THE CUP AND THE LIP
Two days after the Private View Alec Feilding repaired, by special
invitation, to Mr. Jagenal's office.
'I have sent for you, Alec,' said the solicitor, _ami de famille_, 'in
continuance of our conversation of the other day--about that little
windfall, you know.'
'I am not likely to forget it. Little windfalls of a thousand pounds
do not come too often.'
'They do not. Meantime another very important event has happened. I
saw the announcement in the paper, and I received your note----'
'You are the only person--believe me--to whom I have thought it right
to explain the circumstances----'
'Yes? The explanation, at all events, is one that may be given in the
same words--to all the world. I have no knowledge of Mrs. Feilding's
friends, or of any obstacles that have been raised to her marriage!
But I am rather sorry, Alec, that you sent her to me under a false
name, because these things, if they get about, are apt to make
mischief.'
'I assure you that this plan was only adopted in order the more
effectually to divert suspicion. It was with the greatest reluctance
that we consented to enter upon a path of deception. I knew, however,
in whose hands I was. At any moment I was in readiness to confess the
truth to you. In the case of a stranger the thing would have been
impossible. You, however, I knew, would appreciate the motive of our
action, and sympathise with the necessity.'
Mr. Jagenal laughed gently--behind the specious words he
discerned--something--the shapeless spectre which suspicion calls up
or creates. But he only laughed. 'Well, Alec,' he said, 'marriage is a
perfectly personal matter. You are a married man. You had reasons of
your own for concealing the fact. You are now enabled to proclaim the
fact. That is all anybody need know. We condone the little pretence of
the widowhood. Armorel Rosevean has lost her companion; whether she
has also lost her friend I do not know. The rest concerns yourself
alone. Very good. You are a married man. All the more reason that this
little windfall should be acceptable.'
'It will be extremely acceptable, I assure you.'
'Whether it is money or money's worth?'
'To save trouble I should prefer money.'
'You must take it as it comes, my dear boy.'
'Well, what is it?'
'It is,' replied Mr. Jagenal solemnly, 'nothing short of the sea
giving up its treasures, the dead giving up her secrets, and the
restoration of what was never known to be lost.'
'You a maker of conundrums?'
'You shall hear. Before we come to the thing itself--the treasure, the
windfall, the thing picked up on the beach--let me again recall to you
two or three points in your own family history. Your mother's maiden
name was Isabel Needham. She was the daughter of Henry Needham and
Frances his wife. Frances was the daughter of Robert Fletcher.'
'Very good. I believe that is the case.'
'Your money came to you from this Robert Fletcher, your maternal
great-grandfather. You should, therefore, remember him.'
'I recognise,' said Alec, sententiously, 'the respect that should be
paid to the memory of every man who makes money for his children.'
'Very good. Now, this Robert Fletcher as a young man, went out to
India in search of fortune. He was apparently an adventurous young
man, not disposed to sit down at the desk after the usual fashion of
young men who go out to India. We find him in Burmah, for
instance--then a country little known by Englishmen. While there he
managed to attract the notice and the favour of the King, who employed
him in some capacity--traded with him, perhaps; and, at all events,
advanced his interests--so that, while still a young man, he found
himself in the possession of a fortune ample enough for his wants----'
'Which he left to his daughters.'
'Don't be in a hurry. That was quite another fortune.'
'Oh! Another fortune? What became of the first?'
'Having enough, he resolved to return to his native country. But in
Burmah there were then no banks, merchants, drafts, or cheques. He
therefore converted his fortune into portable property, which he
carried about his person, no one, I take it, knowing anything at all
about it. Thus, carrying his treasure with him, he sailed for England.
Have you heard anything of this?'
'Nothing at all. The beginning of the story, however, is interesting.'
'You will enjoy the end still better. The ship in which he sailed met
with disaster. She was wrecked on the Isles of Scilly. It is said--but
this I do not know--that the only man saved from the wreck was your
great-grandfather: he was saved by one Emanuel Rosevean,
great-great-grandfather to Armorel, the girl whose charge your own
wife undertook.'
'Always that cursed girl!' murmured Alec.
