DANGER-SIGNALS.
Pearl was very silent and very pale during dinner. As for Amy, she
simply waited, for she knew that in time her cousin must speak.
She was nevertheless hardly prepared for the manner in which the
conversation at length opened.
The peaches were being handed round, when Pearl, glancing suddenly at
the girl opposite to her, asked abruptly:--
"Amy, how was it that you went with Lord--with that man to-day--so far
from home?"
"I was taking a walk with him," replied Amy quietly.
"It seems to me that you accompany him very frequently in his walks,
Amy. Ralph said the other day that he saw much less of you now-a-days
than formerly, your time being so greatly engrossed by Lord Martinworth.
This sounds very strange to me, considering the circumstances, and I
think, dear, if you will forgive my saying so, you are playing rather a
dangerous game."
Amy Mendovy did not reply for a minute, while she made little heaps on
the table with her bread crumbs.
"I think," she said at length, and the colour rose in her cheeks, "if
another time Ralph finds that he has a grievance, it would be best if he
complained to me, instead of confiding in other people."
"He didn't complain. He is far too loyal to do that, whatever he may
feel," retorted Pearl. "But I saw he was looking worried and out of
sorts, so I asked him what was wrong. If anyone is to blame, it is I."
For a time Amy seemed preoccupied. Then she said in a low voice:
"Pearl, surely Ralph--surely you--do not think that I--I am amusing
myself with Lord Martinworth--that I am flirting with him?"
Pearl put her hand on her young cousin's arm, for by this time they had
risen from the dinner table.
"I don't know what to think, Amy," she replied, with her grave, sweet
smile. "This friendship seems so unusual, so--so strange."
"Nevertheless, it is easily explained," retorted Amy quickly. "I rather
like Lord Martinworth, but only _rather_, for he is often very peculiar,
very odd. I frequently find it difficult to make him out. But of one
thing I am sure--I never felt quite so sorry for anyone in my life as I
feel for him. Pearl, that poor man is so desperately unhappy. He
worships you. Of course, it is all very wrong, at least--I suppose it
is. But I am sure it is natural enough. What is more, I believe, poor
fellow, the worry is actually turning his brain. He does and says such
strange things, Pearl, and is so morose. He has taken a fancy to me
simply and purely because I am one of your belongings. And I, out of
sheer sympathy--sheer pity--go for walks with him, and have tried as
much as I can to cheer him up with my chatter and my nonsense. So now
you understand. As for flirting, the idea is absurd. Why I never knew
such a silent, abstracted man. But he seems grateful to me when I rattle
along. And he brightens up a little at times. I thought I was doing some
good for once in a way," she added plaintively, "but seem merely to have
succeeded in placing myself in a false position."
Pearl merely sighed impatiently in reply. She wandered aimlessly about
the room, then fidgetted with a piece of work, then opened a book, but,
almost as quickly closed it. At last she took a lily from a flower vase
and began abstractedly pulling it to pieces. Finally, she went towards
her cousin, and placing her hand upon Amy's arm, glanced up into her
face.
"Amy," she said almost inaudibly, "did you--did you see that awful, that
terrible look that he--that Lord Martinworth gave me to-day, when he
came upon Stanislas and myself in the hut?"
"Yes," replied Amy, without hesitation, "I saw it, dear."
"Amy, I must tell you what I think. There--was--murder--in that look!"
Pearl's eyes grew round with fear. She hurt Amy's arm as she whispered
these words.
"I felt it--I knew it," she added, "and it was the suddenness, Amy, of
this overwhelming, positive knowledge that made me faint away."
"Hush, dear, hush!" replied Amy, putting both arms round her. "You are
excited and nervous. Your nerves are unstrung. You know they never have
been quite normal since your illness. You are apt, darling, to fancy and
exaggerate things. You are thoroughly upset, Pearl. He simply looked
angry and surprised, dear, as well he might, for, of course, he is
ignorant of your engagement to Stanislas. Seeing you together in the
hut--and--and--so affectionate--must have been his first inkling of
anything out of the common."
"Amy," exclaimed Pearl, unlocking the girl's arms from about her waist,
"you are not speaking the truth, and you know it. Don't you understand
that I, who have known Lord Martinworth for so many years, have learnt
by heart every look of his eyes, every expression of his features. And
do you for a moment suppose that I have ever seen that look, or anything
like it, on his face before? Never! And I pray God I may never see it
again. If I do, I know there can be no possible escape for me. For as
surely as I am standing in this room, Dick Martinworth will kill me!"
