In the interviews with Mr. Marks, Arthur Northway did not show at his
best. Whoever that scheming personage might be, his knowledge and his
air of condescension oppressed the needy young man, made him conscious
of a hang-dog look, and a helpless promptitude to sell himself for a
few coins. It was not thus that Northway, even after his unpleasant
experiences, viewed himself in relation to the world. He had decidedly
more intellect than is often found in commercial clerks--the class to
which he belonged by birth and breeding--and in spite of checks he
believed himself destined to no common career. Long musing had taught
him the rashness of his youthful endeavours to live largely; he was now
aware that his talents must ally themselves with patience, with a
careful scrutiny of possibilities.
Lying awake in the night, he thought with anything but satisfaction of
the bargain to which he had pledged himself. To discover the woman who
was by law his wife would undoubtedly be a good beginning now that he
had every disposition to fix himself in a steady course, but he saw no
advantage whatever in coming before a bench of magistrates and
re-opening the story of his past. It would be pleasant to deal a blow
at this man Quarrier; but, if Marks had told him the truth, Quarrier
was in any case doomed to exposure. Was it not possible to act at once
with prudence and with self-respect, to gain some solid benefit without
practice of rascality? It involved breaking his word, but was he bound
to keep faith with a man who proceeded on the assumption that he was
ready for any base dealing? The money in his pocket he might find an
opportunity of paying back. In this matter before him, he was
undeniably an injured man. Lilian was treating him very badly indeed,
very unfairly. If she chose to repudiate her marriage with him, it was
her duty to afford him the chance of freeing himself from the legal
bond. What moralist could defend her behaviour?
He worked himself into a mood of righteous indignation, of self-pity.
No; the very least Lilian should have done, in uniting herself to
another man, moreover a wealthy man, was to make some provision for her
forsaken husband. That little income of hers should have been
transferred to him. Her action was unexpected; he had thought her too
timid, too religious, too soft-hearted, for anything of this kind.
Since the disastrous wedding-day, she had, it was true, declined to
hold communication with him; but he always looked forward to a meeting
when he regained his freedom, and had faith in his personal influence.
It was not solely for the sake of her money that he wooed and won her;
other connections notwithstanding, he felt something like genuine
tenderness for Lilian, and even now this sentiment was not extinct.
The morning only confirmed his reluctance to follow Mr. Marks's
directions. Practically, he lost nothing by taking his own course but a
five-pound note. Let the electioneering agent attack Quarrier by some
other means. For a few hours, at all events, the secret would remain
unpublished, and in that interval the way might be opened for an honest
and promising career.
He breakfasted substantially, and left by the train appointed. Arrived
at Polterham, after a walk up and down the nearest streets and an
inspection of the party placards, he asked his way to the shop of Mr.
Ridge, bookseller. At once he was directed thither.
"So far so good," he said to himself. "It seems pretty certain that
Marks has not misled me. Shall I go into this shop, and play the trick
that was recommended? I think it is hardly worth while. Better to
inquire for Quarrier's house, and have a look at it."
He did so, and--it may be mentioned--on his way passed the doors of the
church in which at that moment Glazzard was being married. At about
half-past ten he was in sight of the high wall surrounding Quarrier's
garden; he approached the gate, and cautiously took a view of what was
within, then walked to a little distance.
His wife had not done badly for a little country girl. Whilst _he_
prowled about the streets with his burden of disgrace, his blank
future, Lilian sat at her ease in a mansion--doubtless had her
carriages, perhaps her liveried servants--associated with important
people. After all, there was something to be said for that appeal to
the magistrate, with its consequence of scandal, ruin, to these people
who thought themselves so secure from him. He recovered his mood of
last night.
"Boy!"--an errand-lad was just passing--"whereabouts is the
Court-house?"
He was bidden take a turning within sight and go straight on for about
half a mile.
"And I will, too!" he said in his mind. "She shall suffer for it!"
He turned away and walked for some twenty yards. Then once more the
doubt occurred to him. He had better go to the bookseller's and make
sure of Mrs. Quarrier's identity. Turning to take the opposite
direction, he saw some one coming forth from the gates by which he had
just stood--a lady--and it might be----?
Agitation shook him from head to foot. Was not that Lilian's figure,
her walk? She was moving away from him; he must have a glimpse of her
face. Drawing carefully nearer, on the side opposite to
hers--carefully--fearfully--he at length saw her features, then fell
back. Yes, it was Lilian. Much disguised in that handsome
walking-costume, but beyond doubt Lilian. Still, as of old, she walked
with bowed head, modestly. Who could imagine what she concealed?