'Robert Fletcher was clinging to a spar when he was picked up and
dragged ashore. He recovered consciousness after a long illness, and
then found that the leather case in which all his fortune lay had
slipped from his neck and was lost. Therefore, he had to begin the
world again. He went away, therefore. He went away----' Mr. Jagenal
paused at this point, rattled his keys, and looked about him. He was
not a story-teller by profession, but he knew instinctively that every
story, in order to be dramatic--and he wished this to be a very
dramatic history--should be cut up into paragraphs, illustrated by
dialogue, and divided into sections. Dialogue being impossible, he
stopped and rattled his keys. This meant the end of one chapter and
the beginning of another.
'Do pray get along,' cried his client, now growing interested and
impatient.
'He went away,' the narrator repeated, 'his treasure lost, to begin
the world again. He came here, became a stockbroker, made money--and
the rest you know. He appears never to have told his daughters of his
loss. I have been in communication with the solicitors of the late
Eleanor Fletcher, your great-aunt, and I cannot learn from them that
she ever spoke of this calamity. Yet had she known of it she must have
remembered it. To bring all your fortune--a considerable fortune--home
in a bag tied round your neck, and to lose it in a shipwreck is a
disaster which would, one thinks, be remembered to the third and
fourth generations.'
'I should think so. But you said something about the sea giving up its
treasure.'
'That we come to next. Five years ago, by the death of a very aged
lady, her great-great-grandmother, Armorel Rosevean succeeded to an
inheritance which turned out to be nothing less than the accumulated
savings of many generations. Among other possessions she found in this
old lady's room a sea-chest containing things apparently recovered
from wrecks, or drowned men, or washed ashore by the sea--a very
curious and interesting collection: there were snuff-boxes, watches,
chains, rings, all kinds of things. Among these treasures she turned
out, at the bottom of the chest, a case of shagreen with a leather
thong. On opening this Armorel found it to contain a quantity of
precious stones, and a scrap of paper which seemed to show that they
had formerly been the property of one Robert Fletcher. We may suppose,
if we please, that the case containing the jewels was cast up on the
beach after the storm, and tossed into the chest without much
knowledge of its contents or their value. We may suppose that Emanuel
Rosevean found the case. We may suppose what we please, because we can
prove nothing. For my own part, I think there is no reasonable doubt
that the case actually contained the fortune of Robert Fletcher. The
dates of the story seem to correspond: the handwriting appears to be
his: we have letters of his speaking of his intention to return, and
of his property being in convenient portable shape.'
'Well--then--this portable fortune belongs to Robert Fletcher's
heirs.'
'Not so quick. How are you going to prove your claim? You have nothing
to go by but a fragment of writing with part of his name on it. You
cannot prove that he was shipwrecked, and if you could do that you
could not prove that these jewels belonged to him.'
'If there is no doubt, she ought to give them up. She is bound in
honour.'
'I said that in my mind there is no reasonable doubt. That is because
I have heard a great deal more than could be admitted in evidence. But
now--listen again without interrupting. When, five years ago, the
young lady placed the management of her affairs in my hands through
the Vicar of her parish, I had every part of her very miscellaneous
fortune valued and a part of it sold. I had these rubies examined by a
merchant in jewels.'
'And how much were they worth?'
'One with another--some being large and very valuable indeed, and
others small--they were said, by my expert, to be worth thirty-five
thousand pounds. They might, under favourable circumstances and if
judiciously placed in the market realise much more. Thirty-five
thousand pounds!'
'What?' He literally opened his mouth. 'How much do you say?'
'Thirty-five thousand pounds.'
'Oh! But the stones are not hers--they belong--they belong--to us--to
the descendants of Robert Fletcher.' No one would have called that
face wooden, now. It was full of excitement--the excitement of a newly
awakened hope. 'Does she propose to buy me off with a thousand pounds?
Does she think I am to be bought off at any price? The jewels are
mine--mine--that is, I have a share in them.'
'Gently--gently--gently! What proof have you got of this story?
Nothing. You never heard of it: your great-grandfather never spoke of
it. Nothing would have been heard of it at all but for this old lady
from whom Armorel inherited. The property is hers as much as anything
else. If she gives up anything it is by her own free and uncompelled
will. She need give nothing. Remember that.'
