"At last!" muttered Chester, as he stood, pale and careworn, leaning
upon the iron rail in the Row, watching the carriages slowly filing by,
or stopping from time to time.
For after days and days of watching, he was once more about to give up
in despair and venture, in spite of all rebuffs, upon another call at
the house, when in the distance he caught sight of the Clareborough's
light victoria approaching, and to his great delight he found that it
only contained one occupant.
He hesitated for a few moments as to what he should do--wait, or advance
to meet it, and decided now upon a bold attack, for every nerve was on
the strain.
"I will not be put off this time," he said to himself. "She shall
acknowledge me."
As he approached his heart began to beat fast and he gazed upon the
elegantly-dressed figure leaning carelessly back with her face shaded by
the tinted parasol she held, and, as yet unobserved, Chester saw that
she looked pale, troubled and weary, her half-closed eyes dreamy and
thoughtful.
Fate favoured him, for there was a block somewhere ahead, and the horses
were stopped only a few yards away.
He passed under the rail, walked up quickly, still unobserved, till his
hand was upon the carriage door.
"Marion!" he whispered.
She gave a violent start, the blood suffused her cheeks, and then fled,
leaving her deadly pale, as she gazed at him with dilating eyes.
"I beg your pardon," she said coldly, "you addressed me?"
"Yes," he said in a low voice which trembled a little from the excess of
his emotion, "but we are alone now, Marion. For pity's sake let there
be an end to this."
"Ah, I remember," she said in her low, musical tones, "you are the
strange gentleman who addressed me before. You are repeating your
mistake, sir."
"Indeed!" he said reproachfully, as he fixed her eyes with his. "Do you
think I could ever be mistaken?"
She bowed slightly and drew a little back, glancing hurriedly at the
driver, and then looking ahead as if eager for the carriage to proceed.
"How can you be so cruel?" he whispered. "Marion, you are maddening
me!"
He saw her wince, but with wonderful self-command she sat rigid as she
said slowly--
"I beg, sir, that there may be an end of this. Can you not see that you
are making a mistake, and are insulting an unprotected woman?"
She looked him fully in the eyes now with a calm air of wonderment, and
for the moment he was in doubt.
But the next moment his heart said no, and his pulses increased their
beat. No accidental resemblance could have produced that effect upon
him. He knew that there was something which he could not explain--a
strange vitality or occult force which bound him to her, and, though his
eyes might have erred, his nature could have made no such blunder, and
he was eager to continue the attack now the opportunity was there.
"Mistaken?" he said in a low, impassioned tone; "how could I be
mistaken? From the first moment you came to me, your looks, the tones
of your voice in your appeal to me for help, awoke something which till
then had slumbered within me. I had lived in ignorance of the reality
of such a passion, one which has gone on growing like a torrent ever
since. It has swept all before it since the hour I knew that I had
found my fate."
"My good sir," she said firmly and gently; "indeed you are taking me for
someone else."
He smiled as he gazed at her intently.
"For whom?" he said.
"I cannot say; some friend. It is an accidental resemblance, and once
more--I appeal to you as a gentleman to cease this persecution."
He shook his head sadly.
"Accidental resemblance? No. There is but one Marion on earth. No
woman ever resembled you in any way. This is impossible. Marion, be
merciful. After the night on which I saw you last, what must you think
of me? Of what manner of man could I be if, after striving so hard to
gain an interview like this, I could let you throw me over in so cruel a
way? Marion, for pity's sake. There must be stronger reasons than I
already know of to make you act like this."
She glanced round wildly for a moment or two, as if in dread that they
were being observed and his words were taking the attention of the
people around, then up at the coachman, but he sat erect and stolid, too
well schooled in his duties to have a thought or eyes for anything but
the beautiful pair of horses under his charge. Then, as she realised
the fact that they were perfectly unobserved by the busy throng around,
she recovered her passing composure, and said quite calmly, and with a
suggestion of pity in her tone for one who seemed to her to be suffering
from some slight mental aberration--
"Can you not see that you are mistaken?"
"No," he said, smiling sadly; "only that it is impossible."
There was a faint quiver of the lips, but it passed off, and her
beautiful eyes flashed, and the colour rose in her cheeks, as she made a
strong effort to be firm. Then there was a touch of anger in her voice
as she said coldly--
"Must I appeal to someone passing, sir, or to one of the police?"
