MORE DEAF THAN ADDERS
1
I felt so cramped and numb in my narrow hiding-place that I verily
believe I must have fallen into a kind of trance-like Slumber.
From this I was suddenly awakened by the loud Clang of our front-door
Bell, followed immediately by the Footsteps of the Serving Man upon the
Landing, and then by a brief Colloquy between him and the belated
Visitor.
Seriously, at the moment I had no Conception of who this might be, until
I glanced at Mr. Betterton. And then I guessed. Guessed, just as he had
already done. Every line of his tense and expectant Attitude betrayed
the Fact that he had recognized the Voice upon the Landing, and that its
sound had thrilled his very Soul and brought him back from the Land of
Dreams and Nightmare, where he had been wandering this past hour.
You remember, dear Lady, the last time Mr. Betterton played in a Tragedy
called "Hamlett," wherein there is a Play within a Play, and the
melancholy Prince of Denmark sets a troupe of Actors to enact a
Representation of the terrible Crime whereof he accuses both his Uncle
and his Mother? It is a Scene which, when played by Mr. Betterton, is
wont to hold the Audience enthralled. He plays his Part in it by lying
full length on the Ground, his Body propped up by his Elbow and his Chin
supported in his Hand. His Eyes--those wonderful, expressive Eyes of
his--he keeps fixed upon the guilty Pair: his Mother and his Uncle. He
watches the play of every Emotion upon their faces--Fear, Anger, and
then the slowly creeping, enveloping Remorse; and his rigid, stern
Features express an Intensity of Alertness and of Expectancy, which is
so poignant as to be almost painful.
Just such an Expression did my dear Friend's Face wear at this Moment.
He had pushed his Chair back slightly, so that I had a fuller view of
him, and the flickering light of the wax Candles illumined his clear-cut
Features and his Eyes, fixed tensely upon the door.
2
The next moment the serving Man threw open the door and the Lady Barbara
walked in. I could not see her until she had advanced further into the
middle of the Room. Then I beheld her in all her Loveliness. Nay!
I'll not deny it. She was still incomparably beautiful, with, in
addition, that marvellous air of Breeding and of Delicacy, which
rendered her peerless amongst her kind. I hated her for the infinite
wrong which she had done to my Friend, but I could not fail to admire
her. Her Mantle was thrown back from her Shoulders and a dark, filmy
Veil, resembling a Cloud, enveloped her fair Hair. Beneath her Mantle
she wore a Dress of something grey that shimmered like Steel in the
Candlelight. A few tendrils of her ardent Hair had escaped from beneath
her Veil, and they made a kind of golden Halo around her Face. She was
very pale, but of that transparent, delicate Pallor that betokens
Emotion rather than ill-health, and her Eyes looked to me to be as dark
as Sloes, even though I knew them to be blue.
For the space of one long Minute, which seemed like Eternity, these two
remained absolutely still, just looking at one another. Methought that
I could hear the very heart-beats within my breast. Then the Lady said,
with a queer little catch in her Throat and somewhat hesitatingly:
"You are surprised to see me, Sir, no doubt ... but ..."
She was obviously at a loss how to begin. And Mr. Betterton, aroused no
doubt by her Voice from his absorption, rose quickly to his Feet and
made her a deep and respectful Obeisance.
"The Angels from Heaven sometimes descend to Earth," he said slowly;
"yet the Earth is more worthy of their Visit than is the humble Artist
of the Presence of his Muse." Then he added more artlessly: "Will You
deign to sit?"
He drew a Chair forward for her, but She did not take it, continued to
speak with a strange, obviously forced Gaiety and in a halting Manner.
"I thank you, Sir," she said. "That is ... no ... not yet ... I like to
look about me."
She went close up to the Desk and began to finger idly the Books and
Papers which lay scattered pell-mell upon it, he still gazing on her as
if he had not yet realized the Actuality of her Presence. Anon she
looked inquiringly about her.
"What a charming room!" she said, with a little cry of wonder. "So new
to me! I have never seen an Artist's room before."
"For weeks and months," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply, "this one has
been a temple, hallowed by thoughts of You. Your Presence now, has
henceforth made it a Sanctuary."
She turned full, inquiring Eyes upon him and riposted with childlike
Ingenuousness:
"Yet must You wonder, Sir, at my Presence here ... alone ... and at this
hour."
"In my heart," he replied, "there is such an Infinity of Happiness that
there is no Room for Wonder."
"An Infinity of Happiness?" she said with a quaint little sigh. "That
is what we are all striving for, is it not? The Scriptures tell us that
this Earth is a Vale of Tears. No wonder!" she added naively, "since we
are so apt to allow Happiness to pass us by."
Oh! how I wished I had the Courage then and there to reveal myself to
these Twain, to rush out of my Hiding-place and seize that wily
Temptress who, I felt sure, was here only for the undoing of a Man whom
she hated with unexampled Bitterness. Oh, why hath grudging Nature made
me weak and cowardly and diffident, when my whole Soul yearns at times
to be resourceful and bold? Believe me, dear Mistress, that my Mind and
my Will-power were absolutely torn between two Impulses--the one
prompting me to put a stop to this dangerous and purposeless Interview,
this obvious Trap set to catch a great and unsuspecting Artist unawares;
and the other urging me not to interfere, but rather to allow Destiny,
Fate or the Will of God alone to straighten out the Web of my Friend's
Life, which had been embroiled by such Passions as were foreign to his
noble Nature.
