A fortnight passed and Gaunt made no further effort to arrive at
an understanding with his wife. They met but seldom, and always in
the presence of Edward Drake or Lady Ethel, so that he came to the
conclusion that Lady Mildred was desirous of avoiding any intimate
conversation with him, and in this supposition he was right.
As a matter of fact Lady Mildred was unsettled in mind, and did not
quite know what she herself wished. It must be remembered that love had
never touched her heart, and she much preferred to keep her feelings
well in hand, for she imagined that to care for a man deeply would
cause her more discomfort than pleasure.
Lady Mildred was physically strong and she had completely recovered her
health; in fact motherhood had added to her beauty, for it had given
a gentler expression to her face and had banished a great deal of the
coldness that had been there. A drive in the park had brought a fresh
color to her cheeks so that when she reëntered the house, her sister
looked at her with undisguised admiration.
“Mildred, I am only just beginning to realize how very beautiful you
are,” Lady Ethel remarked. “I am not surprised that your husband adores
you so openly.”
Lady Mildred made no reply but took off her coat and turned away her
face so that her sister should not see the flush that had come to her
cheeks.
“Will you ring for tea?” she said quietly.
Lady Ethel laughed slightly as she touched the button of the bell, and
there was still a smile on her face when she took a seat by the side of
her sister.
“I think you are a very lucky woman and ought to be very happy—but I
don’t think you are, Mildred,” she remarked frankly.
“Are you not just a little impertinent?” Lady Mildred said coldly.
“No. Only curious, which is the prerogative of youth. I quite like
this husband of yours, although when I first saw him at the wedding, I
thought him rather hateful, and wondered how you could marry him.”
“You forget that John is a rich man,” Lady Mildred said bitterly.
“No. I don’t forget, for I am quite sure that you would never have
married for money alone. I have been watching you two rather closely
of late and sometimes I think you care for him much more than you will
allow any one to see.”
As she spoke she looked steadily at her sister, and was pleased to see
that her words were not without effect, for Lady Mildred was very angry.
“You talk like a sentimental schoolgirl. You imagine love to be the
most important thing in the world.”
“So it is, my dear, and you’ll find it out some day. Let me give you
a little sisterly advice. John is by no means an ordinary man, and I
warn you that he may be driven too far. Perhaps you won’t know his real
worth until you lose him. As I said before, I have been keeping my eyes
open and it is very evident that your husband is in trouble of some
kind. I wonder you don’t speak to him frankly and offer to share it.
You would be received with open arms,” Lady Ethel said with unwonted
seriousness.
“If John has worries, I am ready to help him to the best of my ability.”
“Why don’t you tell him so?”
“It is not my place to ask for his confidence. You really are going too
far, Ethel. I think I will rest till dinner time,” she said wearily.
But when she reached her room Lady Mildred made no attempt to sleep,
for she was strangely disturbed; instinct told her that there was a
good deal of truth in what Lady Ethel had said.
Did she love her husband? The question could not be answered readily,
although she realized that her feelings towards him were very different
to what they were at the time of their marriage.
Before she began to dress for dinner, a visit was paid to the nursery
and she took the baby in her arms and pressed it closely to her breast.
Its eyes were open and it struck her very forcibly that the child was
more like her husband than herself, and she was conscious of a twinge
of jealousy, but the feeling quickly passed and again she remembered
John Gaunt’s never varying kindness. Did she love him?
Her lips reverently touched the baby and she turned away with a sigh.
As she slowly dressed, a determination was born—a determination to give
her husband a chance, and to allow him to approach more closely to her.
During dinner Gaunt was very quiet but as soon as the meal was over he
rose from the table.
“Mr. Drake and I have an engagement—if you will excuse us,” he
announced quietly.
“Is it important? I rather wanted to talk to you,” Lady Mildred
answered with unwonted tenderness.
“I am sorry. It is a meeting about the Congo, and——”
“Will you take me with you?” Lady Ethel broke in eagerly.
“Do you wish to listen to a recital of horrors?” he asked brusquely.
“I should like to go. I am interested in the Congo,” she answered.
“I, too, would like to go,” Lady Mildred said, and the two men were
surprised at the announcement.
“I think you would be wiser to stay at home,” Drake said nervously.
“I wish to go,” Lady Mildred rejoined coldly.
Gaunt shrugged his shoulders and made no further objection, but he was
very silent during the drive to the hall, where the meeting was to
take place. They entered a building that was packed from gallery to
floor and on the platform were many well-known faces. The Archbishop
of Canterbury was the chairman and he was supported by the heads of
the free churches, while notabilities from every branch of life were
present to add weight to the protest against the crime of the Congo.
Eloquent words were spoken—words that deeply stirred the hearts of the
vast crowd as they listened to the description of the sufferings of
a people who were powerless to help themselves. Then a manifesto was
read which had been issued and signed by every well-known divine in the
country.
