Lady Mildred was thoroughly upset by the interview with Baron de
Croiseuil, for she realized that a grave warning had been given her.
When her anger subsided, it was only natural that she should be curious
about her husband’s past life in the Congo, and although she knew that
Gaunt had been no saint, it was difficult to believe that he had ever
done anything to warrant the Baron’s thinly disguised threat. Not for a
moment did she regret the attitude she had taken up; indeed, pride had
left no alternative, but all the same she was conscious of a feeling of
uneasiness, and looked forward with impatience to meeting her husband.
She waited restlessly for the footman whom she had sent to see if he
had returned.
“Did you give Mr. Gaunt my message?” she asked when he appeared.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Is he coming?”
“Mr. Gaunt did not say. He is in the billiard room with Mr. Drake.”
“That will do,” she said by way of dismissal.
A quarter of an hour passed, and when Gaunt did not arrive, her
uneasiness increased; but at last he appeared, and she at once noticed
a strangeness in his manner.
“I am sorry I have been so long,” he began apologetically; but he was
regarding her anxiously, to see if he could gather from her attitude
whether the Baron had spoken.
“I had a visit from the Baron de Croiseuil this afternoon. But won’t
you sit down, John?” she said nervously.
Gaunt was inclined to think that she was still in ignorance of what he
dreaded that she should hear, and a quick sigh of relief escaped him.
“What did the Baron want? You will understand that he is not exactly my
friend,” he said very quietly.
“So I gathered from my interview, for he spoke very plainly about these
speeches you have been making. I am afraid that you will find him an
active enemy if you continue to interest yourself in the Congo.”
“The Baron and I have already discussed that matter at some length, and
we were unable to arrive at an agreement. I presume he came to ask you
to persuade me to keep my mouth shut?” Gaunt said grimly.
“You are right, and he did not mince matters.”
“It is his habit to be blunt where bluntness suits his purpose. May I
ask what line he took?” he said casually, but Lady Mildred could see
that he was very anxious.
“It appears that you left rather an unsavory record behind in the
Congo, and he suggested that his friends might find it necessary to
see that your past was resuscitated. He spoke in a perfectly friendly
way, and pretended that he had come out of consideration for myself,
imagining that some of the mud which would be thrown at you might stick
upon myself,” she said hurriedly.
“I see,” he answered reflectively, and then paused for a while. “Would
you mind telling me how you answered him?”
“I rang for the footman, and gave orders that in future I should not be
at home if he called,” she replied quietly.
Gaunt’s face lighted up wonderfully, and she blushed at the sight of
the emotion that her answer had conjured up.
“That was good of you, Mildred. But you could not have acted
differently. About this black record of mine on the Congo; weren’t
you curious to know of what it consisted? Didn’t you ask him for
particulars?”
“I was curious, I admit, but I would not lower myself by questioning
him,” she answered proudly.
“And you still are curious?” he persisted.
“Yes,” the answer came reluctantly.
Their eyes met, but Gaunt quickly turned away to conceal the struggle
that was taking place in his mind. Now was the opportunity of making
his confession; but when he remembered its sordid nature, the words
refused to come. In his imagination he could see the look of loathing
that would come to her face, and suddenly he determined that at all
costs she must remain in ignorance of the fact that he had killed a
man, and might be charged with the crime of murder.
“I wonder if you would be content to remain in ignorance? I must admit
that before I met you, I did many things that you would condemn, but I
would rather that you remained in ignorance of them. Knowledge can do
no good. Do I ask too much?” he said eagerly.
It was clear to him that she was disappointed by his request and he
waited anxiously for her to speak.
“John, I feel that I am becoming surrounded by mystery,” she cried
impetuously. “If we are driven apart—which God forbid!—it will be
because you refuse to give me your confidence. I am going to ask you a
favor, and I want you to think carefully before you give me an answer.
The other day I wished you to take me away at once and you refused. It
is not an easy matter for me to repeat the request; but I do so, and
very earnestly, for I believe that if we were alone for a while, all
this foolish suspicion would vanish, and——”
“And——?” he repeated dully when she hesitated.
“It is difficult for me to speak of the new feeling which has crept
into my heart, but I believe that I could love you, if you would allow
me to do so.”
“Mildred,” he cried hoarsely, and rising, held out his arms towards her.
“No, John. Before that, everything must be clear and straightforward.