And now I am thankful that I allowed this latter Counsel to prevail.
The Will of God did indeed shape the Destinies of Men this night for
their Betterment and ultimate Happiness. But, for the moment, the
Threads of many a Life did appear to be most hopelessly tangled: the
Lady Barbara Wychwoode, daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury, the fiancee
of the Earl of Stour, was in the house of Tom Betterton, His Majesty's
Well-Beloved Servant, and he was passionately enamoured of her and had
vowed Vengeance against the Man she loved. As he gazed on her now there
was no Hatred in his Glance, no evil Passion disturbed the Look of
Adoration wherewith he regarded her.
"Barbara," he pleaded humbly, "be merciful to me.... For pity's sake,
do not mock me with your smile! My dear, do you not see that I scarce
can believe that I live ... and that you are here? ... You! ... You!" he
went on, with passionate Earnestness. "My Divinity, whom I only dare
approach on bended Knees, whose Garment I scarce dare touch with my
trembling Lips!"
He bent the Knee and raised the long, floating End of her cloudlike Veil
to his Lips. I could have sworn at that Moment that she recoiled from
him and that she made a Gesture to snatch away the Veil, as if his very
Touch on it had been Pollution. That Gesture and the Recoil were,
however, quite momentary. The next second, even whilst he rose once
more to his Feet, she had already recovered herself.
"Hush!" she said gently, and drew herself artlessly away from his
Nearness. "I want to listen.... People say that Angels wait upon Mr.
Betterton when he studies his Part ... and I want to hear the flutter of
their Wings."
"The Air vibrates with the Echo of your sweet Name," he rejoined, and
his exquisite Voice sounded mellow and vibrant as a sensitive Instrument
touched by a Master's Hand. "Your name, which with mad longing I have
breathed morning, noon and eve. And now ... now ... I am not dreaming
... You are near me! ... You, the perfect Lady Barbara ... my Lady
Babs.... And you look--almost happy!"
She gave him a Look--the true Look of a Siren set to enchain the Will of
Man.
"Happy?" she queried demurely. "Nay, Sir ... puzzled, perhaps."
"Puzzled?" he echoed. "Why?"
"Wondering," she replied, "what magic is in the air that could make a
Woman's Heart ... forsake one Love ... for ... for Another."
Yes! She said this, and looked on him straight between the Eyes as she
spoke. Yet I knew that she lied, could have screamed the Accusation at
her, so convinced was I that she was playing some subtle and treacherous
Game, designed to entrap him and to deliver him helpless and broken into
her Power. But he, alas! was blinded by his Passion. He saw no Siren in
her, no Falsehood in her Smile. At her Words, I saw a great Light of
Happiness illumine his Face.
"Barbara!" he pleaded. "Have pity on me, for my Reason wanders. I dare
not call it back, lest this magic hour should prove to be a Dream."
He tried to take her in his Arms, but she evaded him, ran to the other
side of the Desk, laughing merrily like a Child. Once again her
delicate Fingers started to toy with the Papers scattered there.
"Oh, ho!" she exclaimed, with well-feigned astonishment. "Your desk!
Why, this," she said, placing her Hand upon the neat pile before her,
"must be that very Thunderbolt wherewith to-morrow you mean to crush an
arrogant Enemy!"
"Barbara!" he rejoined with ever growing passion, and strove to take her
Hand. "Will you not let me tell You----"
"Yes, yes!" she replied archly, and quietly withdrew her Hand from his
grasp. "You shall speak to me anon some of those Speeches of our great
Poets, which your Genius hath helped to immortalize. To hear Mr.
Betterton recite will be an inestimable Privilege ... which your many
Admirers, Sir, will envy me."
"The whole world would envy me to-night," he retorted, and gazed on her
with such Ardour that she was forced to lower her Eyes and to hide their
Expression behind the delicate Curtain of her Lashes.
I, who was the dumb Spectator of this cruel Game, saw that the Lady
Barbara was feeling her way towards her Goal. There was so much
Excitement in her, such palpitating Vitality, that her very Heart-beats
seemed to find their Echo in my breast. Of course, I did not know yet
what Game it was that she was playing. All that I knew was that it was
both deadly and treacherous. Even now, when Mr. Betterton once more
tried to approach her and she as instinctively as before recoiled before
him, she contrived to put strange softness into her Voice, and a subtle,
insidious Promise which helped to confuse his Brain.
"No--no!" she said. "Not just yet ... I pray you have pity on my
Blushes. I--I still am affianced to my Lord Stour ... although..."
"You are right, my beloved," he rejoined simply. "I will be patient,
even though I am standing on the Threshold of Paradise. But will You
not be merciful? I cannot see you well. Will you not take off that
Veil? ... It casts a dark shadow over your Brow."
This time she allowed him to come near her, and, quite slowly, she
unwound the Veil from round her Head. He took it from her as if it were
some hallowed Relic, too sacred to be polluted by earthly Touch. And,
as her back was turned towards him, he crushed the Gossamer between his
Hands and pressed its Fragrance to his Lips.
"There!" she said coolly. "'Tis done. Your magic, Sir Actor, has
conquered again."
