HUSBAND AND WIFE.
On leaving the house Halsa and her companion walked toward the gate.
She had snatched up a hat from the stand in the passage as she passed
through, but had not thought of taking a cloak, and even by the time
they reached the gate the steady drizzle had drenched her light dress.
She stopped here for a moment, and, turning, looked back at the house.
Through the mist of rain she saw the windows of the study and the lamp
burning brightly. Within the study was--as she thought of him, an
uncontrollable sob burst from her.
"Are you going to stay here all night?" asked Lamport roughly.
"Which way are we going?" she replied.
"Any way I choose; go straight ahead. Keep alongside of me if you can;
if not, follow. I want to get out of the rain."
And Lamport, plunging his hands deep into his pockets, stepped forward
at a pace so rapid that his wife was only barely able to keep up with
him. They spoke no word to each other, but at intervals Lamport swore
aloud to himself, and cursed Halsa. He was bitterly disappointed at
the failure of his plans; he was furious with Halsa for following him
as she had. He had not quite expected this. The drink was working in
his brain, rousing him to madness.
Halsa felt that every step was taking her away from the best part of
her life, and yet with all the sorrow was mingled a proud sense of the
sacrifice she had made. Then a great doubt came upon her. Had she
acted rightly? Was this man--this fiend who had deliberately allowed
her to commit a crime--worth the sacrifice? No, a thousand times no.
She had it almost in her heart to turn back and throw herself at
Galbraith's feet, to be his slave, to be anything, rather than parted
from him. Then the horror and shame of it all made the hot blood rush
in madness to her face. And so, on they went through the dark street,
where lamps shone only at long intervals amid the ghostly gloom of the
cocoa palms, and the rain now pouring fast. Her clothes were drenched
through, and Halsa felt that her strength would not enable her to keep
up with her companion much longer. At last she could endure no more,
and slackened her pace. Lamport walked on for a little, and then,
apparently suddenly missing her from his side, turned sharply.
"Did I not tell you to keep up with me?" he said.
Halsa made no reply, but the strain was too great for her, and she
burst into a passion of tears. Lamport looked on her for a moment, and
then, raising his clenched fist, he struck her down.
"Damn you!" he said, "you can die there if you like." He had longed
for this opportunity ever since they had left the house. He looked at
the motionless body before him. "I have a mind to finish the job,"
said he aloud, and his knife seemed to slip into his fingers of its
own accord. He glanced round him for a moment, and as he did so he
heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw the flash of lights as
they turned the corner of the dark street, not fifty yards ahead.
Quick as lightning Lamport dashed down a narrow side road between two
walls, and disappeared in the darkness. Almost as he did this the
carriage came up. The horses shied backward on their haunches, and
then stopped dead. There was the alarmed cry of feminine voices, and
an anxious inquiry made in deeper tones. The groom, descending from
the seat behind, went forward.
"'Tis some one lying on the road dead or drunk, Padre."
"Most likely the latter," was the reply as the Padre stepped out of
the carriage and went forward. "Here, Pedro, hand me that light. Good
God!" he exclaimed as he bent over the prostrate figure, "it is a
woman--a European, too; there has been some devil's work here. Hold
the light up, Pedro, while I lift her--thanks--Mother," said he to
another figure, that of a woman clad in a long dark gown, who had
followed him out of the carriage, "this is work for you; help me with
her to the carriage."
He raised the body in his arms, and with the assistance of the nun and
two others, her companions, who had come out of the carriage, put
Halsa in.
"Is she dead?" asked one, evidently a young woman from her voice.
"No," said the nun whom the Padre had addressed as mother, "she
breathes yet. Pedro, drive on quickly."
Pedro needed no further bidding; he waited but for a moment until the
Padre climbed on to the box seat beside him, and then urged the horses
on almost at a gallop through the endless avenues of palms. Finally
they stopped before a large gate, and after much shouting it was
opened, and the carriage drove in. They were met at the door by two
nuns, and with their assistance the unconscious body of Halsa was
carried in. The Padre examined the wound; there was a deep cut on the
forehead, but nothing else. "There is no necessity for a doctor," he
said, "but I shall tell D'Almeida to come to-morrow. This is a case
of----" He touched his hand to his heart, and, giving the nuns his
blessing, entered his carriage and drove off.
* * * * *
Very tenderly the nuns cared for Halsa. She regained consciousness in
the morning, but when the white-haired Doctor D'Almeida came he
pronounced her in high fever. Then came a long illness, and after that
convalescence. When she was better at last, she called the superior,
Mother St. Catherine, to her side and told her her story. "And now,"
she said with a faint voice, "I am better and must go." Then the good
nun spoke to her long and earnestly, and Father St. Francis came. He
bore her news that made her cheek flush and then grow pale. "Take time
to consider," said the priest as he left her. A week after Halsa saw
the lady superior once more. "I have considered," she said. The
superior looked into her eyes: "It is well," she said, as she stooped
and kissed her.