"Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?"
"You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not follow
you then. Neither do I now."
"Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledge
under vow of absolute secrecy--knowledge which it is not permitted to
me, as a servant of God, to divulge."
"But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it was
your duty to warn me."
"I did--but you took no heed," he declared. "Sylvia warned you also,
when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and go
into hiding!"
"But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelled
to hide himself like a fugitive from justice?" I protested.
"Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of the
evil-doer?" asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. "Have you never
stopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?"
"Those men are veritable fiends," I cried. "Yet why have I aroused
their animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr.
Shuttleworth, don't you think that it is your duty to protect your
fellow-creatures?--to make it your business to inform the police?" I
added.
"Probably it is," he said reflectively. "But there are times when
even the performance of one's duty may be injudicious."
"Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such
blackguards!" I cried.
"Pardon me," he said. "I am compelled to differ with that opinion.
Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too,
would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious."
"But what is this secret knowledge?" I demanded. "I have narrowly
escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel
that it is but right that I should now know the truth."
"Not from me, Mr. Biddulph," he answered. "Have I not already told you
the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?"
"I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the
sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me,
they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those
horrible means."
"What means did they employ?" he asked.
Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent,
listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise.
Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well.
"I warned you," was all he vouchsafed. "Sylvia warned you also."
"It is over--of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, rising from my
chair. "I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge
of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so
confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day--yes, let me confess
it to you--for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day,
here--only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife."
"Your wife!" he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and
drawn.
"Yes, my wife."
"And what was her answer?" he asked dryly, in a changed tone.
"She has consented."
"Mr. Biddulph," he said very gravely, looking straight into my face,
"this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastly
truth?--that there is a secret--an unmentionable secret----"
"A secret concerning her!" I cried. "What is it? Come, Mr.
Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!"
"I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there still
lies the open gulf--and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In your
ignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your own
dread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandon
all thought of her, I beg of you," he urged earnestly. "Take this
advice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for my
counsel."
"I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that is
sufficient," I declared.
"Ah!" he cried in despair as he paced the room. "To think of the irony
of it all! That you should actually woo her--of all women!" Then,
halting before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched his
hands and cried: "But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hate
her; you shall curse her very name. You shall never love
her--never--I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!"
At that instant the _frou-frou_ of a woman's skirts fell upon my ears,
and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open French
windows.
Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector's,
and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue.
"There!" he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. "There
she is! Ask her yourself, now--before me--the reason why she can never
be your wife--the reason that her love is forbidden! If she really
loves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her own
lips!"