It seemed to me that she was more self-possessed now than she had been
when first she entered the Room. Indeed, her Serenity appeared to grow
as his waned perceptibly. She still was a little restless, wandering
aimlessly about the Room, fingering the Books, the Papers, the Works of
Art that lay everywhere about; but it seemed like the restlessness of
Curiosity rather than of Excitement. In her own Mind she felt that she
held the Winning Hand--of this I was convinced--and that she could
afford to toy with and to befool the Man who had dared to measure his
Power against hers.
After awhile, she sat down in her Chair which he had brought forward for
her, and which stood close to the Desk.
"And now, Sir," she said with cool composure, "'tis You who must humour
me. I have a fancy ... now, at this moment ... and my Desire is to be
thoroughly spoiled."
"Every Whim of yours," he rejoined, "is a Command to your humble Slave."
"Truly?" she queried.
"Truly."
"Then will You let me see you ... sitting at your Desk ... Pen in hand
... writing something just for me?"
"All my work of late," he replied, "has been done because of You ... but
I am no Poet. What I speak may have some Merit. What I write hath
none."
"Oh!" she protested with well-simulated Coquetry, "what I desire You to
write for me, Sir Actor, will have boundless Merit. It is just a couple
of Lines designed to ... to ... prove your Love for me--Oh!" she added
quickly, "I scarce dare believe in it, Sir ... I scare understood ...
You remember, this morning in the Park, I was so excited, yet you asked
me--to be--your Wife!"
"My Wife!" he cried, his Voice ringing with triumphant Passion. "And
you would consent?----"
"And so I came," she riposted, evading a direct Answer, "to see if I had
been dreaming ... if, indeed, the great and illustrious Mr. Betterton
had stooped to love a Woman ... and for the sake of that Love would do a
little Thing for Her."
Lies! Lies! I knew that every Word which she spoke was nothing but a
Lie. My God! if only I could have unriddled her Purpose! If only I
could have guessed what went on behind those marvellous Eyes of hers,
deep and unfathomable as the Sea! All I knew--and this I did in the very
Innermost of my Soul--was that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode had come here
to-night in order to trick Mr. Betterton, and to turn his Love for her
to Advantage for my Lord Stour. How carefully she had thought out the
Part which she meant to play; how completely she meant to have him at
her Mercy, only in order to mock and deride him in the End, I had yet to
learn.
Even now she completed his Undoing, the Addling of his noble Mind, by
casting Looks of shy Coquetry upon him. What Man is there who could
have resisted them? What Man, who was himself so deeply infatuated as
was Mr. Betterton, could believe that there was Trickery in those
Glances? He sat down at his Desk, as she had desired him to do, and
drew Pen, Ink and Paper closer to his Hand.
"An you asked my Life," he said simply, "I would gladly give it to prove
my Love for You." Then, as she remained silent and meditative, he
added: "What is your Ladyship's wish?"
"Oh!" she replied, "'tis a small matter ... It concerns the Earl of
Stour ... We were Friends ... once ... Playmates when we were Children
... That Friendship ripened into a--a--Semblance of Love. No! No!" she
went on rapidly, seeing that at her Words he had made a swift Movement,
leaning towards her. "I pray you, listen. That Semblance of Love may
have gone ... but Friendship still abides. My Lord Stour, the Playmate
of my Childhood, is in sore trouble ... I, his Friend, would wish to
help him, and cannot do this without your Aid. Will You--will You grant
me this Aid, Sir," she queried shyly, "if I beg it of You?"
"Your Ladyship has but to command," he answered vaguely, for, in truth,
his whole Mind was absorbed in the contemplation of her Loveliness.
"'Twas You," she asserted boldly, "who begged for his Lordship's pardon
from the Countess of Castlemaine ... 'Twas not he who betrayed his
Friends. That is a Fact, is it not?"
"A Fact. Yes," he replied.
"Then I pray you, Sir, write that down," she pleaded, with an ingenuous,
childish Gesture, "and sign it with your Name ... just to please me."
She looked like a lovely Child begging for a Toy. To think of Guile in
connection with those Eyes, with that Smile, seemed almost a Sacrilege.
And my poor Friend was so desperately infatuated just then! Has any Man
ever realized that Woman is fooling him, when she really sets her Wiles
to entrap him? Surely not a Man of Mr. Betterton's keen, artistic and
hot-blooded Temperament. I saw it all now, yet I dared not move. For
one thing, the time had gone by when I might have done it with good
Effect. Now it was too late. Any interference on my part would only
have led to Ignominy for myself and the severance of a Friendship that I
valued more than Life itself. Betwixt a Friend's warning and a Woman's
Cajolery, what Man would hesitate? What could I, in any event, have
done now, save to hold up the inevitable Catastrophe for a few
Moments--a few Seconds, perhaps? Truly, my hour was past. I could but
wait now in Silence and Misery until the End.
There she sat, pleading, speaking that eternal Phrase, which since the
beginning of primeval times hath been used by wily Woman for the undoing
of a generous-minded Man.
"Will You do this, Sir--just to please me?"
"I swear to You that it shall be done," he rejoined with passionate
fervour. "But will you not let me tell you first----"
"No!--No!" she said quickly, clasping her delicate hands. "I pray
You--not just yet. I--I so long to see You write ... there ... at this
Desk, where lie piled letters from every illustrious Person and every
crowned Head in Europe. And now You will write," she entreated, in the
tone of an indulged and wayward Child. "You will? Just one little
Document for me, because ... because You say You love me, and ...
because ... I..."
