The afternoon of that day was unusually sultry and oppressive. The blue
of the sky was almost livid. I was weary with the long walk in the
morning, and after our mid-day meal I stole away from mademoiselle and
Minima in the _salon_, and betook myself to the cool shelter of the
church, where the stone walls three feet thick, and the narrow casements
covered with vine-leaves, kept out the heat more effectually than the
half-timber walls of the presbytery. A _vicaire_ from a neighboring
parish was to arrive in time for vespers, and Jean and Pierre were
polishing up the interior of the church, with an eye to their own
credit. It was a very plain, simple building, with but few images in it,
and only two or three votive pictures, very ugly, hanging between the
low Norman arches of the windows. A shrine occupied one transept, and
before it the offerings of flowers were daily renewed by the unmarried
girls of the village.
I sat down upon a bench just within the door, and the transept was not
in sight, but I could hear Pierre busy at his task of polishing the
oaken floor, by skating over it with brushes fastened to his feet. Jean
was bustling in and out of the sacristy, and about the high altar in the
chancel. There was a faint scent yet of the incense which had been
burned at the mass celebrated before the curé's departure, enough to
make the air heavy and to deepen the drowsiness and languor which were
stealing over me. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes,
with a pleasant sense of sleep coming softly toward me, when suddenly a
hand was laid upon my arm, with a firm, close, silent gripe.
I do not know why terror always strikes me dumb and motionless. I did
not stir or speak, but looked steadily, with a fascinated gaze, into my
husband's face--a worn, white, emaciated face, with eyes peering cruelly
into mine. It was an awful look; one of dark triumph, of sneering,
cunning exultation. Neither of us spoke. Pierre I could hear still busy
in the transept, and Jean, though he had disappeared into the sacristy,
was within call. Yet I felt hopelessly and helplessly alone under the
cruel stare of those eyes. It seemed as if he and I were the only beings
in the whole world, and there was none to help, none to rescue. In the
voiceless depths of my spirit I cried, "O God!"
He sank down on the seat beside me, with an air of exhaustion, yet with
a low, fiendish laugh which sounded hideously loud in my ears. His
fingers were still about my arm, but he had to wait to recover from the
first shock of his success--for it had been a shock. His face was bathed
with perspiration, and his breath came and went fitfully. I thought I
could even hear the heavy throbbing of his heart. He spoke after a time,
while my eyes were still fastened upon him, and my ears listening to
catch the first words he uttered.
"I've found you," he said, his hand tightening its hold, and at the
first sound of his voice the spell which bound me snapped; "I've tracked
you out at last to this cursed hole. The game is up, my little lady. By
Heaven! you'll repent of this. You are mine, and no man on earth shall
come between us."
"I don't understand you," I muttered. He had spoken in an undertone, and
I could not raise my voice above a whisper, so parched and dry my throat
was.
"Understand?" he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I know all about
Dr. Martin Dobrée. You understand that well enough. I am here to take
charge of you, to carry you home with me as my wife, and neither man nor
woman can interfere with me in that. It will be best for you to come
with me quietly."
"I will not go with you," I answered, in the same hoarse whisper; "I am
living here in the presbytery, and you cannot force me away. I will not
go."
He laughed a little once more, and looked down upon me contemptuously in
silence, as if there were no notice to be taken of words so foolish.
"Listen to me," I continued. "When I refused to sign away the money my
father left me, it was because I said to myself it was wrong to throw
away his life's toil and skill upon pursuits like yours. He had worked,
and saved, and denied himself for me, not for a man like you. His money
should not be flung away at gambling-tables. But now I know he would
rather a thousand times you had the money and left me free. Take it
then. You shall have it all. We are both poor as it is, but if you will
let me be free of you, you may have it all--all that I can part with."
"I prefer having the money and you," he replied, with his frightful
smile. "Why should I not prize what other people covet? You are my wife;
nothing can set that aside. Your money is mine, and you are mine; why
should I forfeit either?"
"No," I said, growing calmer; "I do not belong to you. No laws on earth
can give you the ownership you claim over me. Richard, you might have
won me, if you had been a good man. But you are evil and selfish, and
you have lost me forever."
"The silly raving of an ignorant girl!" he sneered; "the law will compel
you to return to me. I will take the law into my own hands, and compel
you to go with me at once. If there is no conveyance to be hired in this
confounded hole, we will walk down the road together, like two lovers,
and wait for the omnibus. Come, Olivia."
