I held the small brass stamp towards her, inviting her to examine it,
but she shrank back with an expression of terror and repulsion, refusing
to touch it.
"Have you ever seen Dudley with this in his hand?" I asked, repeating
my question seriously, determined upon learning the truth.
"Where did you find it?" she inquired, a look of bewilderment upon her
haggard face.
"You have not answered my question, Ella," I said sternly.
"Your question? Ah!" she cried, as if in sudden remembrance of my
words. "I--I have never seen Dudley with it. I--I swear I haven't."
"Is that the absolute truth?" I asked in doubt.
"The truth!" she echoed. "Did I not, a moment ago, promise you I would
never again deceive you by word or action? Can you never have
confidence in me?" she asked, in a tone of mingled regret and reproach.
"But this was found in Dudley's possession," I said, holding it nearer
my gaze, and detecting in the bright sunlight streaming through the
window small portions of black wax still adhering to the cleverly-cut
coat of arms. Black wax, I remembered, had been used to secure the
dummy envelope.
"And even if that were so, is it such a very remarkable fact that a man
should carry a seal?" she asked suddenly, raising her brows and assuming
a well-feigned air of surprise. At that instant it occurred to me that
she was an adept in preserving a mystery; she could practice deception
with a verisimilitude little short of marvellous.
"But this," I observed, "is no ordinary seal."
"It looks ordinary enough," she answered, smiling. "It's only brass."
"But its discovery forms a clue to a most serious and startling crime,"
I said.
"A crime!" she gasped. "What do you mean? Dudley's murder?"
I did not fail to notice that she used the word "murder" as if she had
absolute proof that death had not been due to natural causes. Yet the
effect of my announcement had been to fill her with sudden apprehension.
She strove to appear amazed, but I thought I could detect in her
attitude and bearing a fear that I had knowledge of her secret.
"It is most probably connected with that tragic event," I answered
meaningly, looking her straight in the face. "The police will no doubt
pursue their investigations and clear up the matter."
"The police!" she whispered hoarsely, just as Mrs Laing had done when
the officers had entered her house. "Do you think they will discover
the cause of poor Dudley's death?"
"I cannot say," I answered calmly. "They will, however, discover the
reason he had this seal in his possession."
"I tell you it was not his--I mean I never saw him with it," she
protested.
"But he may have had it in his pocket and not shown it to you. Indeed,
there were reasons that he should not do so because it was used for a
nefarious purpose."
"For what?" she asked, suddenly evincing an interest in the stamp,
taking it from my hand and examining it closely.
It was on my tongue to relate to her the whole circumstances, but
suddenly remembering that for the present the secret of England's peril
must be preserved if the identity of the spy were to be discovered, I
refrained, and answered,--
"The man who used that seal committed one of the worst crimes of which a
man can be guilty."
"What was it; tell me?" she asked quickly. "Surely Dudley never
committed any offence!"
"I am not certain," I answered gloomily. "An enemy who would pose as a
friend, as he has done, might be capable of any deceit."
"Have I not already told you that he was not your enemy, Geoffrey?" she
observed calmly.
"Ah, Ella," I cried in disgust, "all these falsehoods only render your
conduct the more despicable. You will deny next that you went down to
Warnham to meet him surreptitiously."
"To Warnham?" she cried, white to the lips.
"Yes. Do you deny it?"
"No. I--it is quite true that I met him there," she faltered.
"You spent the day with my rival, unknown to me," I went on bitterly.
"Yet you declare that you never loved him?"
Her breath came and went in short, quick gasps, her haggard eyes were
fixed; she stood silent, unable to make reply.
"It is useless to further prolong this painful interview," I exclaimed
at last, turning from her.
"I swear I never loved him," she cried suddenly. "Some day, when you
know the truth, you will bitterly regret how you have misjudged me, how,
while striving to serve you, I have fallen under suspicion."
"But your visit to Warnham!" I said. "Is that an act such as can be
overlooked without explanation?"
"I only ask you to place trust in me, and I will prove ere long that I
acted under compulsion."
"You want me to believe that he held you irrevocably in his power, I
suppose?" I said with biting sarcasm.
She nodded, and held her head in downcast, dejected attitude.
"It is easy enough to allege all this, now that he is dead," I observed
doubtingly.
"I have told you the truth. I feared him, and was compelled to obey,"
she exclaimed hoarsely.
"What was the object of your visit? Surely you can explain that?"
"No. I cannot."
"You absolutely refuse?"
"Absolutely," she answered, in a low, strained voice, looking straight
at me with an expression of determination.
"Then we must part," I said, slowly but firmly disengaging myself from
her embrace.
"No, no," she wailed, sobbing bitterly and clinging more closely to me.
"Do not be so cruel, Geoffrey. You would never utter these words could
you know all."
"But you will not tell me," I cried.
"At present I dare not. Wait; be patient, and you shall know
everything."
"How long must I remain in doubt and ignorance?" I asked.
"I know not. To-morrow the bond of secrecy may be removed from my lips,
or it may be many months ere I can fearlessly speak and explain," she
answered in a strange voice, almost as if speaking to herself.