At these tragic words Amy gave a little cry and her lips grew pale. Both
women lapsed into gloomy silence, while Amy--once more placing her arms
tenderly round her cousin, drew her out on to the verandah. They watched
the moon in all her glory, lighting up with mystic glow mountains and
woods and silent lake. The soft, mild light seemed to have a soothing
effect upon Pearl's storm-tossed mind, for after a time she spoke more
calmly.
"Of course," she said, with a long-drawn sigh, "it was very, very wrong
of me, just because I was upset--half mad with fear--to behave as I did
to poor innocent Stanislas. I cannot now understand how I could have
called him--Stanislas--of all men--a coward. How I could have said those
wicked things about his--killing--killing the other one. I did not know,
Amy, I had it in me to be so hard, so unjust, so--so cruel. But lately I
have discovered more than one detestable trait in my character unguessed
before. Oh, dear, if you only knew how I hate and scorn myself, how
cordially sometimes I wish I were dead!"
"If," replied Amy, alarmed at this fresh outburst, and speaking in her
most calm and composed manner, "if you do not intend that Monsieur de
Güldenfeldt should carry out your wish of killing Lord Martinworth, you
had better perhaps, let him know without further delay that you have
changed your mind. I believe people even in these enlightened days,
still sometimes fight duels."
Pearl looked startled, then she sighed wearily, but made no reply. As
the evening wore on she grew calmer and more collected. But she did not
again refer to the subject, and by the time Amy left her, all traces of
excitement and tears had vanished.
Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had returned home feeling thoroughly upset and
distressed. Making every allowance that he reasonably could for the
temporary excitement of an hysterical woman, he still found it difficult
not to feel wounded at Pearl's behaviour, so uncalled-for and
inconsiderate. Of late, he had more than once noticed an irritability
and fractiousness of disposition, which before her illness had certainly
been unknown to him. But this was the first time he had been treated to
such an outburst as that which followed the unfortunate meeting with
Lord Martinworth. Even that, considering the circumstances, he would
have freely forgiven, for he knew that women suffered from a malady
called nerves, and at such times they were apt to do and say strange
things. What however, he found it difficult to pardon and indeed to
comprehend, was not only her air of chilly reserve, but the persistent
ill-temper that Pearl had exhibited in the boat and even up to the
actual moment of their parting on the shore.
Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had yet to learn that women's moods are
incomprehensible in their uncertainty, inexplicable in their variety.
From Pearl's misdemeanours, de Güldenfeldt's thoughts flew to the
ominous look witnessed on Lord Martinworth's face. In recalling it to
mind, he was forced to acknowledge that the passion it expressed was
simply diabolical. He remembered how this expression had staggered him
as it crossed his vision, how his blood had boiled to think that such a
glance should, even for one second, fall upon the woman whom he loved.
In pondering over that look, and the circumstance that gave rise to it,
de Güldenfeldt was seized with fury, and at that moment it was perhaps
fortunate that Martinworth was considerably beyond the reach of the
Swedish Minister's muscular arm. And yet, as Stanislas grew calmer, he
realised the difficulty of going to the extremity of killing a man in a
duel, simply because the expression of his face had been of an
unpleasant nature, and had consequently displeased him.
He was still debating this question in his mind, wondering, as he puffed
thoughtfully at his cigar, what steps could possibly be taken, and
gazing in perplexity at the moon, which in its brilliancy seemed to mock
at his lugubrious thoughts, when Sir Ralph Nicholson appeared on the
verandah.
There was a suppressed discomposure and hurry in the latter's manner,
and he was paler than usual.
"I say, de Güldenfeldt," he exclaimed, sinking into a cane chair, "we've
had a devilish unpleasant thing occur at the hotel. Martinworth has all
but cut his throat with his own razor."
"_Sapristi!_" exclaimed Stanislas under his breath, half-rising from his
chair.
"The fellow for the time being was evidently as mad as a hatter,"
continued Ralph. "Fortunately for him, this charming little tragedy was
enacted in his wife's presence. I've no notion what called it forth.
There was a row between them, I suppose. But I have gathered from her
that he suddenly rushed to the dressing table, and the next thing she
saw was the gleam of the razor across his throat! She was up in a
second, caught hold of the beastly thing as he was in the very act, had
a tremendous struggle with him--she's a strong woman, you
know--eventually secured it, and promptly pitched it out of the window."