'Then she offers me a miserable thousand pounds for my share--which
ought to be at least a third. Jagenal'--he turned purple and the veins
stood out on his forehead--'That infernal girl hates me! She has done
me--I cannot tell you how much mischief. She persecutes me. Now she
offers to buy me out of my share of thirty-five thousand pounds--a
third share--nay--a half, because my great-aunt left no children--for
a thousand pounds down!'
'I did not say so.'
'You told me that the windfall would amount to a thousand pounds.'
'That was in joke, my boy. You are perfectly wrong about Armorel
hating you. How can she hate you? You are so far wrong in this
instance that she has instructed me to give you the whole of this
fortune--actually to make you a free gift of the whole property--the
whole, mind--thirty-five thousand pounds!'
'To me! Armorel gives me--me--the whole of this fortune?' Blank
astonishment fell upon him. He stood staring--open-mouthed. 'To ME?'
he repeated.
'To you. She does not, to be sure, know to whom she gives it. She is
only desirous of restoring the jewels which she insists in believing
to belong to Robert Fletcher's family. Therefore, as it would be
obviously impossible to find out and to divide this fortune among all
the descendants of Robert Fletcher, who are scattered about the globe,
she was resolved to give them to the eldest descendant of the second
daughter.'
'Oh!' Alec turned pale, and dropped into a chair, broken up. 'To the
eldest descendant of the second--the second daughter. Then----'
'Then to you, as the only grandson of the second daughter--Frances.'
'The second daughter was----' He checked himself. He sighed. He sat
up. His eyes, always small and too close together, grew smaller and
closer together. 'The other branch of the family,' he said slowly,
'has vanished--as you say--it is scattered over the face of the globe.
I do not know anything about my cousins--if I have any cousins.
Perhaps when you have carried on the search a little further----'
'But I am not going to carry it on any further at all. Why should I?
We have nothing more to learn. I am instructed by Armorel to give the
rubies to you. It is a gift--not a right. It is not an inheritance,
remember--it is a free gift. She says, "These rubies used to belong to
Robert Fletcher. I will restore them to someone of his kin." You are
that someone. Why should I inquire further?'
'Oh!' Alec sank back in his chair and closed his eyes as one who
recovers from a sharp pang, and sighed deeply. 'If you are satisfied,
then---- But if other cousins should turn up----'
'They will have nothing, because nobody is entitled to anything. Come
Alec, my boy, you look a little overcome. It is natural. Pull yourself
together, and look at the facts. You will have thirty-five thousand
pounds--perhaps a little more. At four per cent.--I think I can put
you in the way of getting so much with safety--you will have fourteen
hundred a year. You will have that, apart from your literary and
artistic income. It is not a gigantic fortune, it is true; but let me
tell you that it is a very handsome addition indeed to any man's
income. You will not be able to live in Kensington Palace Gardens,
where your wife lived as a girl; but you can take a good house and see
your friends, and have anything in reason. Well, that is all I have to
say, except to congratulate you, which I do, my Alec'--he seized the
fortunate young man's hand and shook it warmly--'most heartily. I do,
indeed. You deserve your good luck--every bit of the good luck that
has befallen you. Everybody who knows you will rejoice. And it comes
just at the right moment--just when you have acknowledged your
marriage and taken your wife home.'
'Really,' said Alec, now completely recovered, 'I am overwhelmed with
this stroke of luck. It is the most unexpected thing in the world. I
could never have dreamed of such a thing. To find out, on the same
day, that one's great-grandfather once made a fortune and lost it, and
that it has been recovered, and that it is all given to me--it
naturally takes one's breath away at first.'
'You would like to gaze upon this fortune from the Ruby Mines of
Burmah, would you not?' Mr. Jagenal threw open the door of a safe, and
took out a parcel in brown paper. 'It is here.' He opened the parcel,
and disclosed the shagreen case which we have already seen in the
sea-chest. He laid it on the table, and unrolled the silk in which the
stones were rolled. 'There they are--look common enough, don't they?
One seems to have picked up stones twice as pretty on the sea-shore:
here are two or three cut and polished--bits of red glass would look
as pretty.'
'Thirty-five thousand pounds!' Alec cried, laying a hand, as if in
episcopal benediction, upon the treasure. 'Is it possible that this
little bundle of stones should be worth so much?'