His face was moist with perspiration. Following, he could not take his
eyes off her. That lady was his wife. He had but to claim her, and all
her sham dignity fell to nothing. But he could not command her
obedience. He had no more power over her will than any stranger. She
might bid him do his worst--and so vanish with her chosen companion
utterly beyond his reach.
Again he thought of the Court-house. For it was too certain that the
sight of him would inspire her only with horror. Should he not hold her
up to infamy? If _he_ did not, another would; Marks was plainly to be
trusted; this day was the last of Mrs. Quarrier's grandeur.
And to remember that was to pause. Could he afford to throw away a
great opportunity for the sake of malicious satisfaction?
She walked on, and he followed, keeping thirty or forty paces behind
her. He saw at length that she was not going into the town. The fine
morning had perhaps invited her to a country walk. So much the better;
he would wait till they were in a part where observation was less to be
feared; then he would speak to her.
Lilian never looked back. It was indeed the bright sunshine that had
suggested a walk out to Pear-tree Cottage, where before noon she would
probably find Mrs. Wade among her books. She felt light of heart.
Within this hour Glazzard would be gone from Polterham. Four days
hence, Denzil would be a Member of Parliament. Had she no claim to
happiness--she whose girlhood had suffered such monstrous wrong?
Another reason there was for the impulse of joy that possessed her--a
hope once already disappointed--a voice of nature bidding her regard
this marriage as true and eternal, let the world say what it would.
She was within sight of the cottage, when Mrs. Wade herself appeared,
coming towards her. Lilian waved her hand, quickened her step. They met.
"I was going for a walk in the fields," said Mrs. Wade. "Shall we"----
Lilian had turned round, and at this moment her eyes fell upon
Northway, who was quite near. A stifled cry escaped her, and she
grasped at her friend's arm.
"What is it, dear?"
Mrs. Wade looked at her with alarm, imagining an attack of illness. But
the next instant she was aware of the stranger, who stood in obvious
embarrassment. She examined him keenly, then again turned her eyes upon
Lilian.
"Is this some one you know?" she asked, in a low voice.
Lilian could not reply, and reply was needless. Northway, who had kept
postponing the moment of address, now lost himself between conflicting
motives. Seeing Lilian's consternation and her friend's surprise, he
nervously raised his hat, drew a step or two nearer, tried to smile.
"Mrs. Wade," Lilian uttered, with desperate effort to seem
self-possessed, "I wish to speak to this gentleman. Will you--do you
mind?"
Her face was bloodless and wrung with anguish. The widow again looked
at her, then said:
"I will go in again. If you wish to see me, I shall be there."
And at once she turned away.
Northway came forward, a strange light in his eyes.
"I'm the last person you thought of seeing, no doubt. But we must have
a talk. I'm sorry that happened before some one else."
"Come with me out of the road. There's a field-path just here."
They crossed the stile, and walked a short distance in the direction of
Bale Water. Then Lilian stopped.
"Who told you where to find me?"
Already Northway had decided upon his course of action. Whilst he
followed Lilian, watching her every movement, the old amorous feeling
had gradually taken strong hold upon him. He no longer thought of
revenge. His one desire was to claim this beautiful girl as his wife.
In doing so, it seemed to him, he took an unassailable position, put
himself altogether in the right Marks's plot did not concern him; he
threw it aside, and followed the guidance of his own discretion.
"I have found you," he said, fingering his throat nervously, "by mere
chance. I came here in search of employment--something in a newspaper.
And I happened to see you in the streets. I asked who you were. Then,
this morning, I watched you and followed you."
"What do you want?"
"That's a strange question, I think."
"You know there can't be anything between us."
"I don't see that."
He breathed hard; his eyes never moved from her face. Lilian, nerved by
despair, spoke in almost a steady voice; but the landscape around her
was veiled in mist; she saw only the visage which her memory had
identified with repugnance and dread.
"If you want my money," she said, "you can have it--you shall have it
at once. I give you it all."
"No, I don't ask for your money," Northway answered, with resentment.
"Here's some one coming; let us walk out into the field."
Lilian followed the direction of his look, and saw a man whom she did
not recognize. She left the path and moved whither her companion was
leading, over the stubby grass; it was wet, but for this she had no
thought.