"Barbara!" he cried in an Ecstasy of Happiness. "My Beloved!"
He was on the point of falling on his Knees, but once more a demure
Gesture, a drawing back of her whole Figure, restrained him.
"No! No!" she reiterated firmly. "When you have written, I will
listen----"--another Glance, and he was vanquished. Then she completed
her Phrase--"to all you have to say."
He drew back with a sigh, and took up his Pen.
"As you command," he said simply, and made ready to write.
3
Even now, whene'er I close mine Eyes, I can see those twain as a vivid
Picture before me. The Massive Desk, littered with papers, the Candles
flickering in their Sconces, illumining with their elusive Light the
Figure of the great Actor, sitting with shoulders slightly bent forward,
one Arm resting upon the Desk, half buried in the filmy folds of her
Ladyship's Veil, his Face upturned towards the Enchantress, who held him
at this Hour an absolute Slave to her Will. She had risen from her
Chair and stood immediately behind him; her Face I could not see, for
her back was towards me, but the light caught the loose Tendrils of her
fair Hair, and from where I stood watching, this looked just like a
golden Aureole around her small Head, bent slightly towards him. She
too was leaning forward, over him, with her Hand extended, giving him
Directions as to what he should write.
"Oh, I pray You," she said with an impatient little Sigh, "do not delay!
I will watch You as You write. I pray You write it as a Message
addressed to the Court of White Hall. Not in Poetry," she added, with a
nervous little Laugh; "but in Prose, so that all may understand."
He bent to his task and began to write, and she straightened out her
elegant Figure and murmured, as if oppressed: "How hot this room is!"
Slowly, as if in Absence of Mind, She wandered towards the Window.
"I have heard it said," she remarked, "that Mr. Betterton's worst enemy
is the cold. But a fire! ... on such a glorious Evening. The first
Kiss of awakening Spring."
She had reached the Window now, and stood for awhile in the Bay, leaning
against the Mullion; and I could not help but admire her Duplicity and
her Pluck. For, indeed, She had risked Everything that Woman holds most
dear, for the sake of the Man she loved. And She could not help but
know that She herself and her fair Name would anon be at the mercy of a
Man whom her Cajoleries and her Trickery would have rendered desperate.
Anon, as if quite overcome by the Heat, she threw open the Casement, and
then leaned out, peering into the Darkness beyond. Ensconced in my
Corner at some distance from the Window, I was conscious of the Movement
and subdued Noise which came up from the still crowded Park. A number
of People appeared to be moving out there, and even as I strained my
Ears to listen, I caught the sweet sound of the selfsame Song of awhile
ago, wafted hither on the cool night Air:
"You are my Life! You ask me why?
Because my Hope is in Your Love."
I caught myself marvelling if the Ladies and Gallants of the Court had
strolled out into the Park at this hour, drawn thither by the amorous
Melodies sung by the unknown Minstrel; or by the balmy Air of Spring; or
merely by the passing Whim of some new Fashion or Fancy. I even
strained my Ears so that I might recognise the sound of Voices that were
familiar to me. I heard my Lord of Rochester's characteristic Laugh,
Sir William Davenant's dictatorial tones and the high-pitched Cackle of
Mr. Killigrew.
So doth our Mind oft dwell on trivial Thoughts at times of gravest
Stress. Her Ladyship had sat down on a low Stool beside the Window. I
could only see the vague outline of her--the Expression of her Face, the
very Poise of her Head, were wrapt in the surrounding Gloom.
For awhile there was perfect Silence in the Room, save for the
monotonous ticking of the old Clock and the scratching of Mr.
Betterton's Pen as he wrote with a rapid and unhesitating Hand.
The Minutes sped on, and anon he had completed his Task. I saw him lay
down his Pen, then raise the Paper and read through very carefully all
that he had written, and finally strew Sand upon the momentous Document.
For awhile after that he remained perfectly still, and I observed his
clear-cut Face, with Eyes fixed as it were inwards into his own Soul,
and sensitive Lips pressed tightly one against the other. The Hand
which held the Document was perfectly steady, an obedient slave to his
Will. And yet that Sign-manual, as directed by her Ladyship, was a
direct Avowal of a dastardly Deed, of the gratuitous Slandering of an
innocent Man's Honour, without Provocation or Justification, seeing that
no mention was made in the Confession of the abominable Outrage which
had brought about this grim Retaliation, or of the Refusal on the part
of his Lordship to grant the Satisfaction that is customary between
Gentlemen. It was, in fact, his own Integrity and his own Honour that
the eminent Actor was even now bartering for a Woman's Love. This will
prove to You, dear Mistress, that Mr. Betterton's Love for the Lady
Barbara Wychwoode did not at any time resemble true Affection, which, of
all the Passions to which the human Heart is apt to become Slave, is the
one that leads the Mind to the highest and noblest Thoughts; whereas an
Infatuation can only be compared to a Fever. Man hath no more control
over the one than he hath over the other, and cannot curb its Violence
or the Duration of its Attack.
