EXIT MRS. BELSWIN.
She smiles she laughs! she talks of this and that--
To all appearances a very woman.
Ah! but that phrase bears deep interpretation--
"A very woman" is a treacherous thing;
Her smile's a lie--a lie to hide the truth,
For when the time is ripe for all her schemes
"A very woman" slips her smiling mask,
And lo! behold, a look which means, "You die."
One who has been in strange lands, and ventured his life in far
countries, is by no means anxious to court again the dangers he has so
happily escaped. The traveller, telling his tales by his lately gained
fireside, shudders as he remembers the perils he has dared, the risks
he has encountered, and is thankful for his present safety, so
thankful indeed that he is unwilling to place his life for the second
time at the disposal of chance.
It was somewhat after this fashion that Mrs. Belswin viewed her
present security in contrast to her past jeopardy. She had been a
free-lance, and adventuress, an unprotected woman at the mercy of the
world, so hard and pitiless to such unfortunates; but now she had
found a home, a refuge, a daughter's love, a bright oasis in the
desert of affliction, and she dreaded to be driven out of this
peaceful paradise, which held all that made her life worth having,
into a stormy world once more. Through perils more deadly than those
of savage lands, through storms more terrible than those of the ocean,
she had passed into a haven of tranquillity; but now that she was
tasting of the pleasures of hope and repose, it seemed as though she
would once more be driven forth to battle with her fellow-creatures.
Her quondam husband held her fate in his hand. He had right and might
on his side, and she knew that she could expect no mercy from one whom
she had so deeply wronged. Had the positions been reversed she felt
that she would not have scrupled to enforce the powers she possessed,
and, therefore, never for a moment dreamed that her husband would act
otherwise. All she knew was that she was now in Paradise, that she
enjoyed her daughter's affection, ignorant as that daughter was of the
mother's identity, and that the husband of her youth, and the father
of her dearly-loved child would expel her from this hardly won
Paradise as soon as he discovered her therein.
This being the case, she did not waste time in asking for a mercy not
likely to be granted, but set herself to work to find out some means
of retaining her position in defiance of her husband's enmity and
hatred. After her conversation with Mrs. Valpy, she saw that Rupert
Pethram had glossed over the affair of the divorce in order to avoid
all suspicion of scandal against himself and the mother of his child,
for he was unwilling that the child should suffer for the sin of her
parent. This was certainly a point in her favour, as by threatening to
denounce the whole affair if she was not allowed to retain her
position she could force him to acquiesce in her demand, in order to
avoid scandal.
But then if he, though keeping the terrible affair secret from the
outside world, told Kaituna all about her mother's disgrace, thus
destroying the love which the girl had for the memory of one whom she
thought was dead--it would be too terrible, as she could urge nothing
in extenuation of her sin, and would be forced to blush before her own
child. No, nothing could be done in that way. Should she throw herself
on the mercy of the man she had wronged? Alas! she knew his stern
nature well enough to be aware of the hopeless folly of such an
attempt. Looking at the whole affair in whatever way that suggested
itself to her fertile brain, she saw no means of retaining her
position, her child or her newly-found respectability, except by
enlisting the sympathy of Ferrari and----
But it was too terrible. It was a crime. Guilty as she was, to do this
would render her still more guilty. Even if she succeeded in getting
her husband out of the way, and it was not discovered by the law,
there was still Ferrari to be reckoned with. It would give him a
strong hold over her, which he would use to force her into marriage,
and then she would be still separated from her child, so that the
crime she contemplated would be useless.
To see this woman raging up and down her bedroom was a pitiful sight.
Flinging herself on her knees she would pray to God to soften the
heart of her husband, then, realising how futile was the hope, she
would start to her feet and think again of the crime she contemplated
committing with the assistance of her Italian lover. She raged, she
wept, she sighed, she implored. Her mood changed with every tick of
the clock; from hope she fell into despair; from despair she changed
once more to hope--tears imprecations, prayers, threats, she tried
them all in their turn, and the result was always the same--absolute
failure. She was dashing herself in vain against an adamantine wall,
for in her calmer moments she saw how helpless she was against the
position held by her husband--a position approved of by law, approved
of by the world. She could do nothing, and she knew it.
Still, Ferrari!
Yes, she would go up and see him, for perhaps he could solve the
riddle which thus perplexed her so terribly. He would demand his
price, she knew him well enough for that. Well, she would pay it in
order to still retain possession of her child. Let her accomplish her
present desire and the future would take care of itself. So, Mrs.
Belswin, summoning all her philosophy to her aid, composed her
features, and told Kaituna that she was going up to London on
business.
"But papa will be here next week," said the girl in dismay.
"Yes; I'm sorry to go at such a time, dear," replied Mrs. Belswin,
with an immovable countenance, "but it is a very important matter that
takes me away."
"You will be back again soon?"
"In a fortnight at the least."
"Oh, I'm glad of that," said Kaituna, with a flush; "you know I want
you to help me gain papa's consent to my marriage with Archie."
Mrs. Belswin smiled bitterly as she kissed her daughter, knowing how
weak was the reed upon which the girl leaned. She ask Rupert Pethram
to consent to the marriage--she dare to demand a favour of the man she
had wronged for the child she had forsaken! She almost laughed as she
thought of the terrible irony of the situation, but, restraining
herself with her usual self-command, bade the girl hope for the best.
"Your father must like Mr. Maxwell, he is such a charming young
fellow," she said encouragingly, "and as you love him so dearly, Sir
Rupert, for the sake of your happiness, may perhaps overlook his want
of money."
"But you will speak to papa, Mrs. Belswin?"
"Yes; if I see your father on my return I will certainly speak to
him."