"How long have you been living in this way?" he asked, turning to her
again.
"You have no right to question me."
"What!--no right? Then who _has_ a right I should like to know?"
He did not speak harshly; his look expressed sincere astonishment.
"I don't acknowledge," said Lilian, with quivering voice, "that that
ceremony made me your wife."
"What do you mean? It was a legal marriage. Who has said anything
against it?"
"You know very well that you did me a great wrong. The marriage was
nothing but a form of words."
"On whose part? Certainly not on mine. I meant everything I said and
promised. It's true I hadn't been living in the right way; but that was
all done with. If nothing had happened, I should have begun a
respectable life. I had made up my mind to do so. I shouldn't have
deceived you in anything."
"Whether that's true or not, I don't know. I _was_ deceived, and
cruelly. You did me an injury you could never have made good."
Northway drew in his cheeks, and stared at her persistently. He had
begun to examine the details of her costume--her pretty hat, her
gloves, the fur about her neck. In face she was not greatly changed
from what he had known, but her voice and accent were new to him--more
refined, more mature, and he could not yet overcome the sense of
strangeness. He felt as though he were behaving with audacity; it was
necessary to remind himself again and again that this was no other than
Lilian Allen--nay, Lilian Northway; whose hand he had held, whose lips
he had kissed.
A thrill went through him.
"But you are my wife!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "What right have you to
call yourself Mrs. Quarrier? Have you pretended to marry that man?"
Lilian's eyes fell; she made no answer.
"You must tell me--or I shall have no choice but to go and ask him. And
if you have committed bigamy"----
"There has been no marriage," she hastened to say. "I have done what I
thought right."
"Right? I don't know how you can call that right. I suppose you were
persuaded into it. Does he know all the truth?"
She was racked with doubt as to what she should disclose. Her thoughts
would not be controlled, and whatever words she uttered seemed to come
from her lips of their own accord.
"What do you expect of me?" she cried, in a voice of utmost distress.
"I have been living like this for more than two years. Right or wrong,
it can't be changed--it can't be undone. You know that. It was natural
you should wish to speak to me; but why do you pretend to think that we
can be anything to each other? You have a right to my money--it shall
be yours at once."
He stamped, and his eyes shot anger.
"What do you take me for? Do you suppose I shall consent to give you up
for money? Tell me what I have asked. Does that man know your history?"
"Of course he knows it--everything."
"And he thinks I shall never succeed in finding you out! Well, he is
mistaken, you see--things of this kind are always found out, as you and
he might have known. You can't do wrong and live all your life as if
you were innocent."
The admonition came rather inappropriately from him, but it shook
Lilian in spite of her better sense.
"It can't be changed," she exclaimed. "It can't be undone."
"That's all nonsense!"
"I will die rather than leave him!"
Hot jealousy began to rage in him. He was not a man of vehement
passions, but penal servitude had wrought the natural effect upon his
appetites. The egotism of a conceited disposition tended to the same
result. He swore within himself a fierce oath that, come what might,
this woman should be his. She contrasted him with her wealthy lover,
despised him; but right and authority were on his side.
"Leave him you must--and shall: so there's plain speaking! You will
never go into that house again."
Lilian turned as if to flee from him. No one was within sight; and how
could she have appealed to any one for help? In the distance she saw
the roof of Mrs. Wade's cottage; it allayed her despair for the moment.
There, at all events, was a friend who would intervene for her, a
strong and noble-minded woman, capable of offering the best counsel, of
acting with decision. Vain now to think of hiding her secret from that
friend--and who could be more safely trusted with it?
But she still had the resource of entreaty.
"You talk of right and wrong--is it right to be merciless? What can I
ever be to you? Would you take me away by force, and compel me to live
with you? I have told you I would die rather. When you think of
everything, have you no pity for me? Whatever you intended, wasn't our
marriage a terrible injustice to me? Oughtn't you to give a thought to
that?"
"You are living an immoral life," replied Northway, with tremulous
emphasis. "I could hold you up to shame. No, I don't ask you to come
and live with me at once; I don't expect that. But you must leave that
man, and live a respectable life, and--then in time I shall forgive
you, instead of disgracing you in the divorce court. I ask only what is
right. You used to be religious"----
"Oh, how can you talk to me like that! If you really think me wicked
and disgraced, leave me to my own conscience! Have _you_ no sins that
ask for forgiveness?"