"Good God! What a terrible business! Is the wound serious?"
"He was bleeding horribly when I rushed in. Their rooms are next to
mine, you know, and through those thin partitions I heard the whole
affair--the struggle, her screams, etc. I was just dressing for dinner.
It appears, however, that the wound is not very deep. His plucky wife
prevented that. Her hands are awfully cut about, too. But she's kept her
wits, and hasn't broken down for a single instant."
"But what have you done with Martinworth?"
"Oh! he's calm enough now. And sane enough too, for the matter of that.
Fortunately, there is an army doctor on leave from Hong-Kong staying at
the hotel. He has bound up the wound, and says that both Martinworth and
his wife will be all right in a few days. We've tried to hush the affair
up as much as possible, but of course the story is bound to get about.
The question is, de Güldenfeldt, what on earth are we to do with
Martinworth?"
"You think he ought to be put into confinement?" enquired de Güldenfeldt
with a quick look.
"Well, you see, a man who attempts his own life is supposed as a rule to
be hardly responsible for his actions. Besides, I personally look upon
the fellow as a dangerous animal. Who knows but that the fancy may take
him to attack someone else instead of himself? He has been awfully queer
ever since he came up here, and I have not at all liked Amy being so
much with him. She thought he seemed ill and unhappy, and kind-hearted
little soul that she is, felt sorry for him. I blame myself now for not
having sooner prevented this intimacy. But naturally I felt a certain
delicacy at interfering in her friendships. But that's neither here nor
there. What on earth are we to do with the poor fellow, de Güldenfeldt?"
The two men discussed the question until far into the night. Eventually
what appeared like the right,--indeed the only solution,--was arrived
at. They decided between themselves that as soon as the wound was
sufficiently healed to allow of his removal, Lord Martinworth should be
conveyed without delay to the General Hospital in Yokohama, in which
place he could be detained in the necessary confinement until it was
found possible to transfer him to England.
The plan was in every way a practical one. But in forming it, neither de
Güldenfeldt nor Nicholson reckoned on the great opposition likely to be
raised by one of the chief persons concerned, namely--the wife of the
injured man.
The subject was approached by Ralph the next morning, who with that
purpose in view, begged Lady Martinworth for a private interview. But
after a short time, looking pale and flustered, he rejoined de
Güldenfeldt, who was smoking his cigar while waiting for him outside the
hotel.
In emphatic terms he announced that never again would he undertake such
a mission, for he had passed through one of the most painful, the most
unpleasant half-hours ever spent in his life.
It appeared that after considerable hesitation and beating about the
bush, Ralph came at length to the point. At first--he told de
Güldenfeldt--Lady Martinworth did not appear to understand, but that
when she finally grasped his meaning her anger was uncontrollable. She
turned on Ralph, and positively white with rage, asked him how he dared
to insult her and her husband--to say nothing of the family of
Martinworth generally--with such an iniquitous proposition? She affirmed
over and over again, in the most angry and positive terms, that Lord
Martinworth was as sane as Ralph himself, that in fact, the action of
the night before had merely been the result of a temporary mental
disturbance caused by an unexpected shock, followed by great distress of
mind.
"Of course," continued Ralph, "I have no notion to what she referred.
And my belief is she does not know herself what was the cause or the
nature of this shock. I ventured mildly to insinuate that such an
unfortunate state of affairs might recur, in which case the danger might
not a second time be so easily averted. I was bound to point this out to
her, but it was an unfortunate remark on my part, for on the strength of
it, what the dickens do you think she did?"
"Go on," replied his listener. "What happened?"
"She caught me by the hand, dragged me across the passage, and would you
believe it, before I caught on as to where she was going, ushered me
straight into Martinworth's room! He--poor fellow--was lying on the sofa
with his throat bound up, though he really did not look half as bad as
one might have expected in the circumstances. I went up to him at once.
But Lady Martinworth did not give me time to open my lips. 'Dick,' she
cried, 'I have brought Sir Ralph Nicholson into your room for the
express purpose of proving to him what he declines to believe from my
lips--the fact that you are a sane man. He affirms that you were mad
last night when this unfortunate accident took place, that you are still
mad, and what's more, that you are likely to become worse as time goes
on, and that consequently precautions must be taken. He comes here with
a proposition which if not so insulting, would really be downright
absurd. I expect you will have something to say in reply to both the
accusations and the remedy proposed. Of course, you must not talk, but
write what you have to say on this,' and pushing some note-paper towards
him, she cast a last furious glance at me, and then and there left the
room.