"How strangely you talk," said Kaituna, rather puzzled; "if you come
back in a fortnight you will be sure to see papa."
"Of course, dear! of course. I was only thinking that some unforeseen
accident----"
"Oh, no, no!"
"Kaituna, you love your father very dearly."
"Very, very dearly. He is all I have in the world."
It required all Mrs. Belswin's self-restraint to prevent her then and
there throwing herself into the girl's arms and telling her all. Such
a course, however, would have been worse than madness, so she was
forced to crush down her maternal feelings.
After this interview with Kaituna, she departed for London--departed
for the possible commission of a crime, and as the carriage left
Thornstream she looked back with a sigh to the girl standing on the
terrace.
"Perhaps I shall never see her again," she said, with a groan,
throwing herself back in her seat. "But no; that will never happen;
even if Rupert does turn me out of the house he will not tell Kaituna
anything to destroy her belief in her mother, so I shall some day meet
her with her husband."
Her lips curled as she said this, knowing well that Sir Rupert would
never give his consent to the marriage, and then she clenched her
hands with a frown.
"He must consent to the marriage--Kaituna's heart is set on it. He can
destroy my happiness, but I'll kill him before he destroys that of my
child."
And with this firm determination she left her husband's house--the
house in which she should have reigned a happy mistress and mother,
and the house into which she had crept like a disguised thief, the
house which she, in the mad instinct of her savage nature, intended to
deprive of its master.
While waiting on the railway platform for the London train, she saw
Samson Belk.
The relations between these two were peculiar. Ever since he had seen
her at his mother's cottage, Belk had followed her everywhere like her
shadow, much to Mrs. Belswin's astonishment, for, candid in all
things to herself, she could not conceive how a handsome young man
could leave younger women for one verging on middle age. Yet such
was the case. This bucolic man had fallen passionately in love, and
adored her with all the sullen ardour of his obstinate nature. He was
slow-witted, dull-headed, and it took a long time for an idea to
penetrate into his brain, but once the idea was there, nothing could
get it out again. This woman, so different from all he had known, who
spoke in a commanding way, who flashed her eyes fiercely on all, as if
they were her slaves, had, without a word, without a sign, brought to
his knees this uncultured man, who knew nothing of the deference due
to the sex, and whose only attributes were great physical strength and
a handsome exterior. Formerly, owing to these advantages, he had
gained admiration from all women, and in return had treated them with
brutal indifference, or scarcely veiled contempt; but now the
positions were reversed, and he was the abject slave of this imperious
queen, who looked down at him with disdain. It was a case of Samson
like wax in the hands of Delilah--of Hercules subjugated by Omphale;
and Samson Belk, with all his virile strength, his handsome face, his
stalwart figure, was crouching like a dog at the feet of Mrs. Belswin.
He looked somewhat haggard as he came towards her and took off his
hat, Mrs. Belswin nodding coldly to him in return.
"Well, Mr. Belk," she said, indifferently, "what are you doing here?"
"I heard you were going to town, madam."
"Yes? How can that possibly concern you?" Belk stood twisting his hat
round and round in a sheepish manner.
"I thought I might be of service to you," he stammered, looking at her
portmanteau.
"Thank you, but there is no need. The porters will attend to all
that," replied the lady, graciously. "But you don't look very well,
Mr. Belk. I suppose you've been drinking."
Candour was Mrs. Belswin's strong point, and looking at Belk as an
inferior animal, she treated him accordingly, but he seemed in nowise
displeased at her bluntness.
"No; I haven't been drinking, madam."
"That's just as well. You know Sir Rupert returns next week, and if he
found you to be dissipated, he'd dismiss you on the spot."
"Would he?" said Belk, sullenly. "Let him if he likes. You seem to
know Sir Rupert, madam."
"I? No; but I have heard about him."
"He's a hard man, what I've seen of him."
Mrs. Belswin was not going to discuss this subject with a servant like
Belk, so she turned indifferently away as the train came into the
station, and left him standing there, looking in sullen admiration at
her graceful form in the dark garments she now affected.
When she was safely installed in a first-class carriage, her rustic
admirer, who had seen personally after her luggage, appeared at the
window with some newspapers.
"You'll want them to read, madam," he said awkwardly, as she thanked
him. "I hope you'll have a pleasant journey."
"Thank you, Mr. Belk, I hope I shall."
"You'll be coming back soon I hope?"
He blurted out this question with a deep flush, and Mrs. Belswin
stared at him with undisguised astonishment She could not understand
the reason of this man's deference, for she judged it impossible that
he could be so deeply in love with her as all his actions seemed to
denote. Good-natured, however, when not crossed in any way, she
replied politely, as the train moved off--
"I shall return in a fortnight."
"If you don't," muttered Belk, as the long line of carriages
disappeared, "I'll follow you up to London."
"Good heavens!" said Mrs. Belswin, throwing herself back in her seat,
"what on earth can the man see in me to admire? I'm not a vain woman.
I never was a vain woman, and why that handsome young fellow should
leave youth to run after age is more than I can understand. It's
flattering; very much so; but," continued the lady, struck by a sudden
thought, "if Ferrari met my new admirer, I'm afraid there would be
trouble."
She laughed at the idea, and taking up the _Telegraph_ began to read,
but suddenly laid it down with a nervous start.
"Ferrari loves me! Belk loves me! I love neither, but only my child.
Rupert stands between me and my happiness. Which of these men will
remove him out of my path? Ferrari--a subtle Italian, Belk--a brutal
Saxon. Humph! The fox and the lion over again--craft and strength! I
can depend on them both, and Rupert----"
She struck her hands together with a triumphant laugh.
"Rupert Pethram, you are marching blindfolded into a trap."