4
The next thing that I remember most clearly is seeing Mr. Betterton put
the fateful Paper down again, take up her Ladyship's Veil and bury his
Face in its cloudy Folds. I heard him murmur faintly, after awhile:
"Now, if I dared, I would believe myself almost happy!"
Then he rose, picked up the Paper, and with it went up to the Lady
Barbara.
"'Tis done, as you did command," he said quite quietly, and placed the
Document in her Hand. She took it from him and rose to her Feet.
"A Light, I pray You," she said coldly.
He brought one of the Candles across and stood beside her, holding it
aloft. She read the Paper through with great Deliberation, nodding
Approval from time to time as she did so. Then she folded it into a
very small Compass, while she thanked him coldly and guardedly. He then
went back to the Desk with the Candle and put it down. During these few
Seconds, whilst his back was turned to her, I noticed that the Lady
Barbara took a heavy, jewelled Brooch from her Gown and fastened it by
its pin to the Document. Her movements were methodical but very quick,
and my own Mind worked too slowly to guess at her Intention.
The next moment, Mr. Betterton was once more by her side. Eager, alert,
and with the glow of Triumph in his Eyes, he flung himself at her Feet.
She was his now!--his by Right of Conquest! He had won her by
measureless Self-Sacrifice, and now he meant to hold the Guerdon for
which he had paid so heavy a Price.
"Because you deigned to cross this humble Threshold," he said, and his
arms encircled her Waist with the masterful and passionate Gesture of a
Victor, "the poor Actor places his Name and Fame, his Pride and baffled
Revenge, at your feet."
"At the World's Feet, Sir Mountebank!" she cried exultantly, and with a
swift movement she flung the weighted Paper far out through the Window.
Then, leaning out into the Darkness, she called at the top of her Voice:
"To me, Adela! Here is the Message from Mr. Betterton. Take it to my
Lord Sidbury at once!"
But Mr. Betterton was no longer in a mental State to care what happened
after this; I doubt if he realized just what was impending. He was
still on his Knees, holding on to her with both Arms.
"Nay!" he said wildly. "That is as You please. Let the whole World
think me base and abject. What care I for Honour, Fame or Integrity now
that You are here, and that You will be my Wife?"
Ah! the poor, deluded Fool! How could he be so blind? Already the Lady
Barbara had turned on him with flashing Eyes, and a loud, hysterical
Laugh of measureless Contempt broke from her Lips.
"Your Wife!" she exclaimed, and that harsh laugh echoed through the
Silence of the House. "So, Mr. Actor, you thought to entrap the Daughter
of the Marquis of Sidbury into becoming your Wife! ... Nay! you
miserable Fool! 'Twas I entrapped and cheated you.... Your Wife! Ye
Saints in Heaven, hear him! His Wife! The Wife of Thomas Betterton,
the Mountebank!! I!!!"
Her Words, her Laughter, the Bitterness of her Contempt, stung him like
a Whip-lash. In an instant, he was on his Feet, staggered back till he
came in contact with the Desk, to which he clung with both hands, while
he faced her, his Cheeks pale as Ashes, his Eyes glowing with a Light
that appeared almost maniacal.
"You cheated me?" he murmured inarticulately. "You lied to me? ... You
... I'll not believe it ... I'll not believe it...."
She appeared not to heed him, was gazing out of the Window, shouting
directions to some one--her waiting-maid, no doubt, or other
Confidante--who was searching for the Paper down below.
"There, Adela!" she called out eagerly. "Dost see ... just by those
bushes ... something white ... my brooch.... Dost see?"
Suddenly she gave a Cry of Triumph, and then turned back exultantly to
her baffled Foe.
"My maid," she said, somewhat wildly, and panting as if she were
exhausted with fast running. "We had planned it all ... She is devoted
to me ... She has been on the Watch ... She has the paper now ...
There!" she added, and with outstretched arm pointed out into the Gloom
beyond. "There; Do you see?"
Can You wonder that her Trickery, her Contempt had made him mad?
Indeed, even I felt that at that moment I could have held her slender
throat between my two Hands and crushed the Life out of her. To a Man
of Mr. Betterton's temperament, the Provocation was obviously beyond his
Powers of Endurance. Even in the dim Light, I could see a positive Fury
of Passion akin to Hate literally distorting his Face. The next second
he was once more by her side, and whilst she still cried wildly: "Do you
see? Do you see? Run, Adela, run!" he seized her in his arms and
retorted roughly:
"I see nothing now but your Beauty, and that has made me mad."
"Run, Adela! Run!" she cried again. "That message from Mr. Betterton
is for the whole World to see!"
But he held her tightly round the Shoulders now, and she, probably
realizing her Danger for the first time, strove to struggle against his
Embrace.
"Let me go!" she commanded. "Let me go! or I swear by God in Heaven
that I will find the Strength to kill myself and You."
"I love You," was his only reply to her Threat. "Nay!" he added,
speaking in rapid, jerky Phrases, the while she continued to struggle
with ever growing loss of Power. "You shall kill me later if You will,
but not till I have lived. My Dear, my Love, my Saint! Have I not
worshipped you for days and months? Have I not held You in Dream in my
Arms? You are my Muse, my Divinity, my Hope! Mine! Mine! Exquisite,
adorable Lady Barbara! No! No! You cannot escape, struggle how You
might. This is my hour! 'Tis you who gave it me, and I defy Heaven
itself to rob me of a single instant!"