Her words stung him to the quick, "No," he whispered huskily; "there is
no need. If you are made of steel and can act to me like this, I must
suffer; but do not insult me by treating me as if I were insane. I
could bear it from your brother; not from you, Miss Clareborough."
She winced slightly at the utterance of her name, and he fancied that
there was the light of compassion for one brief moment in her eyes.
His own face hardened now in the bitterness and despair of the moment as
he took out his pocket-book, and in spite of her self-command she
watched his action narrowly as he drew out the carefully-folded
handkerchief stained with blood.
"I saved this inadvertently," he continued. "Yours; marked with your
initials."
He looked her full in the eyes as he spoke, bitterly now.
"When I found it where I had hurriedly thrust it into my pocket that
night, it seemed to offer itself as an excellent clue for the police to
track out the mystery of the house to which I was taken."
She leaned forward quickly and caught at the handkerchief to cover it
with her hand, while he still retained his hold.
"For God's sake, no!" she whispered, and her face convulsed with fear.
"Don't do that--the police!"
The stained scrap of cambric formed a bond between them as he gazed
deeply in her eyes now, while a faint smile dawned upon his lip.
"I checked the thought at once," he said softly. "I told myself that
such an act might hurt you--might give you pain; and I set to and tried
to track you without, all through the months of agony and dread for what
you might have to fear from him. Take it, to destroy or save, as you
will. It is yours; but do not do me the injustice to think I would
retain it to hold over you in terrorem. Marion, I love you too well."
He breathed these words in the faintest tones, but he could read that
they fell heavily upon her ears, for in spite of her rigid position he
saw that her eyes looked wildly and imploringly into his.
"For Heaven's sake be silent!" she whispered faintly.
"I am your slave," he said softly. "Take the handkerchief."
"No, no; I trust you," she whispered back. "I will not try to
dissimulate any longer. It is impossible; but you must never speak to
me again--never recognise me. I cannot explain--I am not my own
mistress. It would injure others. Be merciful to me, for I have
suffered deeply. Think of all that has passed as some dream. I
cannot--must never see you more."
The carriage began to move on, but he walked by the side as she
continued--
"Spare me--spare those I love. I ask it of you. Now, farewell for
ever, for your own sake--for mine."
"No," he said softly, as he walked on, unnoticed by the many they
passed, for it was a commonplace thing enough to see a gentleman by a
carriage door talking to its occupant. "No. You have made me more
happy then I can express. The dense black cloud that has been over my
life has passed away, for I know now that you have been wearing this
mask for the sake of others whom you wish to spare. But you have let me
see behind it; just one glimpse, but enough to show me the true nature
of the woman I love."
"Oh, hush!" she whispered. "Believe me, that is impossible. Now leave
me, pray."
"Nothing is impossible to a man who loves as I love you," he whispered.
"No, no; once more, I tell you that we must never meet again."
"And I tell you," he whispered back, "that you are part of my life, and
that while my heart beats I will never give you up. Marion, we must
meet again sooner or later; I live for nothing else. Your hand one
moment."
"No, no!" she moaned.
"Your hand--life of my life," he whispered softly; and as she gazed at
him wildly, her hand, as if drawn by the magnetism of his nature, glided
slowly into his, and was clasped in his nervous grasp.
"I am going to wait."
"No," she said more firmly. "This for the last time. They would kill
me--they would kill you."
"No," he said. "An hour ago I would have welcomed death; now life opens
before me in its fullest sunshine of joy. They shall not kill you; they
shall not kill me, for I know you love me and have suffered, and it has
made me strong."
"Impossible, impossible," she whispered, with her eyes fixed upon his.
Then he loosed his hold of her gloved hand, dropping back and raising
his hat as the carriage rolled on.
He stood and watched it for a few minutes till it had passed out of
sight, and then drawing himself up, feeling that a breach of
invigorating life had run through his being, he turned to walk back
across the path, and found himself nearly confronting the man who had
occupied so much of his waking thoughts, and whose eyes now seemed to
flash as they gazed fiercely in his.
"Well," said Chester to himself, as he set his teeth hard, "I am ready
for the worst. Am I to learn the mystery of the big house now?" And he
took a step forward to meet the man he felt to be the great enemy of
both their lives.