'Quite possible. Now--they are yours--what will you do with them.'
'First, I will ask you to put them back in the safe.'
'I will send them to your bank if you please.'
'No--keep them here--I will consult you immediately about their
disposition. Thirty-five thousand pounds! Thirty-five----perhaps we
may get more for them. What am I to say to this girl? Perhaps when she
learns who has got the rubies she will refuse to let them go. I am
sure she would never consent.'
'Nonsense--about persecution and annoyance! Armorel hate you? Why
should she hate you? The sweetest girl in the world. You men of genius
are too ready to take offence. The things are yours. I have given them
to you by her instructions. I have written you a letter, formally
conveying the jewels to you. Here it is. And now go home, my dear
fellow, and when you feel like taking a holiday, do it with a tranquil
mind, remembering that you've got fourteen hundred pounds a year given
you for nothing at all by this young lady, who wasn't obliged to give
you a penny. Why, in surrendering these jewels, she has surrendered a
good half of her whole fortune. Find me another girl, anywhere, who
would give up half her fortune for a scruple. And now go away, and
tell your wife. Let her rejoice. Tell her it is Armorel's wedding
present.'
Alec Feilding walked home. He was worth thirty-five thousand
pounds--fourteen hundred pounds a year. When one comes to think of it,
though we call ourselves such a very wealthy country, there are
comparatively few, indeed, among us who can boast that they enjoy an
income of fourteen hundred pounds a year, with no duties,
responsibilities, or cares about their income--and with nothing to do
for it. Fourteen hundred pounds a year is not great wealth; but it
will enable a man to keep up a very respectable style of living: many
people in society have got to live on a great deal less. He and his
wife were going to live on nothing a year, except what they could get
by their wits. Fourteen hundred a year! They could still exercise
their wits: that is to say, he should expect his wife, now the
thinking partner, to exercise her wits with zeal. But what a happiness
for a man to feel that he does not live by his wits alone! Alas! It is
a joy that is given to few indeed of us.
As for his late literary and artistic successes, how poor and paltry
did they appear to this man, who had no touch of the artist nature,
beside this solid lump of money, worth all the artistic or poetic fame
that ever was achieved!
He went home dancing. He was at peace with all mankind. He found it in
his heart to forgive everybody: Roland Lee, who had so basely deserted
him: Effie, that snake in the grass: Lady Frances, the most
treacherous of women: Armorel herself---- Oh! Heavens! what could not
be forgiven to the girl who had made him such a gift? Even the revolt
against his authority: even the broken panel, the shattered lock, and
the earthquake.
In this mood he arrived home. His wife, the thinking partner, was hard
at work in the interests of the new firm. In her hand was a manuscript
volume of verse: on the table beside her lay an open portfolio of
sketches and drawings.
'You see, Alec,' she looked up, smiling. 'Already the ghosts have
begun to appear at my call. If you ask me where I found them, I reply,
as before, that when one travels about with a country company one has
opportunities. All kinds of queer people may be heard of. Your ghosts,
in future, my dear boy, must be of the tribe which has broken down and
given in, not of those who are still young and hopeful. I have found a
man who can draw--here is a portfolio full of his things: in black and
white: they can be reproduced by some photographic process: he is in
an advanced stage of misery, and will never know or ask what becomes
of his things. He ought to have made his fortune long ago. He hasn't,
because he is always drunk and disreputable. It will do you good to
illustrate the paper with your own drawings. There's a painter I have
heard of. He drinks every afternoon and all the evening at a certain
place, where you must go and find him. He has long since been turned
out of every civilised kind of society, and you can get his pictures
for anything you like; he can't draw much, I believe, but his
colouring is wonderful. There is an elderly lady, too, of whom I have
heard. She can draw, too, and she's got no friends, and can be got
cheap. And this book is full of the verses of a poor wretch who was
once a rising literary man, and now carries a banner at Drury-Lane
Theatre whenever they want a super. As for your stories, I have got a
broken-down actor--he writes better than he can act--to write stories
of the boards. They will appear anonymously, and if people attribute
them to you he will not be able to complain. Oh, I know what I am
about, Alec! Your paper shall double its circulation in a month, and
shall multiply its circulation by ten in six months, and without the
least fear of such complications as have happened lately. They must
lie avoided for the future--proposals as well as earthquakes--my dear
Alec.'