My God! what could I do? More and more did I curse the Folly and
Cowardice which had kept me riveted to this Spot all this while. Now
there was nothing for it but to reveal my Presence, to draw upon my
foolish Head the Contempt and Anger of a Man for whom I would gladly
have laid down my Life. My Brain became confused. I ceased to see
clearly. A ruddy Mist was gathering before my Eyes. I was on the Verge
of losing Consciousness and was struggling pitifully to retain Command
over my Senses. Through this fast approaching Swoon I could hear, as
through an intervening Veil, the hoarse and broken Accents of the Voice
that I loved so well:
"You are here alone with me. The last shred of my Reason is scattered
to the Winds. England, Fame, the World, are empty Words to me. Do you
not see that now I am ready to die an hundred Deaths, for at last I
shall have lived ... I shall have held You in my Arms."
And one great and pitiful Appeal from her Lips: "Oh, God! If there is
Justice in Heaven--defend me now----"
And, even half conscious as I was, I saw her--yes, saw her quite
distinctly give a sudden wrench which freed her right Arm. She plunged
her Hand into the bosom of her Gown, and the next instant the flickering
light of the Candle flashed a vivid gleam upon the narrow steel blade of
a dagger which she held. This, with the swiftness of lightning, brought
me back to the Consciousness of the present, grim Reality. With a loud
and sudden Cry, I darted out of my Hiding Place and stood there before
them both, pale no doubt with a well-nigh unearthly Pallor, which must
have given me the Appearance of a Ghost.
It was now the Lady Barbara who was nigh to Swooning. But, with that
coolness which comes at times to the Helpless and the Weak, I had
already snatched her Veil from the Desk, and whilst she tottered and
almost fell into my Arms, I wrapped it around her Head.
"Quick! The Door!" I said. "You are quite safe!"
I dared not look at Mr. Betterton. Indeed, I could not even now tell
You in what Attitude or with what Expression of Face he watched me
whilst I seemed thus to take Command of the Situation. The Lady Barbara
was trembling so violently that some few moments elapsed before she was
able to walk across the Room. When she finally did so, her Foot kicked
against the Dagger which had dropped from her Hand when I so suddenly
appeared before her. She gave a faint Cry of Horror, and I stooped and
picked up the Dagger and placed it back in her Hand without looking at
her.
5
Her Ladyship then went on towards the door. But suddenly she came to a
halt, and I, who was close to her heels, paused likewise, for I felt
that every drop of Blood within me had turned to Ice. From the Hall
below there had come the sound of angry Altercation and a Man's voice
was raised loudly and peremptorily, saying:
"Let me pass, man! I will speak with Mr. Betterton."
The voice was that of my Lord Stour.
The Lady Barbara stood quite still for a moment, rigid as a carved
Statue. Then a low, inexpressibly pathetic Moan rose to her Lips.
"Oh! for the Earth to open!" she cried pitiably, "and bury me and this
Shame----"
She was overwrought and weak with Emotion, but in any Event it was a
terrible Position for any Lady of Rank to be found in, at this late
hour, and alone. Overcome no doubt with the superabundance of harrowing
Sensations, she tottered as if about to swoon. Mr. Betterton caught her
as she fell.
"My Divinity! My Queen!" he murmured quickly. "No one shall harm you,
I swear it! No one shall!" Then he added under his breath: "Heaven
above me, help me to protect her!"
Whereupon he lifted her up in his Arms as if she were a Child, and
carried her as far as the Embrasure of the Window. Then, with one of
those quick movements which were so characteristic of him, he drew the
Curtains together, which shut off the Bay from the rest of the Room and
screened its fair Occupant completely from view.
He was a different Man now to the Passion-racked Creature of awhile ago;
absolutely calm; the Man I had known and loved and respected all these
years. Though my whole Being was still convulsed in an Agony of
Apprehension, I felt that from him now would come moral Comfort for me
and Protection for the unfortunate Lady, whose Burden of Sorrow had at
last touched his Heart. And I do verily believe, dear Lady, that in
that Instant of supreme Danger for us all, his Passion fell from him
like a Curtain from before his Eyes. It had gone through its
culminating Anguish when he discovered that she whom he loved had lied
to him and cheated him. Now, when she stood here before him, utterly
helpless and utterly crushed, his Infatuation appeared to writhe for one
Moment in the Crucible of his own Manliness and Chivalry, and then to
emerge therefrom hallowed and purified.
6
In the meanwhile, less than a minute had elapsed. My Lord Stour had
ascended the Stairs, undeterred by the Protestations of Mr. Betterton's
Servant. The next moment he had violently wrenched the Door open and now
stood before us, pale, trembling with Rage or Excitement, hatless, his
Mantle thrown back from his Shoulders. His right Hand clutched his
naked Sword, and in his Left he had a crushed ball of paper, held
together by her Ladyship's brooch. His entire Attitude was one of firm
and deadly Menace.
"I heard a Voice!" he exclaimed, staring wildly around him. "I saw a
Face--a Form.... This Paper was flung out from yonder Window ... was
picked up by a serving Wench.... What does it mean?" he queried
harshly, and advanced threateningly towards Mr. Betterton, who was
standing midway between him and the curtained Bay.
