When Lady Mildred realized that her husband had been arrested and
had left the house in charge of an inspector of police, she gave way
completely and was prostrated with grief. But she did not lack courage
and when Edward Drake came to see her she forced herself to greet him
calmly.
“You are responsible for this,” she said in a low voice.
“I do not think so, but I will not attempt to defend myself. Mr.
Gaunt has acted the part of a brave man and I honor him,” he answered
steadily.
“You honor him for going to prison?”
“Yes. The police court is not always a disgrace. Some day you will
think as I do. Your husband is innocent of the crime with which he has
been charged, and his accusers know him to be innocent. It is but an
attempt to silence him, and the attempt will fail,” Drake said with
quiet conviction.
Lord Lynton rushed into the room and there was great excitement on his
face.
“I have just been telephoning to the Baron. He tells me that it is not
too late, and if Gaunt will only give the promise, he will see that
these proceedings are stopped. Mr. Drake, you must follow him to the
police station and make him do this.”
“From your knowledge of Mr. Gaunt’s character, you should understand
that such a visit would be useless. He has made up his mind and nothing
that I or any one else can say will change his purpose.”
Lady Ethel had followed closely after her brother, who had explained to
her what had happened.
“Mr. Drake, will you come with me?” she said quietly, and led the way
to the library. “I ask you as a great favor to go to Mr. Gaunt. I
believe you underrate your influence with him, and that if you try hard
he will consent to give the Baron this promise.”
“I have already said that it would be useless,” he answered gravely.
“Yes, but I am not sure that you believe what you said. For some
purpose of your own you have been driving Mr. Gaunt on to this mad
course. You, and no one else, are responsible for what he has done. If
you had not entered into his life he would never have given a second
thought to the wrongs of the natives of the Congo.”
He endeavored to interrupt her but she continued with greater
earnestness.
“Have you not seen how happy they have been lately? My sister loves
him, and I thought that all these difficulties had vanished. Yesterday
Mildred gloried in her husband’s love, and now he is in prison. I love
my sister dearly, and I cannot see her life ruined.
“I believe that Mr. Gaunt is innocent,” she continued gravely, “but
even then, this charge will cause a great scandal. Mildred is deeply
hurt that he should have refused to do the little thing she asked,
for it would seem as though he placed this wretched crusade above his
wife’s love. Won’t you go to him?”
Her eyes were fixed steadily upon him and he was deeply moved.
“I shall be very grateful to you, Mr. Drake,” she said simply.
“I hate to refuse you, but I cannot do it. My conscience tells me that
Mr. Gaunt is doing his duty.”
“And that is your last word?”
“It must be.”
“I am greatly disappointed, not only for my sister’s sake but for my
own. I thought that you were my friend. I have respected you as much
as any man I know, and now I can only think that you are acting in
this strange way for some secret motive, of which you are ashamed. You
pretend to be Mr. Gaunt’s friend, while all the time you are proving
yourself to be his bitterest enemy. Under the circumstances, I would
suggest that you leave this house,” she wound up scornfully.
Drake was distressed and knew not what to do. He could see that no word
of his would make her think differently of him, and yet he would not go.
“Mr. Gaunt’s last words were that I should look after Lady Mildred,” he
answered gravely.
“Look after the woman whose happiness you have helped to ruin?” she
cried contemptuously, and before he could answer she had hurried away.
And during the whole of the interview he had been longing to tell her
the truth, for he hated to see scorn in the eyes of the woman he loved.
She believed him to be acting from unworthy motives, and he could not
defend himself.
A broad-minded man, he had mapped out a course of action from which
he would not deviate in the smallest degree. It was his conviction
that the sufferings of the natives of the Congo could be made to cease
by the efforts of Gaunt, and the misery of millions of human beings
he placed far above every other consideration. What mattered his own
happiness—what mattered the happiness of Gaunt and Lady Mildred, when
such a stake was at issue?
Just before the dinner hour his brother came in, tired out with a long
day’s work. He was succeeding beyond his most sanguine expectations
and was rapidly getting together the body of men which Gaunt required.
In fact many of them were to leave for Las Palmas by the next steamer,
there to await instructions.
Lindsay Drake was thoroughly upset by the news of Gaunt’s arrest, but
his brother endeavored to cheer him.
“I believe that God is with us, and that He will not allow anything to
stop us from this good work,” he said solemnly.
