, and tenderly stroking her hair. ”You loved him?”
She did not answer at once, hesitating even then to admit the truth.
”Yes,” she sobbed at last, ”I did. You little know what I have endured for his sake.”
”Ah! I can well understand. You loved him dearly, yet he left you for the woman who exercised a fatal fascination upon him. With scarcely a word of farewell, he cast your love aside and offered Valerie marriage.
I know the depth of your disappointment and terrible sorrow. Don't think that because I have never made love to you that I am utterly devoid of affection. I loved--once--and it brought me grief quite as poignant as yours; therefore I can sympathise with you.”
He spoke with sadness, and with a heavy sigh pa.s.sed his hand with aweary gesture across his care-lined brow.
”It's so foolish of me,” she murmured apologetically, in a low, broken voice. ”I ought not to have made this confession.”
”Why not? I had noticed it long ago. Love always betrays itself.”
Lifting her sad, tear-stained face, she looked earnestly into his eyes.
”What can you think of me, Jack?” she asked.