“Twenty-five years ago we sanctioned the formation of the so-called
‘Congo Free State,’ on the ground of its being a ‘humane and benevolent
enterprise.’ We invoked the divine blessing upon an undertaking which
was intended to work to the benefit of the inhabitants of the country.
To speak of those hopes as falsified is to use too mild a term. The
basin of the Congo is to-day the scene of as cruel a tyranny as exists
on earth.”
Lady Mildred listened with the deepest interest. Like the great mass of
the British people she had read something of the state of affairs, but
no lasting impression had been left on her mind. But the eloquent words
to which she listened brought the whole cruel tragedy vividly before
her mind.
John Gaunt had founded his fortune on “red rubber,” and John Gaunt was
her husband.
Her eyes happened to rest on his face and she saw that he was very
pale—what were his thoughts of this scathing indictment of a nation?
She dared not think.
“Where are you going, John?” she whispered hoarsely.
A speaker had just sat down, and Gaunt was making his way rapidly to
the platform which he quietly mounted and turned to face the audience.
“I am John Gaunt and I wish to speak,” he said in a clear ringing voice.
A murmur arose, and the chairman whispered to those near him.
What could this millionaire wish to say to them? This man whose gold
had the taint of blood.
Lady Mildred’s breath came quickly and the time seemed interminable as
she waited for her husband to continue his speech.
Edward Drake watched the scene with a feeling of intense excitement,
for he had no idea what Gaunt was about to say. It was but a few hours
ago that the subject of their presence had been discussed. The meeting
had attracted a good deal of attention and it chanced that during the
afternoon, Drake was reading an article in the _Times_ when Gaunt
entered the library.
“Mr. Gaunt, I think that the time has come for action,” Drake cried
eagerly. “Have you read this leader about the Congo?”
“I have just glanced at it. Isn’t there a meeting of some sort
to-night?” was the careless answer.
“Yes, and I think you ought to be present. A fortnight has passed and
we have done nothing,” Drake replied energetically.
“What do you suggest?”
“This meeting is intended as a weighty protest against the inaction of
the English government. The speakers are eminent men and there can be
no question about their disinterestedness. If such a man as yourself
raised a voice, the effect would be increased a thousandfold.”
“You mean because of my connection with the Congo?” Gaunt asked
thoughtfully.
“Yes. The public more or less connect you with the Congo Free State,
and if you were to relate your experience, it would have an enormous
influence for good. During these years while a war has been raged
against this iniquitous rule the burden has rested on the shoulders
of one man—the secretary of the Congo Republic Convention. He has
pluckily fought a battle with public apathy, but little can be done
without funds. You have said that you are prepared to spend your wealth
in righting the wrongs which you have committed. In what better way
can you do so than by joining hands with those who are strenuously
endeavoring to obtain justice for the natives of the Congo?” Drake said
earnestly.
“There is something in what you say, but have you thought how such an
action would affect me personally? My Belgian friends will say I have
‘ratted,’ while if I tell the brutal truth my English friends will call
me a blackguard, and refuse to associate with me. You must remember
that the Belgians have always denied that any atrocities have been
committed.”
“The statement by you will remove every doubt,” Drake cried impetuously.
“It is rather a large order to ask me to do this. I think you know that
if I do undertake it, I shall not mince matters,” Gaunt said quietly.
“So much the better. Under the circumstances I do not think that you
have the right to consider yourself personally. You have led me to
believe that you are honest in your determination to fulfil your vow.
If this is true, you cannot hesitate for a moment.”
“I quite understand your point of view, but I must own that I had not
anticipated any such public action as you suggest.”
“Do you honestly wish to help the natives of the Congo?” Drake cried
vehemently.
“I haven’t considered them—I am only thinking of myself,” Gaunt
answered drily. “Perhaps you will be quiet for a few minutes.”
Drake watched him eagerly, and when the minutes passed he grew
despondent for he recognized that he had set a difficult task, and one
that would require courage of a high order to carry out.
“Surely I was not mistaken in this man,” he told himself hopefully.
Gaunt rose and crossed over to a cabinet from which he took a cigar.
Still he did not speak and the silence continued for some time.
“You are not going to draw back?” Drake cried in desperation.
“No. I will accompany you to the meeting.”
“Thank God! And you will bear witness to——”
“I will make no promise,” Gaunt interrupted him quietly.
Drake possessed tact and he recognized that it was not the moment to
apply pressure. If a decision had been arrived at, nothing he could now
say would change it, and he must possess his soul in patience.
The fact that Lady Mildred and her sister were to accompany them
disturbed him greatly, for it was but natural to think that their
presence might cause Gaunt to modify any statement that he intended to
make.
But Drake did not yet fully understand the character of John Gaunt.