Alec sat down on the table and laughed carelessly. 'Zoe,' he said,
'you are the cleverest woman in the world. It was a lucky day for us
both when you came here. I made a big mistake for three years. Now
I've got some news for you--good news----'
'That can only mean--money.'
'It does mean--money, as you say. Money, my dear. Money that makes the
mare to go.'
'How much, Alec?'
'More than your four thousand. Twenty times as much as that little
balance in your book.'
'Oh, Alec! is it possible? Twenty times as much? Eighty thousand
pounds?'
'About that sum,' he replied, exaggerating with the instincts of the
City, inherited, no doubt, from Robert Fletcher. 'Perhaps quite that
sum if I manage certain sales cleverly.'
'Is it a legacy?--or an inheritance?--how did you get it?'
'It is not exactly a legacy: it is a kind of restoration to an unknown
person: a gift not made to me personally, but to me unknown.'
'You talk to me in riddles, Alec.'
'I would talk in blank verse if I could. It is, indeed, literally
true. I have received an--estate--in portable property worth nearly
forty thousand pounds.'
'Oh! Then we shall be really rich, and not have to pretend quite so
much? A little pretence, Alec, I like. It makes me feel like returning
to society: too much pretence reminds one of the policeman.'
'Don't you want to know how I have come into this money?'
'I am not curious, Alec. I like everything to be done for me. When I
was a girl there were carriages and horses and everything that I
wanted--all ready--all done for me, you know. Then I was stripped of
all. I had nothing to do or to say in the matter. It was done for me.
Now, you tell me you have got eighty thousand pounds. Oh! Heavens! It
is done for me. The ways of fate are so wonderful. Things are given
and things are taken away. Why should I inquire how things come?
Perhaps this will be taken away in its turn.'
'Not quite, Zoe. I have got my hand over it. You can trust your
husband, I think, to keep what he has got.' Indeed, he looked at this
moment cunning enough to be trusted with keeping the National Debt
itself.
'Eighty thousand pounds!' she said. 'Let me write it down. Eighty
thousand pounds! Eight and one, two, three, four oughts.' She wrote
them down, and clasped her hands, saying, 'Oh! the beauty--the
incomparable beauty--of the last ought!'
'Perhaps not quite so much,' said her husband, thinking that the
exaggeration was a little too much.
'Don't take off one of my oughts--not my fourth: not my Napoleon of
oughts!'
'No--no. Keep your four oughts. Well, my dear, if it is only sixty
thousand or so, there is two thousand a year for us. Two thousand a
year!'
'Don't, Alec; don't! Not all at once. Break it gently.'
'We will carry on the paper; and perhaps do something or
other--carefully, you know--in Art. There is no need to knock things
off. And if you can make the paper succeed, as you think, there will
be so much the more. Well, we can use it all. For my part, Zoe, my
dear, I don't care how big the income is. I am equal to ten thousand.'
'Of course, and you will still pronounce judgments and be a leader.
Now let us talk of what we will do--where we will live--and all. Two
thousand is pretty big to begin with, after three years' tight fit;
but the paper will bring in another two thousand easily. I've been
looking through the accounts--bills and returns--and I am sure it has
been villanously managed. We will run it up: we will have ten thousand
a year to spend. A vast deal may be done with ten thousand a year: we
will have a big weekly dinner as well as an At Home. We will draw all
the best people in London to the house: we will----'
She enlarged with great freedom on what could be done with this
income: she displayed all the powers of a rich imagination: not even
the milkmaid of the fable more largely anticipated the joys of the
future.
'And, oh! Alec,' she cried. 'To be rich again! rich only to the
limited extent of ten thousand a year, is too great happiness. When my
father was ruined, I thought the world was ended. Well, it was ended
for me, because you made me leave it and disappear. The last four
years I should like to be clean forgotten and driven out of my
mind--horrid years of failing and enduring and waiting! And now we are
rich again! Oh! we are rich again! It is too much happiness!'
The tears rose to her eyes; her soft and murmuring voice broke.
'My poor Zoe,' her husband laid his hand on hers, 'I am rejoiced,' he
said, 'as much for your sake as for my own.'