I must confess that I cannot understand why you are waging this war on
the Congo officials, for it is not your nature to turn upon those who
were once your friends, and who helped you to your present position. I
want to know why you are doing so. Have you suddenly become religious,
and is it from a sense of duty?”
Gaunt shook his head, and his depression increased.
“There must be some very forceful reason, for you are running a great
risk. The Baron will certainly do all the mischief that he can. Perhaps
he will publish your record, and that will not be very pleasant for
either of us. And there’s baby to be considered.”
Her voice sank and contained a note of awe when she spoke the last
sentence.
“I am willing to sink my curiosity—which is something for a woman to
sacrifice. I am willing to do anything you like, so long as you will
promise to come away with me,” she said with quiet earnestness.
Gaunt was moved, and for a moment was sorely tempted to agree to what
she proposed, whatever might be the consequences. It must be remembered
that he loved his wife passionately, and that she was offering him all
that he desired—her love. A few weeks ago he would have been overjoyed
and his happiness would have been complete—but now——
His bond was stronger than his love. The temptation was ruthlessly
swept aside, and there was born a determination which in the future
should be his guide with reference to his wife—he would not accept her
love unless he could come to her with perfectly clean hands, and that
could not be until his fight for the Congo natives was finished. Mud
would be thrown at him, and his reputation might be blackened, but when
the struggle was over, and she would know the worst—save perhaps that
one thing which he must keep from her at all costs.
Now she was offering him her love, and should he pass it by, might it
not be refused him later on? Lady Mildred was proud and would feel
deeply his refusal; but there seemed to be no alternative, and he
braced himself up to speak.
“I would give all that I possess in the world to be able to do what you
wish, but I cannot,” he said desperately.
“And I may not know the reason?” she said coldly, and her face had
grown very white.
“I can only tell you that my honor is bound up in the Congo. You
yourself encouraged me to undo some of the harm for which I was
responsible. I have vowed——”
He broke off and turned away so that she should not see his emotion.
“I have vowed not to turn back,” he continued more firmly. “And I
cannot break my word. You would not respect me if I did so.”
“Is that all you have to say? Do you intend to turn me deliberately out
of your life?” she cried passionately.
“Mildred—I can only ask you to be patient and to trust me.”
There was a world of appeal in his voice, but now she had hardened her
heart against him, and was unaffected.
“I love you body and soul, and if you only knew what your offer meant
to me—a happiness so intense as almost to amount to pain. Since we
first met, my whole object in life has been to win your love. During
all our months of married life your indifference was a torture; but I
was determined to be patient, for the ultimate reward was worth any
sacrifice. And then came the baby. My hopes rose, and——”
“You tell me that you love me, and yet you refuse my request. You
stultify yourself, John. Love that cannot make this little sacrifice is
unworthy of the name.”
“Sacrifice,” he repeated vehemently. “There is no sacrifice that I
would not gladly make for the happiness of which you have given me a
glimpse.”
“John.”
Her face had softened wondrously, and she held out her hand towards
him. It appeared to Gaunt that his wife had never been so beautiful,
and the temptation to take her in his arms became maddening.
“John,” she repeated softly.
“Don’t tempt me, Mildred. You do not know what you are doing. If I were
to accept, I should never know a moment’s happiness. My soul would be
eternally damned, and I could never look into your eyes without feeling
ashamed. No, I will play the game, and you shall have an honest man for
husband, and not a poltroon,” he cried vehemently.
She realized that he was deeply moved and that the words were wrung
from him, but she could not understand, and without understanding could
give him no sympathy.
“Again this mystery, John. What does it mean?” she asked wearily. But
he would not reply, but turned away to the window through which he
stared moodily. The reaction had set in and he longed to be alone, for
the sight of her tormented him, reminding him of what he was thrusting
from his life.
At last he looked round, and found that she had gone. With a savage
laugh he stepped into the middle of the room, but suddenly his eyes
alighted upon a small lace handkerchief which lay on the floor. It was
the work of an instant to pick it up and place it in his pocket.
Down-stairs to the library he went, and there found Edward Drake, who
was reading an evening newspaper.
“Have you told her?” Drake asked anxiously.
“No, and I don’t intend to do so,” Gaunt cried harshly.
“Then God help you!”
Gaunt laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.
“I shall need your prayers and His help,” he said, and then sank back
into the chair, covering his face with his hands.