"From your words it would appear that some person still holds power over
you, even though Dudley is dead," I said, looking into her eyes
seriously.
She sighed deeply, and her hand, resting upon my shoulder, trembled
violently. "Yes, you guess the truth," she answered. "I would tell you
all--explain all these facts that no doubt puzzle you and cause me to
appear base, heartless and deceitful--yet I fear the consequences. If I
did so we should be parted for ever."
"But if you told the truth and cleared your conduct, I should then have
confidence again, and love you. How should we be parted?"
Pale and silent she stood, with her eyes resting upon the distant line
of drooping willows. Not until I had repeated my question did she move
and answer in a voice almost inaudible, as she clung to me,--
"We should be parted by death," she whispered hoarsely.
"By death!" I cried, dismayed. "What do you mean, Ella? Do you fear
that the same tragic fate that has overtaken Dudley will overtake you?"
She shuddered, and burying her white face upon my shoulder, again burst
into a torrent of tears. Hers was indeed a woeful figure, bent,
dejected and grief-stricken. Raising her head at last, she stifled her
sobs with an effort, and implored with earnestness,--
"Tell me, Geoffrey, that you will not prejudge me. Tell me with your
own lips that you will be content to wait in patience until I can
present the facts to you in their true light. I am not an adventuress,
as you think. I have never, I swear before Heaven, looked upon any
other man with thought of affection. I have told you of my inability to
speak; I can tell you no more."
I made a movement, steady, stern and deliberate, to put her from me;
but, with her arms around my neck, she cried in an agonised tone,--
"No, Geoffrey. At least show me a single grain of pity. Be patient.
If you desire it I will not come near you until I can reply to your
questions and clear my conduct of the stigma upon it; I will do anything
you ask so long as you give me time to pursue my investigations and free
myself from this terrible thraldom. Say you will, and bring back peace
to my mind and happiness to my heart. I love you, Geoffrey, I love
you!" and her hot, passionate lips met mine in a manner that showed
plainly her terrible agitation, and her fear lest I should cast her off.
Slowly, during those moments of painful silence that followed, my anger
and bitterness somewhat abated, and, even against my better judgment,
feelings of pity swayed my mind. It seemed to me, as I reflected upon
the past, that Dudley Ogle had been unfortunate in his early
surroundings and education; his character had received a wrong bias from
the very beginning, and the possession of wealth had increased it. And
yet, in spite of all that, there had been something pleasant and good in
him. No man is altogether hideous when truly known, and I had not yet
accurately ascertained the character of his mysterious relations with my
well-beloved. I had, during this interview, caught glimpses of the
real, true woman beneath the veil of falsehood and evasion of the truth;
I had seen a wistful look occasionally in Ella's eyes, as though she
were haunted constantly by some terrible dread.
Yea, I pitied her. Perhaps, if I waited, the time would come when her
nature would recover from the blight that had fallen upon it; when the
alien element that had grafted itself upon her true life would be
expelled by those avenging powers that vex and plague the erring soul,
not in mockery, but to save it from the death that cannot die.
The strangeness of her manner, and the tragic apprehension of her words
would, I knew, never fade from my memory; yet half inclined to believe I
had misjudged her, I at length, although feeling that the world could
never again be quite the same for me, drew her slight form towards me,
and imprinting a long, passionate kiss upon her ready lips, said,--
"I will try and think of you as a woman who has been wronged, Ella. I
will wait until you can explain, but remember that until you relate to
me truthfully the whole of the facts there can be no love between us."
"No love!" she wailed in a voice of poignant grief. "Is your love for
me so utterly dead, then, that you should say this?"
"No," I answered, caressing her, stroking her wealth of gold-brown hair
fondly as of old. "I love you still, Ella; yet, speaking candidly, I
cannot trust you further until you explain the truth."
"But you will be patient, will you not?" she urged. "Remember that I
have before me a task so difficult that it may require all my woman's
tact and cunning to accomplish it. But I will--I must succeed; failure
will mean that I lose you, my best beloved. Therefore wait, and ere
long I will convince you that I have not lied."
"Yes, I will wait," I said, kissing her once again. "Until you have
cleared yourself, however, remember that I cannot love you as I have
done."
"Very well," she answered, her tear-stained face brightening. "If such
is your decision, I am content. Before long I will explain all the
facts, and then, I feel confident, you, noblest and dearest, will love
me even better than before."
"I trust I shall," I answered with heartfelt earnestness, taking her
small hand and pressing it softly; "for I love you, Ella."
"I care for nothing else," she answered, raising her face to mine and
smiling through her tears. "I am happy in the knowledge that you still
think of me. You have enemies; yes, many. But there was one that loved
you always--ay, and loves you now, and ever shall love you."
For a moment I gazed into the deep blue depths of her clear, trusting
eyes, still grasping her tiny hand in mine, but almost at that instant
the door opened and Mrs Laing, fussy, good-natured, and full of
sympathy, entered, and seating herself, commenced to chat about the
events of that memorable morning.