"How can I tell?" riposted the great Actor blandly, with a careless
Shrug of his Shoulders. "I was not moon-gazing, as your Lordship
appears to have done. A paper, did You say?"
"You are not alone," retorted my Lord roughly. "I heard a voice ... just
now...."
"We are all apt to hear voices in the moonlight, my Lord," Mr. Betterton
rejoined simply. "The Artist hears his Muse, the Lover his Mistress,
the Criminal his Conscience."
His unruffled calm seemed to exasperate his Lordship's fury, for he now
appeared even more menacing than before.
"And did You perchance hear a Voice to-night, Sir Actor," he queried,
his voice hoarse with Passion, "warning You of Death?"
"Nay!" replied Mr. Betterton. "That Voice whispers to Us all, and
always, my Lord, even in our Cradles."
"Then hear it for the last time now, and from my Lips, you abominable
Mountebank!" my Lord cried, beside himself in truth. "For unless You
draw aside that Curtain, I am going to kill You."
"That is as you please," retorted Mr. Betterton simply.
"Stand aside!" commanded his Lordship.
But Mr. Betterton looked him calmly up and down and did not move one
inch.
"This is a most unwarrantable Interference," he said quietly, "with the
Freedom of His Majesty's well-beloved Servant. Your Lordship seems to
forget that every inch of this Floor is mine, and that I stand on it
where I please. I pray you, take that Paper--that Message--elsewhere.
An it came down from Heaven, read it--but leave me in Peace."
"I'll not go," asserted my Lord harshly, "till you have drawn aside that
Curtain."
"Then we'll see whose Legs will weary first, my Lord, yours or mine,"
was Mr. Betterton's unruffled rejoinder.
"Draw then and defend yourself!" cried my Lord, who before his Enemy's
unbroken Calm, had lost what Semblance of Self-Control he still
possessed.
"I am unarmed," riposted Mr. Betterton simply.
"Then let Satan have his due," exclaimed the young Hothead, and raised
his Sword ready to strike, "for your Soul shall go down to Hell at
last!"
In a moment, of course, I was on him. But he had the vigour of a
trained Soldier, enhanced by an overwhelming Passion of Enmity and of
Rage; and though I seized him unawares--I doubt if he had realized that
I was in the Room--he shook me off in an instant, as a Dog might shake
off an importunate Rat. Before I had time to recover my breath from his
quick and furious Defence, he had turned on me and dealt me such a
vigorous Blow with his Fist between the Eyes, that the whole Room began
to gyrate around me and the Atmosphere became peopled with Stars. I
staggered and half fell against the Dresser that had sheltered me awhile
ago. For the space of half a dozen seconds mine Eyes were closed.
7
When I opened them again, the Scene had indeed changed. Her Ladyship
had pushed the Curtains aside and stood there in the window Embrasure,
revealed to her irate Lover. And he, though he must have known that she
was there all the Time, appeared so staggered by her Apparition that his
Arm dropped by his side and his Sword fell with a clatter to the Ground,
while he murmured as if in the last Throes of mental Suffering:
"Barbara ... my Barbara .. here--alone--at night ... with this Man!..."
Her Ladyship, however, appeared perfectly composed. The light of the
Candles revealed her exquisite Face, pale but serene, and her small Head
crowned with the Aureole of her golden Hair, held up proudly as one who
hath naught to fear, naught for which she need be ashamed. She pointed
with perfect steadiness to the Paper which my Lord still held tightly
clasped in his left Hand.
"That paper!" she said, and only a slight veiling of her Voice betrayed
the Emotion which she felt. "I sent it. 'Tis for you, my Lord. It will
clear your Honour, and proclaim your Innocence."
But his Lordship did not appear to hear her. He continued to murmur to
himself mechanically, and in tones of the deepest Despair:
"Barbara ... alone ... with him!"
"Read that Paper, my dear Lord," her Ladyship insisted with calm
dignity, "ere with another Thought you further dare to wrong me!"
These simple Words, however, so full of conscious Worth and of
Innocence, let loose the Floodgates of my Lord's pent-up, insensate
jealousy.
"Wrong you!" he cried, and a harsh, almost maniacal laugh broke from his
choking Throat. "Wrong you! Nay! I suppose I must be grateful and
thank Heaven on my Knees that You, my promised Bride, deigned to
purchase mine Honour at the Price of your Kisses!"
At this gross Insult her Ladyship uttered a pitiful Moan; but ere she
could give Reply, Mr. Betterton, who hitherto had not interfered between
the Twain, now did so, and in no measured Tone.
"Silence, Madman!" he commanded, "ere You blaspheme."
But my Lord had apparently lost his last Shred of Reason. Jealousy was
torturing him in a manner that even Hatred had failed to do.
"God!" he exclaimed repeatedly, calling to the Almighty to witness his
Soul-Misery. "I saw her at that Window.... Who else saw her?... How
many Varlets and jabbering Coxcombs know at the present moment that the
Lady Barbara Wychwoode spends the night alone with a Mountebank?" In an
excess of ungoverned Rage he tore the Paper to shreds and threw the
Scraps almost into her Ladyship's Face. "Take back your Proofs!" he
cried. "I'll not take mine Honour from Your hands! Ah!" he added, and
now turned once more toward Mr. Betterton, who, I could see, was calmly
making up his Mind what next to do. "Whoever you are--Man or Devil--are
you satisfied with your Revenge? Was it not enough to cover _me_ with
Infamy; what need had You to brand _Her_ with Dishonour?"