"It isn't for you to speak of them," he retorted, with imbecile
circling. "All I know is that you are my wife by law, and it is my duty
to save you from this position. I sha'n't let you go back. If you
resist my authority, I shall explain everything to any one who asks,
that's all.--Who was that lady you were talking to?"
"She lives in the little house over there. I must go and speak to her."
"Does she know?"
"No."
"What have you to say to her, then?"
They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Northway was gauging
the strength of her character, and he half believed that by an exertion
of all his energy he might overcome her, lead her away at once. He
remembered that before the close of this day Quarrier's secret would be
universally known, and when that had come to pass, he would have no
hold upon either the man or the woman. They would simply turn their
backs upon him, and go beyond his reach.
He laid his hand upon her, and the touch, the look in his eyes, drove
Lilian to the last refuge.
"You must go with me, then, to Mr. Quarrier," she said, firmly. "You
have no power to stop me. I shall go home, and you must follow me, if
you choose."
"No, you will go with _me_! Do you hear? I command you to come with me!"
It was his best imitation of resistless authority, and he saw, even in
speaking, that he had miscalculated. Lilian drew back a step and looked
at him with defiance.
"Command me, you cannot. I am as free from your control as any
stranger."
"Try, and see. If you attempt to go back into the town, I shall hold
you by force, and the consequences will be worse to you than to me. Do
as you please."
Again her eyes turned to the distant roof of Peartree Cottage. She,
too, had estimated her strength and his. She knew by instinct what his
face meant--the swollen, trembling lips, the hot eyes; and understood
that he was capable of any baseness. To attempt to reach her home would
be an abandonment of all hope, the ruin of Denzil. A means of escape
from worst extremity, undiscoverable by her whirling brain, might
suggest itself to such a mind as Mrs. Wade's. If only she could
communicate with the cottage!
"Then I shall go to my friend here," she said, pointing.
He hesitated.
"Who is she?"
"A lady who lives quite alone."
"What's the good of your going there?"
She had recourse to artifice, and acted weakness much better than he
had simulated strength.
"I _must_ have some one's advice! I must know how others regard your
claim."
He saw no possibility of restraining her, and it might befall that this
lady, intentionally or not, would use her influence on his side. Those
last words signified a doubt in Lilian's mind. Was it not pretty
certain that any respectable woman, on learning how matters stood, must
exclaim against that pretended marriage? Northway's experience lay
solely among the representatives of English morality, and the frankly
vicious; he could hardly imagine a "lady" whose view of the point at
issue would admit pleas on Lilian's behalf.
"If you go there," he said, "I must be with you."
Lilian made no answer, but moved away. They passed into the road,
turned towards the cottage. On reaching the gate, Lilian saw Mrs. Wade
standing just before her.
"I must speak to you" she said, holding out her hands impulsively.
Mrs. Wade looked from her to the man in the background, who again had
awkwardly raised his hat--a cheap but new cylinder, which, together
with his shop-made coat and trousers, classed him among uncertain
specimens of humanity.
"Will you let him come in?" Lilian whispered, a sob at length breaking
her voice.
The widow was perfectly self-possessed. Her eyes gleamed very brightly
and glanced hither and thither with the keenest scrutiny. She held
Lilian's hand, answering in a low voice:
"Trust me, dear! I'm so glad you have come. What is his name?"
"Mr. Northway."
Mrs. Wade addressed him, and invited him to enter; but Northway, having
ascertained that there was no escape from the cottage which he could
not watch, drew back.
"Thank you," he said; "I had rather wait out here. If that lady wants
me, I shall be within reach."
Mrs. Wade nodded, and drew her friend in. Lilian of a sudden lost her
physical strength; she had to be supported, almost carried, into the
sitting-room. The words of kindness with which Mrs. Wade sought to
recover her had a natural enough effect; they invited an hysterical
outbreak, and for several minutes the sufferer wailed helplessly. In
the meantime she was disembarrassed of her out-door clothing. A
stimulant at length so far restored her that she could speak
connectedly.
"I don't know what you will think of me.--I am obliged to tell you
something I hoped never to speak of. Denzil ought to know first what
has happened; but I can't go to him.--I must tell you, and trust your
friendship. Perhaps you can help me; you will--I know you will if you
can."
"Anything in my power," replied the listener, soothingly. "Whatever you
tell me is perfectly safe. I think you know me well enough, Lily."
Then Lilian began, and told her story from first to last.