'How did you get this wonderful fortune, Alec?'
'Through Mr. Jagenal, the lawyer. It's a long story. A
great-grandfather of mine was wrecked, and lost his property. That was
eighty years ago. Now, his property was found. Who do you think found
it? Armorel Rosevean. And she has restored it--to me.'
'What?' She sprang to her feet, her face suddenly turning white.
'What? Armorel?'
'Yes, certainly. Curious coincidence, isn't it? The very girl who has
done me so much mischief. The man was wrecked on the island where her
people lived.'
'Yes--yes--yes. The property--what was it? What was it? Quick!'
'It was a leather case filled with rubies--rubies worth at least
thirty-five thousand pounds---- What's the matter?'
'Rubies! Her rubies! Oh! Armorel's rubies! No--no--no--not that!
Anything--anything but that! Armorel's rubies--Armorel's rubies!'
'What is the matter, Zoe? What is it?'
She gasped. Her eyes were wild: her cheek was white. She was like one
who is seized with some sudden horrible and unintelligible pain. Or
she was like one who has suddenly heard the most dreadful and most
terrible news possible.
'What is it, Zoe?' her husband asked again.
'You? Oh! you have brought me this news--you! I thought, perhaps,
someone--Armorel--or some other might find me out. But you!--you!'
'Again, Zoe'--he tried to be calm, but a dreadful doubt seized
him--'what does this mean?'
'I remember,' she laughed wildly, 'what I said when I gave you the
bank-book. If you found me out, I said, we should be both on the same
level. You would be able to hold out your arms, I said, and to cry,
"You have come down to my level. Come to my heart, sister in
wickedness." That is what I said. Oh! I little thought--it was a
prophecy--my words have come true.'
She caught her head with her hand--it is a stagey gesture: she had
learned it on the stage: yet at this moment of trouble it was simple
and natural.
'What the DEVIL do you mean?' he cried with exasperation.
'They were _your_ rubies all the time, and I did not know. Your
rubies! If I had only known! Oh! what have I done? What have I done?
'Tell me quick, what you have done.' He caught her by the arm roughly.
He actually shook her. His own face now was almost as white as hers.
'Quick--tell me--tell me--tell me!'
'You wanted money badly,' she gasped. Her words came with difficulty.
'You told me so every time I saw you. It was to get money that I went
to live with Armorel. I could not get it in that way. But I found
another way. She told me about the rubies. I knew where they were
kept. In the bank. In a sealed packet. I had seen an inventory of the
things in the bank. Armorel told me the story of the rubies, and I
never believed it--I never thought that there would be any search for
the man's heirs. I never thought the story was true. She told me,
besides, all about her other things--her miniatures and snuff-boxes,
and watches and rings. She showed me all her beautiful lace, worth
thousands. And as for the gold things and the jewels, they were all in
the bank, in separate sealed parcels, numbered. She showed me the bank
receipts. Opposite each number was written the contents of each, and
opposite Number Three was written "The case containing the rubies."'
'Well? Well?'
'Hush! What did I do? Let me think. I am going mad, I believe. It was
for your sake--all for your sake, Alec! All for your sake that I have
ruined you!'
'Ruined me? Quick! What have you done?'
'It was for your sake, Alec--all for your sake! Oh, for your own sake
I have lost and ruined you!'
'You will drive me mad, I think!' he gasped.
'I wrote a letter, one day, to the manager of the bank. I wrote it in
imitation of Armorel's hand. I signed her name at the end so that no
one could have told it was a forgery. My letter told him to give the
sealed packet numbered three to the bearer who was waiting. I sent the
letter by a commissionaire. He returned bringing the packet with him.'
'And then?'
'Oh! Then--then--Alec, you will kill me--you will surely kill me when
you know! You care for nothing in the world but for money--and I--I
have stolen away your money! It is gone--it is gone!'
'You stole those rubies? But I have seen them. They are in Jagenal's
safe. What do you mean?' he cried hoarsely.
'I have sold them. I stole them, and I sold them all--they were
worth--how much did you say? Fifty--sixty--eighty thousand pounds? I
sold them all, Alec, for four thousand two hundred and twenty-five
pounds! I sold them to a Dutchman in Hatton Garden.'