Our voices had not risen much above their undertones yet, but these last
words he spoke more loudly. Jean opened the door of the sacristy and
looked out, and Pierre skated down to the corner of the transept to see
who was speaking. I lifted the hand Richard was not holding, and
beckoned Jean to me.
"Jean," I said, in a low tone still, "this man is my enemy. Monsieur le
Curé knows all about him; but he is not here. You must protect me."
"Certainly, madame," he replied, his eyes more roundly open than
ordinarily.--"Monsieur, have the goodness to release madame."
"She is my wife," retorted Richard Foster.
"I have told all to Monsieur le Curé," I said.
"_Bon!_" ejaculated Jean. Monsieur le Curé is gone to England; it is
necessary to wait till his return, Monsieur Englishman."
"Fool!" said Richard in a passion, "she is my wife, I tell you."
"_Bon!_" he replied phlegmatically, "but it is my affair to protect
madame. There is no resource but to wait till Monsieur le Curé returns
from his voyage. If madame does not say, 'This is my husband,' how can I
believe you? She says, 'He is my enemy.' I cannot confide madame to a
stranger."
"I will not leave her," he exclaimed with an oath, spoken in English,
which Jean could not understand.
"Good! very good! Pardon, monsieur," responded Jean, laying his iron
fingers upon the hand that held me, and loosening its grip as easily as
if it had been the hand of a child.--"_Voilà_! madame, you are free.
Leave Monsieur the Englishman to me, and go away into the house, if you
please."
I did not wait to hear any further altercation, but fled as quickly as I
could into the presbytery. Up into my own chamber I ran, drew a heavy
chest against the door, and fell down trembling and nerveless upon the
floor beside it.
But there was no time to lose in womanish terrors; my difficulty and
danger were too great. The curé was gone, and would be away at least a
fortnight. How did I know what French law might do with me, in that
time? I dragged myself to the window, and, with my face just above the
sill, looked down the street, to see if my husband were in sight. He was
nowhere to be seen, but loitering at one of the doors was the
letter-carrier, whose daily work it was to meet the afternoon omnibus
returning from Noireau to Granville. Why should I not write to Tardif?
He had promised to come to my help whenever and wherever I might summon
him. I ran down to Mademoiselle Thérèse for the materials for a letter,
and in a few minutes it was written, and on the way to Sark.
I was still watching intently from my own casement, when I saw Richard
Foster come round the corner of the church, and turn down the street.
Many of the women were at their doors, and he stopped to speak to first
one and then another. I guessed what he wanted. There was no inn in the
valley, and he was trying to hire a lodging for the night. But Jean was
following him closely, and from every house he was turned away, baffled
and disappointed. He looked weary and bent, and he leaned heavily upon
the strong stick he carried. At last he passed slowly out of sight, and
once more I could breathe freely.
But I could not bring myself to venture downstairs, where the
uncurtained windows were level with the court, and the unfastened door
opened to my hand. The night fell while I was still alone, unnerved by
the terror I had undergone. Here and there a light glimmered in a
lattice-window, but a deep silence reigned, with no other sound than the
brilliant song of a nightingale amid the trees which girdled the
village. Suddenly there was the noisy rattle of wheels over the rough
pavement--the baying of dogs--an indistinct shout from the few men who
were still smoking their pipes under the broad eaves of their houses. A
horrible dread took hold of me. Was it possible that he returned, with
some force--I knew not what--which should drag me away from my refuge,
and give me up to him? What would Jean and the villagers do? What could
they do against a body of _gendarmes_?
I gazed shrinkingly into the darkness. The conveyance looked, as far as
I could make out of its shape, very like the _char-à-banc_, which was
not to return from Noireau till the next day. But there was only the
gleam of the lantern it carried on a pole rising above its roof, and
throwing crossbeams of light upon the walls and windows on each side of
the street. It came on rapidly, and passed quickly out of my sight round
the angle of the presbytery. My heart scarcely beat, and my ear was
strained to catch every sound in the house below.
I heard hurried footsteps and joyous voices. A minute or two afterward,
Minima beat against my barricaded door, and shouted gleefully through
the key-hole:
"Come down in a minute, Aunt Nelly," she cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is
come home again!"