"Well, you can fancy, de Güldenfeldt, I felt a bit of a fool standing
there. Certainly my sentiments for Lady Martinworth for having
deliberately forced me into such an unpleasant position were not of the
most amiable description. My reasoning and accusations may have been
perfectly correct, still naturally, no fellow likes being called a
lunatic to his face, and I was quite prepared for any amount of anger or
violence on Martinworth's part.
"However to my astonishment, he did not seem at all put out. In fact he
looked quite agreeable, nodded and smiled, pointed to a chair, and began
writing at once. Here's his letter. I confess, it doesn't look much like
the production of a madman."
And Ralph extracted from his pocket-book a folded epistle, which he
straightway handed to de Güldenfeldt.
"You are both right and wrong, my dear Nicholson," it ran. "Last
night I was as mad as people who are thoroughly sick of life and
are determined to end it--generally are. The mood, the desire
for self-extinction, has however, passed. To-day I consider
myself perfectly sane, as sane as you are yourself. Indeed, I
now realise that I have a purpose before me, and until that
purpose is accomplished I can assure you I shall make no further
attempt on my life. And, even when my object is fulfilled, I
really see no particular reason why I should wish to disappear.
Shall I not then have reached the height of my desires?
Therefore, why should I wish to die?
But that is not the question now. What I wish to explain to you
is that there is absolutely no reason whatever why I should be
shut up. For I presume it was with that idea in your mind that
you called on my wife this morning? I perfectly understand your
view of the case. But _I am not mad_. So you can go away, my
dear fellow, with the assurance that though doubtless your
intentions are excellent, they are somewhat uncalled-for, and
slightly premature.
Your decidedly amused,
MARTINWORTH.
Come and give me a look sometimes. I hope to be able to speak in
a few days. It will enliven me much to see your cheery face."
De Güldenfeldt looked serious as he returned the letter.
"I cannot agree with you, Nicholson," he remarked after a minute or two,
"in considering this communication the letter of a sane man. Taking his
previous acts into consideration, I judge by this letter that he is more
dangerously cracked than I even at first imagined him."
"In what way?" enquired Ralph.
"My dear fellow, we all know the deepness and cunning of a madman. And
in my eyes that letter is the acme of cunning. What, I should like to
know, does he mean by a 'purpose before him?' What, I ask you, is that
'purpose?' Mark my words, my dear Ralph, it means some fiendish design,
which, if the poor fellow were sane, would probably be as far from his
thoughts or his intentions, as from yours or mine. Of course, nothing
can be done without the sanction of his wife. But in my opinion, that
man has no right to be at large. Let him work out his 'purpose' in an
asylum if he likes. Not among the peaceful community of Chuzenji."
"Well, I don't see what is to be done," replied Ralph with a sigh. "I
only hope your suspicions are unfounded, and that there may be no
further bother with him. At any rate, perhaps it will be just as well to
keep Amy away from him for the present."
"Yes, and above all--Pearl," remarked de Güldenfeldt darkly.
Stanislas was particularly thoughtful as after this conversation, he
strolled towards Mrs. Nugent's house. He did not attempt to disguise
from himself that he felt extremely anxious on her account. He could not
get Martinworth's murderous look out of his mind. It haunted him each
time with greater vividness and meaning, and the more clearly it
imprinted itself on his vision, the firmer was his impression that it
was the wild, vindictive, unreasoning look of a madman.
He still seemed worried and preoccupied when he appeared on Mrs.
Nugent's verandah. That lady, glancing quickly into his face as he went
towards her, naturally misconstrued the cause.
There were still moments when Pearl felt a certain shyness and dread of
her future husband. The present was one of them.
She was paler than usual as she gave her cheek to be kissed.
"Stanislas," she said, still holding his hand, "I have been so ashamed,
so unhappy at what occurred yesterday. I am consumed with remorse. Will
you forgive me, dear?"
Recent events had obliterated Pearl's misconduct. Her words, however,
recalled not only the annoyance, but the considerable distress of which
she had been the cause. De Güldenfeldt's glance, as it fell on her, was
for once both cold and stern.
"If, Pearl," he said gravely, "you hope in the future to fill well your
position as a Diplomatist's wife, the first lesson you must learn is to
control not only your speech, but your temper. But let us say no more
about it," and his face softened as his eyes rested on her repentant
face and he took in all her dainty loveliness. "The man frightened you.