'You are raving mad! You dream! I have seen them. I have handled
them.'
'What you have seen were the worthless imitation jewels that I
substituted. I found out where to get sham rubies made of paste, or
something--some cut and some uncut. I bought them, and I substituted
them in the case. Then I returned the packet to the bank. I had the
packet in my possession no more than one morning. The man who bought
the stones swore they were worth no more. He said he should lose money
by them: he was going away to America immediately, and wanted to
settle at once, otherwise he would not give so much. That is what I
have done, Alec.'
'Oh!' he stood over her, his eyes glaring; he roared like a wild
beast; he raised his hand as if to slay her with a single blow. But he
could find no words. His hand remained raised--he was speechless--he
was motionless--he was helpless with blind rage and madness.
[Illustration: _His hand remained raised--he was speechless--he was
motionless--he was helpless with blind rage and madness._]
His wife looked up, and waited. Now that she had told her tale she was
calm.
'If you are going to kill me,' she said, 'you had better do it at
once. I think I do not care about living any longer. Kill me, if you
like.'
He dropped his arm: he straightened himself, and stood upright.
'You are a Thief!' he said hoarsely. 'You are a wretched, miserable
THIEF!'
She pointed to the picture on the easel.
'And you--my husband?'
He threw himself into a chair. Then he got up and paced the room: he
beat the air with his hands: his face was distorted: his eyes were
wild: he abandoned himself to one of those magnificent rages of which
we read in History. William the Conqueror--King Richard--King
John--many mediæval kings used to fall into these rages. They are less
common of late. But then such provocation as this is rare in any age.
When, at last, speech came to him, it was at first stuttering and
broken: speech of the elementary kind: speech of primitive man in a
rage: speech ejaculatory: speech interjectional: speech of railing and
cursing. He walked--or, rather, tramped--about the room: he stamped
with his foot: he banged the table with his fist: he roared: he
threatened: he cleared the dictionary of its words of scorn, contempt,
and loathing: he hurled all these words at his wife. As a tigress
bereft of her young, so is such a man bereft of his money.
His wife, meantime, sat watching, silent. She waited for the storm to
pass. As for what he said, it was no more than the rolling of thunder.
She made no answer to his reproaches; but for her white face you would
have thought she neither heard nor felt nor cared.
Outside the discreet man-servant heard every word. Once, when his
master threatened violence, he thought it might be his duty to
interfere. As the storm continued, he began to feel that this was no
place for a man-servant who respected himself. He remembered the
earthquake. He had then been called upon to remove from its hinges a
door fractured in a row. That was a blow. He was now compelled to
listen while a master, unworthy of such a servant, brutally swore at
his wife. He perceived that his personal character and his dignity no
longer allowed him to remain with such a person. He resigned,
therefore, that very day.
When the bereaved sufferer could say no more--for there comes a time
when even to shriek fails to bring relief--he threw himself into a
chair and began to cry. Yes: he cried like a child: he wept and sobbed
and lamented. The tears ran down his cheeks: his voice was choked with
sobs. The discreet man-servant outside blushed with shame that such a
thing should happen under his roof. The wife looked on without a sign
or a word. We break down and cry when we have lost the thing which
most we love--it may be a wife; it may be a child: in the case of
this young man the thing which most he loved and desired was money. It
had been granted to him--in large and generous measure. And, lo! it
was torn from his hands before his fingers had even closed around it.
Oh! the pity--the pity of it!
This fit, too, passed away.
Half an hour later, when he was quite quiet, exhausted with his rage,
his wife laid her hand upon his shoulder.
'Alec,' she said, 'I have always longed for one thing most of all. It
was the only thing, I once thought, that made it worth the trouble to
live. An hour ago it seemed that the thing had been granted to me. And
I was happy even with this guilt upon my soul. I know you for what you
are. Yet I desired your love. Henceforth, this dreadful thing stands
between us. You can no longer love me--that is certain, because I have
ruined you--any more than I can hold you in respect. Yet we will
continue to walk together--hand in hand--I will work and you shall
enjoy. If we do not love each other, we can continue in partnership,
and show to the world faces full of affection. At least you cannot
reproach me. I am a thief, it is true--most true! And you--Alec!
you--oh! my husband!--what are you?'