THE PRICE OF A LIE
Stanley had made all his adieux, or at least all he wanted to make. He
was tired with the exciting events of the day, and longed for a little
peace and quiet before the exacting ordeal of a railway ride to London.
He had given up the time-table as a Chinese puzzle. "What with the
trains that go somewhere and those that don't," he protested, "I'm all
at sea!" He, therefore, sent Kent-Lauriston ahead in the trap, and
walked across the park to the station.
That gentleman had convinced him of the propriety of restoring the order
for the forty thousand pounds to Miss Fitzgerald. He had pointed out
that she was the rightful owner of the document, and that Darcy was an
infernal rascal. The Secretary had acquiesced in his demand, and
promised, should he not see Belle before he left, an interview he much
wished to avoid, that he would mail it to her from the station.
He had first, however, a far more pleasant commission to perform, and a
few minutes later was seated under the spreading branches of an old
apple tree with Inez Darcy.
"I felt I must come and see you," he said. "I'm going away to-day, to
London, on important business."
"Yes," she murmured. "You've been very good to me."
"Some time ago," he continued, "you did me the honour to entrust your
affairs to my keeping, or, perhaps, to the keeping of the Legation."
"To your keeping, I should prefer."
"I fear that you may think I've been remiss, that other things have
taken my mind off them, that I've, in short, forgotten them, but it is
not so."
"I never doubted you."
"I hope to prove to you that you've not misplaced your confidence, in
evidence of which I bring you this," and he handed her a paper.
"What is it?" she said.
"A line from your husband," she started, "which gives you your freedom."
"You mean a divorce?"
"Yes."
"But I do not understand."
"He agreed to consent to your obtaining such a decree on any ground you
choose. I've decided on 'incompatibility of temper,' as being the least
embarrassing to you. He will not appear to contest the suit when it is
brought forward. This paper, signed in my presence, promises as much."
"My husband is a bad man, he would never have surrendered unless he was
forced to do so; for he believes that by retaining the control of me, he
may yet obtain control of my property."
"Perhaps he has seen the futility of these hopes."
"No, no, his own self-conceit would have blinded him to the possibility
of being outwitted. You've forced this from him. How have you done so?"
"I had hoped you would not press me for these reasons. Can't you accept
my assurance that whatever I've done, has been done in your interests
alone."
"Don't think me ungrateful if I say no, but I've had to endure so many
mysteries, that, for once, my great desire is to be clear of them."
"I hesitate to tell you, because it may give you pain."
"I am used to that and can bear it."
"Well, if you will have it. Colonel Darcy, as a result of his own
actions, was placed in my power."
"You mean that it was your duty to have him arrested?"
"That was left to my discretion."
"And you forced his consent?"
"No, I gave him a chance to purchase his freedom, and a substantial
reward, by a confession, and this----" and he touched the paper.
"But had you a right----?"
"I had a right to make any terms I pleased. I was given unlimited power
to impose my own conditions, and I'm sure, had my Chief known, he would
have wished you to derive any benefit possible from the transaction."
"It's dearly bought with that man's disgrace. In the eyes of the world,
he will still be my husband."
"There will be no disgrace."
"I do not understand."
"The government doesn't wish to punish Colonel Darcy; it merely wishes
for his evidence, to aid in the detection of others."
"But his name will appear."
"It is strictly stipulated that it shall not do so; be assured your
secret is safe."
"And he could have sunk so low as to sell himself and those who trusted
him."
"They were criminals."
"It doesn't lessen his treachery."
"Don't waste a thought on him, least of all any sentimental emotion. He
wasted little enough on you, and would have insulted you in my presence,
had I permitted it; he sold your freedom with less compunction than he
sold his honour or his friends."
"Enough!" she cried, her eyes sparkling. "He is forgotten. We will speak
of something else. Let me use my time to better purpose, by trying to
thank you--to begin to thank you, for all you've done for me."
"You can repay me if you like."
"What is the payment, then, for which you ask?"
"My Chief has received a request from your father this morning, that you
be put in charge of some responsible person, to come home to him."
"Ah!" she said, "that is no favour, it is good news."
"You must hear me out. Your father requested the Minister to nominate
your escort."
"Well?"
"He has nominated me."
"What, are you going home?"
"Almost at once. Will you trust yourself in my hands?"
"Trust you! I will go with you anywhere! I will trust you always!"
"Perhaps," he said, looking down into her eyes, as he stood before her,
"I shall ask you to fulfil those promises some day."
"Perhaps," she replied, rising and standing by his side, "I shall then
be free to answer you," and a radiant smile lit up her face.
They took each other's hands, and stood silent for a long time. Then he
bade her good-bye, and resumed his walk to the station.
Midway in his path, a figure lying prone in the tall grass roused itself
into action at his coming, sprang up and stood facing him, flushed,
defiant, and on the verge of tears.
It was the last person in the world Stanley wished to see--Belle
Fitzgerald. He had felt it was impossible to meet her again; that she
had put herself beyond the pale of his recognition; that it was not even
decent that she should face him; that he should have been left to
forget; and she, seeing all this in his face, and more--longed to throw
her good resolutions to the winds, and cry out against this great
injustice. But as they stood there, her subtle woman's instinct told her
that, even were her innocence proclaimed with the trumpet, the thought
that it had been otherwise would stand between them as an insurmountable
barrier for ever, and she hardened her heart for his sake.
"You are going away," she said.
"Yes," he replied, looking down at the road. She told herself
passionately, that he would look anywhere rather than at her.
"Some of your property has come into my possession," he said. "I wish to
return it to you," and he handed her the receipt for the forty thousand
pounds.
"I'll trust you'll see," he continued, in a strained voice, "that
Colonel Darcy has his proper share."
"He shall have what he deserves," she replied coldly; and then she burst
out, her words tumbling one over the other, now that she had found
speech: "You ought to know, you must know, that when Colonel Darcy is
free, we shall be man and wife."
"I'm very glad," he said, and he said it from his heart.
There was an awkward pause, neither seemed able to speak. At length he
remarked, more to break the silence than anything:--
"You know, I always thought, that, in your heart, you loved Darcy,
before anyone else."
She laughed her hard, cold laugh, saying:--
"You diplomats know everything."
The Secretary bowed silently and passed on, well satisfied to close the
interview; his thoughts full of the brilliant future which was opening
before him, unconscious that behind him, face down in the grass, a woman
was sobbing her heart out.
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[Illustration]
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By E. HOUGH.
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