You were nervous and unstrung, dear. Perhaps I was wrong to attach so
much importance to your irritability, or to be hurt at your treatment of
me. Certainly subsequent events have proved that you were to a certain
extent justified in your alarm."
"What do you mean?" asked Pearl quickly.
"Put on your hat and I will tell you in the boat. There is a delicious
breeze for sailing. It will take us straight to Senji."
It was only after much thought that de Güldenfeldt decided to tell Pearl
what had occurred at the hotel. He was anxious not to increase her
fears. On the other hand, he knew that she must hear the story sooner or
later, and he concluded that it were better she should get the true
facts from him than to have imparted to her from some outsider a garbled
and exaggerated version. Also, he was anxious, without frightening her
too much, to impress upon her the great necessity for being on her
guard, a task which, he knew, required both tact and delicacy.
Altogether, Stanislas felt that he had a difficult business before him.
He was very desirous that Mrs. Nugent should leave Chuzenji without
delay. He intended to use all his powers of persuasion to convince her
of the necessity for such a step, and although he was prepared for many
objections, he little reckoned on the total failure of his mission.
Pearl's steering was erratic, and her startled eyes looked brighter and
bigger than ever, while she listened in silence to all de Güldenfeldt
had to tell her. Hearing these distressing details was a truly dreadful
ordeal to her. At each word Stanislas let drop, Pearl felt as if a knife
was being thrust into her breast. For, if it were indeed true that Dick
Martinworth were mad, Pearl instinctively knew that she alone was the
cause of that madness. And as Stanislas' grave, calm words fell upon her
ears, and the ghastly truth flashed upon her, that she--Pearl
Nugent--had driven a man insane for love of her, she wept silently from
very bitterness of soul.
So this was the sole result of her strivings, her flight of three years
ago, her struggle for respectability and for virtue. So this--the mental
collapse of a man, once famous for his brilliant intellect, once noted
for his calm impartial judgments--was the climax, to what she in her
self-satisfied pride, had been wont to consider a fairly successful
victory over manifold temptations, a triumph of entire self-control. It
was but now, in obtaining cognizance of his supposed insanity, that
Pearl fully appreciated the passionate, yet self-sacrificing nature of
Martinworth's devotion. She realised at that moment, that it was this
actual act of self-renunciation that had caused the present state of
things, the unhinging of that once powerful mind. Her frame shook as
this thought was brought home to her. That look of
yesterday--everything--seemed to be explained in those three words, "He
is mad." He was mad. And she told herself that it was she--Pearl
Nugent--by her self-righteous, cold, calm virtue and superiority, who
had driven him insane.
She looked out her eyes wide open with dumb misery, at the blue expanse
of water before her. Her hand was leaning on the tiller, but she did not
move it. De Güldenfeldt watching her tears, partly read and understood
the remorse and agony of mind through which she was passing.
He touched her with his hand.
"Don't take it so hardly, dear," he said. "I daresay he will get all
right again. Indeed, Nicholson thinks him so now, and you must remember,
he is the only one of us who has seen him since this awful thing
happened. Don't you think you had better go away for a little, Pearl,
until all this has blown over? You will get ill again if you worry so,
if you take things so much to heart."
"Go away? What should I go away for? Where would you have me go?"
"Oh, up North,--anywhere. The Rawlinsons and I would of course,
accompany you. You must get out of this place. You will get ill again.
You badly want a change, Pearl."
"I want a change, when I have not been here a month? No! I have no
intention of moving for the present. I am not ill, Stanislas. I am quite
well. All I implore is not to be bothered--to be left in peace."
In spite of her petulance, de Güldenfeldt persisted for some time in his
entreaties. Till finally Pearl, glancing up at him with an expression of
bored surprise, informed him quietly but incisively that his arguments
were a mere waste of breath, as she certainly had not the slightest
intention of leaving Chuzenji, where she was so satisfactorily
installed, until the hot season was over.
"Would you mind," she continued, "once more giving me your reasons why
you are so particularly anxious for me to exchange my pleasant little
abode here, where I am cool and perfectly contented, for the discomforts
of hot, stuffy tea-houses?"
The reasons were not repeated. At that moment the wind changed, and they
had to put about. Later, when they were comfortably settled down again,
Stanislas took a long look at Pearl's firm, little chin. Not for the
first time was it borne upon the Swedish Minister's diplomatic mind, the
utter uselessness, the complete futility, of trying to persuade Mrs.
Nugent against her will.