They dined alone, and afterwards continued their discussion of the
arrangements which were already far advanced, in spite of the very few
days which had elapsed since work had been commenced. Edward Drake had
approached the representatives of San Salvador and had ascertained that
there had been great difficulty in finding the large sum of money which
must be paid before possession of the cruiser would be granted. Like
most South Americans, Señor Alvarez was quite open to a bribe and had
entertained the proposal with great eagerness. Now there remained but
the details to discuss and Gaunt’s presence was necessary before the
matter could be finally settled.
It was Edward Drake’s intention to go to the police court at an early
hour in the morning, but when he was about to start a message came from
Lady Mildred that she wished to see him, and he hastened to her room.
Her face was pale and dark rims encircled her eyes, for she had passed
a sleepless night, but when she had awakened a great deal of the bitter
feeling against her husband had passed away.
“John loves me, and nothing else matters,” she told herself.
When Drake entered she received him quietly, and silenced his words of
sympathy.
“I would rather not talk of it,” she said wearily. “I have sent for you
because I wish you to take me to the police court. My brother refuses
to go.”
“Do you think it wise?” he asked hurriedly.
“I wish the world to see that I believe in my husband’s innocence, and
the best way of showing it is by being present.”
“I, too, intend to go,” Lady Ethel announced from the doorway, but she
took no notice of Edward Drake, not even vouchsafing him a glance.
Drake then left them to find out the time when the case would be heard,
and they reached the court just before twelve o’clock. Curious glances
were thrown at them as they entered, and soon it became known that
Gaunt’s wife was present. Lady Mildred’s face was devoid of expression,
but under the insistent staring she grew nervous, so that at last
she let fall a thick veil which effectually concealed her features.
However, her purpose had been accomplished, for it would be reported in
the papers that she was present.
It was not until her husband stood in the dock that she really
realized that he was a prisoner, and she clutched tightly at her
sister’s hand.
If they should find him guilty?
The mere thought caused her heart to throb madly, and when she caught
sight of the Baron’s smiling face, she could have cried out in her
agony. But soon her attention became concentrated upon counsel’s
speech, and she followed his words with an eagerness that was painful.
And then there came the description of the crime with which Gaunt was
accused. A quiet gasp escaped her as she understood the meaning of what
had been said. John—her husband—had robbed a white man of his wife—a
native woman—and then had shot the man whom he had robbed. Her husband
accused of such baseness! It was incredible! But was it possible
that these people could bring such a charge unless there were some
foundation for it? An intense jealousy seized her in its grip and she
rose to her feet.
“Come, Ethel,” she whispered hoarsely.
Drake, too, rose to accompany them, but she waved him back.
“I wish to go alone with my sister. Stay here,” she gasped, and he
obeyed her.
The car was outside and Lady Mildred entered and threw herself back
against the cushions.
“Tell him—to drive—home quickly,” she said to her sister, and the words
were uttered with great difficulty.
The car started off and Lady Ethel drew down the blinds, for her sister
was crying piteously, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Perhaps it is untrue,” Lady Ethel whispered.
“But the disgrace of it. I hate him. I will never willingly see John
again,” Lady Mildred cried vehemently.
When she reached home she went at once to her room, and threw herself
on the bed, while great sobs shook her. Although she knew it not, the
wound was to her pride—that the man she loved, the man whose wife she
was, should have his name coupled with a native woman; and a great
anger against him mastered her. Honestly she believed that an end had
come to her love, and now she almost hoped that he would remain in
prison. At last her sobs ceased and she formed a determination as she
bathed her face. Her maid was summoned and received orders to pack at
once for a long visit.
Lady Ethel came in and gave a cry of surprise when she saw the
preparations that were being made.
“You are going away?” she said with great distress.
“Yes. Do you think I can stay under the same roof as my husband after
what has passed? Is it necessary to explain?” she asked wearily.
“No, dear; but won’t you take a little time for consideration?” Lady
Ethel said anxiously.
“I am leaving here at once. Will you come with me?” Lady Mildred cried
impetuously.
“Of course I shall, but I think you ought to give your husband a chance
of explaining.”
“I wish never to see him again. I hate him.”
Orders had already been given that the large car should be got ready,
and when directions had been given for the forwarding of their
luggage, Lady Mildred led the way to the hall.
“Surely you will write to John,” Lady Ethel suggested diffidently.
“Yes—I will.” And Lady Mildred crossed to the table on which there was
a box of stationery.
“_To my dying day I shall regret that I am your wife_,” she wrote and
sealed the envelope and handed it to a footman.
They entered the car and the nurse sat facing them with the baby in
her arms, but the little one resented being disturbed in his morning’s
sleep.
“Let me have him,” Lady Ethel said quietly.
But her sister was staring through the window, a great misery in her
eyes, but wounded pride can even drive away love.