The mellow summer twilight was fast deepening into night as I strode
along Piccadilly towards the Circus, after leaving the grey-eyed woman
who held the secret.
What she had revealed to me was startling, yet the one fact which caused
me more apprehension than all others was the curious means by which she
had discovered my whereabouts. If she had been enabled to do this, then
the police would, no doubt, very soon find me and return me to my
so-called "friends."
In despair I thought of Mabel. Long ago I had surrendered my whole
heart to her. She had at first placed a strong and high-minded
confidence in me, judging me by her own lofty spirit, but that
unaccountable rupture had occurred, and she had gone from me crushed and
heart-broken. In my pocket I carried her letter, and the more I thought
over it the more puzzled I became. Daily, hourly, I lamented over the
broken and shattered fragments of all that was fairest on earth; I had
been borne at once from calm, lofty, and delighted speculations into the
very heart of fear and tribulations. My love for her was now ranked by
myself as a fond record which I must erase for ever from my heart and
brain. Once I had thought to link my destiny with hers; but, alas! I
could not now marry her, nor could I reveal to her, knowing them not,
the mysterious influences which had changed the whole current of my life
and purposes. My secret burden was that of a heart bursting with its
own unuttered grief.
The whole of the events swept past me like a torrent which hurried along
in its dark and restless course all those about me towards some
overwhelming catastrophe. Tormented by remorseful doubts and pursued by
distraction, I felt assured that Mabel, in her unresisting tenderness,
her mournful sweetness, her virgin innocence, was doomed to perish by
that relentless power which had linked her destiny with crime and
contest in which she had no part but as a sufferer. It is, alas! the
property of crime to extend its mischiefs over innocence, as it is of
virtue to extend its blessing over many that deserve them not.
Plunged in that sea of troubles, of perplexities, of agonies, and of
terrors, I reflected upon all that the woman Edna had told me. It
seemed inconceivable that Bulgaria's ruler should demand assistance of
me--and yet it was undoubtedly true.
Presently I turned down the Haymarket, still walking slowly, deep in
reflection.
Should I inform the police? Very calmly I thought it over. My first
impulse was to go to Scotland Yard and make a plain statement of the
whole facts, laying stress upon the suspicion against the woman Grainger
as an accessory. Yet when I came to consider the result of such action
I saw with dismay that my lips were sealed. Such statement could only
reflect upon myself. First, I should, by going to Scotland Yard, be
compelled to reveal my own identity, which would mean my return to
Denbury; secondly, I could give no account of those six lost years of my
life; and, thirdly, the statement of one believed not to be exactly
responsible for his actions must be regarded with but little credence.
No, circumstances themselves had conspired to hold me to silence.