Overcome with Emotion, his Soul on the Rack, his Heart wounded and
bleeding, he appeared like a lost Spirit crying out from an Abyss of
Torment. But these last Ravings of his, these final, abominable Insults,
levelled against the Woman who had done so much for him, and whom he
should have been the first to protect, lashed Mr. Betterton's ire and
contempt into holy Fury.
"Ye gods in Heaven, hear him!" he cried, with an outburst of Rage at
least as great as that of the other Man. "He loves her, and talks of
Dishonour, whilst I love her and only breathe of Worship! By all the
Devils in Hell, my Lord Stour, I tell you that you lie!"
And before any of us there realized what he meant to do, he ran to the
Window, threw open all the Casements with such violence that the glass
broke and fell clattering down upon the gravelled place below.
"Hallo!" he called in a stentorian Voice. "Hallo, there!"
My Lord Stour, bewildered, un-understanding, tried to bluster.
"What are you doing, man?" he queried roughly. "Silence! Silence, I
say!"
But Mr. Betterton only shouted the louder.
"Hallo, there! Friends! Enemies! England! Here!"
I could hear the Tumult outside. People were running hither from
several directions, thinking, no doubt, that a Fire had broken out or
that Murder was being done. I could hear them assembling beneath the
window, which was not many feet from the Ground. "Why! it's Tom
Betterton!" some of them said. And others added: "Hath he gone raving
mad?"
"Is any one there who knows me?" queried Mr. Betterton loudly.
"Yes! Yes!" was the ready response.
"Who is it?" he asked, peering into the darkness below.
I heard Sir William Davenant's voice give reply.
"Killigrew and I are down here, Tom. What in the Name of ---- is the
matter?"
"Come round to my rooms, Davenant," Mr. Betterton replied; "and bring as
many friends with you as you can."
He was standing in the Bay of the Window, and his Figure, silhouetted
against the Light in the Room, must have been plainly visible to the
crowd outside. That a number of People had assembled by now was
apparent by the Hum and Hubbub which came to us from below. Unable to
restrain my Curiosity, I too approached the open Casements and peered
out into the Gloom. Just as I thought, quite a Crowd had collected down
there, some of whom were making ready to climb up to the Window by way
of the Gutter-pipes or the solid stems of the Ivy, whilst others were
trooping down the narrow little Alley which connects Tothill Street with
the Park at the base of Mr. Betterton's house. There was a deal of
talking, laughing and shouting. "Tom Betterton is up to some Prank," I
heard more than one Person say.
8
Perhaps You will wonder what was my Lord's Attitude during the few
minutes--it was less than five--which elapsed between the Instant when
Mr. Betterton first threw open the Casements, and that when the Crowd,
headed by Sir William Davenant and Mr. Killigrew, trooped down the Alley
on their Way to this House. To me he seemed at first wholly
uncomprehending, like a Man who has received a Blow on the Head--just as
I did from his Fist a moment ago--and before whose Eyes the Walls of the
Room, the Furniture, the People, are all swimming in an Ocean of Stars.
I imagine that at one time the Thought flashed as Lightning through his
Mind that this was but the culminating Outrage, wherewith his Enemy
meant to pillory him and his Bride before a jeering Public. That was
the moment when he turned to her Ladyship and, uttering a hoarse Cry,
called to her by Name. She was, just then, leaning in
semi-consciousness against the Angle of the Bay. She did not respond to
his Call, and Mr. Betterton, quick in his Movements, alert now like some
Feline on the prowl, stepped immediately in front of Her, facing my Lord
and screening Her against his Approach.
"Stand back, Man," he commanded. "Stand back, I tell You! You shall
not come nigh Her save on bended Knees, with Head bowed in the Dust,
suing for Pardon in that you dared to Insult her."
Everything occurred so quickly, Movements, Events, High Words,
threatening Gestures from both sides, followed one another in such rapid
Succession, that I, overcome with Agitation and the Effect of the
stunning Blow which I had received, was hardly able to take it all in.
Much less is it in my Power to give You a faithful Account of it all.
Those five Minutes were the most spirit-stirring ones I have ever
experienced throughout my Life--every Second appeared surcharged with an
exciting Fluid which transported Me to supernal Regions, to Lands of
Unrealities akin to vivid Dreams.
At one Moment, I remember seeing my Lord Stour make a rapid and furtive
movement in the direction of his Sword, which lay some little Distance
from him on the Ground, but Mr. Betterton was quicker even than his Foe,
more alert, and with one bound he had reached the Weapon, ere my Lord's
Hand was nigh it, had picked it up and, with a terrific Jerk, broke it
in half across his Knee. Then he threw the mangled Hilt in one
direction, the Point in another, and my Lord raised his Fists, ready,
methinks, to fly at his Throat.
But, as I have already told You, dear Mistress, the whole Episode stands
but as a confused Mirage before my Mind; and through it all I seemed to
see a mere Vision of her Ladyship, pale and ethereal, leaning against
the Angle of the Bay; one delicate Hand was clutching the heavy Curtain,
drawing it around her as it were, as if in a pathetic and futile Desire
to shield herself from view.