Part 22 (1/2)
Well, perhaps, after all your choice is but natural.”
”I do not prefer,” she declared, pa.s.sionately. ”Cannot you see, George, that there are circ.u.mstances which compel me to act as I am acting?
Heaven knows, I have suffered enough, because you are the only man I can love.”
”Then why not remain mine, darling?” he said, more tenderly, with a slight pressure of her hand as he gazed with intense earnestness into her tear-dimmed eyes. ”We love one another, therefore why should both our lives be wrecked?”
”Because it is imperative,” she answered, gloomily.
”But what motive can you have in thus ruining your future, and casting aside all chance of happiness?” he inquired, puzzled.
”It is to secure my future, not to ruin it, that I have promised to marry the Prince,” she answered.
”And for no ulterior motive?”
”Yes,” she faltered. ”There is still another reason.”
”What is it? Tell me.”
”No, George,” she answered in a low, hoa.r.s.e voice. ”Do not ask me, for I can never tell you--never.”
”You have a hidden motive which you refuse to explain,” he observed resentfully. ”I have placed faith in you; surely you can trust me, Liane!”
”With everything, save that.”
”Why?”
”It is a secret which I cannot disclose.”
”Not even to me?”
”No, not even to you,” she answered, pale to the lips. ”I dare not!”
He remained silent in perplexity. A bevy of bright-faced, laughing girls pa.s.sed them in high spirits, counting as they went by the coin they had won at the tables. Liane turned her face from them to hide her emotion, and stood motionless, leaning still upon the bal.u.s.trade. The sun was sinking behind the great dark rock whereon was perched Monaco, and the mountains were already purple in the mystic light of evening.
”Why are you so determined that we should separate, darling?” he asked, in a low, pained voice, bending down towards her averted face. ”Surely your Prince can never love you as devotedly as I have done!”
”Ah! George,” she cried, with a tender pa.s.sion in her glance as she again turned to him, ”do not tempt me. It is my duty, and I have given a pledge. I have never loved Prince Zertho, and I never shall. Mine will be a marriage of compulsion. In a few short weeks I shall bid farewell to hope and happiness, to life and love, for I shall become Princess d'Auzac and lose you for ever.”
”As Princess you may obtain many of the pleasures of life. Far more than if you were my wife,” he observed, in a hollow tone, as if speaking to himself.
”No, no,” she protested. ”The very name is to me synonymous of all that is hateful. Ah! you do not know, George, the terrible thoughts that seem to goad me to madness. Often I find myself reflecting whether death would not be preferable to the life to which I am now condemned.
Yet I am held to it immutably, forced against my will to become this man's wife, in order that the terrible secret, which must never be disclosed, may still remain where it is, locked in the breast of the one man who, by its knowledge, holds me irrevocably in his power.”
”Then you fear this Prince Zertho?” he said slowly, with deep emphasis.
She seemed quite unlike the laughing, happy girl he had known at home in their quiet rural village. Her strange att.i.tude of abject dejection and despair held him stupefied.
”Yes,” she answered hoa.r.s.ely, after a long pause, ”I dare not disobey him.”
”From your words it would seem that your crime is of such a terrible nature that you dare not risk exposure. Is that so?” he hazarded in a hard voice, scarcely raised above a whisper.
”My crime!” she cried, all colour instantly dying out of her handsome face, while in her clear, grey eyes was a strange expression as if she were haunted by some fearsome spectre of the past. Her white lips quivered, her hands trembled, ”What do you mean?” she gasped. ”What do you know of my crime?”