FACE TO FACE.
“Do not weep, dear love!”
Cyril Fayne took Lenore in his arms and kissed the quivering red lips.
“Do not grieve so, my darling. That man is a fiend incarnate, but we
will unmask him to the world. We will rise superior to him and his
petty nature--his engrossing hatred. He is mean and despicable, and the
world shall know the truth and see him as he is. He has kept back the
letter that I wrote him; concealed it from the knowledge of the world;
held his peace as to my explanation, and then boldly denounced you and
me to the public at large. A man like that would commit any crime. But
I shall punish him! As sure as I live, I shall punish him! When can you
be ready to return to America, Lenore?”
“Within the hour!” she answered, her eyes flashing, her voice ringing
forth sweet and clear--“at a moment’s notice! To vindicate my honor,
to make my traducers bow before me in humiliation, to be set right
in the eyes of the world of society--that fashionable, hypocritical
society which has eaten my bread and enjoyed my hospitality times
innumerable--I will go back at any time, Cyril--_now!_”
She was pale with excitement, her large dark eyes shining like stars,
her bosom heaving with indignation, like a beautiful, outraged queen,
as she stood in the center of the great sunlit room in an old Italian
palace, her white silk robe trailing behind her over the marble floor.
Cyril Fayne felt his heart thrill madly at sight of her glorious
beauty, this woman for whose sake he had suffered so much and so long,
this woman who, in turn, had borne so heavy a burden for his sake, and
for his love counted the world well lost. And he gnashed his teeth in
mad despair at thought of the mistake that he had made in leaving the
letter of explanation behind for Van Van Alstyne’s private perusal.
“I should have gone to him--openly and frankly--like a man,” he said
to himself, “and told him the whole truth, and claimed my wife openly
before the whole world! But Lenore, poor child! was so weak and worn
with the burden that she was bearing, so nervous and fanciful, so
broken down in spirit, that I could not bear the thought of exposing
her to his brutal rage. And so I did what I believed to be the best.
But I have acted the part of a coward in the eyes of the world, and now
I must suffer. In my blind haste and mad love for my darling, I paused
not to consider after consequences; I did not stop to count the cost to
her, dear love, who has suffered so for me. I should have remembered
the nature of the madman with whom I had to deal! I have been to blame
for my headlong precipitancy. But I had lived so long without her, had
suffered so intensely, had missed her so, that when I saw her before
me once more, and knew that my long years of searching for her were
over at last, and that she loved me still, had always loved me, that
we had been separated and kept apart by base treachery, then I struck
the blow which broke her bonds and gave her back to me. Ah, Geoffrey
Grey! Geoffrey Grey! false friend, wicked, vile traitor! the day will
surely come--oh, yes, I shall live to see it!--when we will stand face
to face, and then--”
He was pacing to and fro, his face white and drawn, his hands locked
convulsively together, upon his features the impress of mad despair. Up
and down the vast apartment he paced in stern silence.
All at once his eyes fell upon the figure of a man passing slowly down
the sunlit street between the long rows of ilex-trees. A handsome,
effeminate face, with a womanish mouth half hidden by the silky beard
and mustache of pale gold. A weak, uncertain, vacillating face, with
large, limpid blue eyes and straight, delicate features. A man for
women to rave over, jest with, and _forget_! He was sauntering idly
along in the golden, glittering sunlight, attired in a faultless gray
suit, with a red rose in his button-hole, swinging a tiny cane lazily
in one hand as he walked.
A swift glance, then an awful change passed over Cyril Fayne’s face.
With a hoarse cry, like the cry of a wild beast suddenly brought face
to face with its prey, he dashed open the great plate-glass window, and
springing through it, was upon the broken stones of the pavement in an
instant.
With one mad bound he sprung upon the dainty, smiling vision and caught
him.
“Geoffrey Grey!” he hissed between his close-clinched teeth, “I have
you at last! For years I have hunted you down, but always and ever
in vain; you would manage to elude me always. I followed you from
place to place, but when I came you would fly, and thus escape me. But
justice shall be done, vengeance shall have its own at last. You are
in my power, Geoffrey Grey, and the same world can contain us both
no longer! Villain, coward, traitor, false friend and traducer of
womankind, your hour has come!”
For just a moment the graceful figure stood transfixed with horror and
overcome with surprise, like one suddenly petrified. The smile had
died upon his lip, his face had blanched to an ashen pallor, he was
trembling in every limb. Still the white-faced Nemesis stood over him.
The coward winced.
“Don’t,” pleaded the low, musical voice, and the gray-clad figure
recoiled from the stern, threatening gaze of the other. “Do not--hurt
me--Cyril! I--I never did all that of which you accuse me. I--I swear
that I am sorry for what I have done!”
A thought flashed like an inspiration across his brain. Slowly his
grasp relaxed the miscreant, and his voice, stern and cold, asked the
question:
“Suppose that I agree to spare you, Geoffrey Grey--suppose that I
should let you go free, what are you willing to do to show your
penitence? But, bah! I am a fool to trust you, you false fiend! Stay!
if I guard you well, if I remain constantly at your side so that you
can not escape me, strive as you may, if I take you back thus guarded
to America, will you bear witness to Lenore Fayne’s innocence? Will you
take back the wrong that you have done, the evil that you have wrought,
and clear her fair name before the world? Speak, villain! And if you
agree to my proposition--remember that you can never escape me. I will
guard you always like a jailer! I will never let you out of my sight,
night nor day, until we have landed in America, and you have made
public all this vile plot against a pure woman’s happiness.
“Answer me, Geoffrey Grey! Will you try to retrieve your miserable past
by this one act of justice? Will you endeavor to atone in this manner
for the unpardonable wrong that you have done Lenore Fayne and myself,
the husband from whom your villainous treachery separated her for
seventeen long, bad, black years?”
Dead silence. The leaves of the ilex-trees swayed slowly in a passing
breeze; no sound broke the dead calm. A bright-eyed _donizella_ tripped
past; a group of ugly _lazaroni_ gathered upon the opposite side of
the street, begging alms in guttural Italian. Cyril Fayne stood like a
statue glaring down into the shrinking face of his enemy run down at
last.
“Well?” he demanded, at length, “is it yes or no?”
“Yes!” responded Geoffrey Grey, sullenly.