The hunted man's wife sat watching at her window hour after hour, as she
had watched days and nights before--bitter, vindictive, dwelling on the
cruelty, the blows and wrongs, from which she had suffered at this man's
hands, and from the woman who played the part of mother to him--jealous
tyrant to her.
"I have forgiven so much," she said, "and would forgive again--anything
but this! So young, and handsome, and fair! He'll find her again, and
bring her back, and then I may go. Why didn't he kill me outright?" she
added bitterly, as she went slowly to the lamp, took it up, and held it
so that she could gaze at her bruised face in the glass.
It was a handsome face, but bitterly vindictive now, as she gazed at the
bruises and an ugly cut upon her lip.
"Better have killed me for letting her go. He hates me now. Yes," she
said sadly; "better do it at once--better do it."
But she crossed the room again with a sigh to open the door and listen,
habit mastering anger and bitterness, as a look of eagerness and longing
such as had often been there before came into her face. It was the old
anxious look with which she had watched for him who did not come. Then,
by degrees, the look faded out, and her brow contracted as bitter
thoughts prevailed.
It was getting late now, and she lit the candles in an automatic
fashion, pausing at intervals to think. Then, going to the little
sideboard, she took out a glass and the spirit decanter, half full of
brandy, placing both on the sideboard ready before seating herself at
the open window to listen. Nine o'clock struck, then ten, and the
half-hour had chimed, but still he did not return.
There were a couple of figures, one at either end of the lane, but they
did not attract her attention, and she still sat listening till a faint
noise below made her start up and hurry to the door.
Yes, at last. Someone coming up the stairs two steps at a time. The
door was flung open, and her husband entered hastily, looking pale and
disordered. There was so jaded and despairing an aspect in the man's
eyes that the woman's sympathies were aroused, her troubles were for the
moment forgotten, and she laid her hand upon his arm.
"Back at last, John dear!" she said tenderly. "Are you tired?" And
then something in his face startled her. "John dear!" she cried.
"Curse John!" he cried. "There, I have done with that masquerading.
Here, quick--my little bag--a change of things!"
"Are you hurt?" she cried anxiously.
"Do you hear me?" he cried, and struck at her savagely with the back of
his hand.
She staggered back with a low moan, but sprang to him the next moment,
and threw her arms round his neck.
"John dearest," she whispered, in a low, frantic tone, "for God's sake
tell me you are sorry you did that. For your own sake ask me to forgive
you; it makes me mad!"
"Curse you, keep away!" he cried, flinging her off; but she staggered
back, and tried to nestle in his breast, only to be flung off again.
"Get me my clean things--quick!"
"No, no, not yet!" she cried, falling upon her knees and grasping at his
hands. "John, dear John, one kind word; say one gentle word to me,
pray, oh, pray!"
"Are you mad?" he said savagely, as he tried to release his hand.
"No; but you are driving me so!" she cried hoarsely. "I forgive you
your infidelity, your unkindness--everything--the way in which you have
wronged me. John--husband--for God's sake, for your own sake, be kind
to me now. You do not know the temptation that is on me."
"To run away and leave me?" he said mockingly. "Pray go." He stood
glaring down at her for a moment, and then exclaimed, in a cold, cutting
way: "Will you get me the things I want?"
"Yes, yes, dear--yes, my own love!" she cried excitedly; "in one minute.
But John, husband, my heart is nearly broken. I am maddened by my
wrongs."
He must have been mad himself, for as she clung to him he struck her
again, more savagely this time, and, with a shudder running through her
whole frame, she cowered on the floor.
But it was only for the moment. She struggled up again, joining her
hands together as she wailed once more:
"I ask you again, for our dead babe's sake, John--husband--give me one
kind word, and I will forgive all!"
"Do you want to drive me wild!" he yelled savagely. "I am not John
Huish--I am not your husband. Out of my sight, or--"
He raised his hand again to strike her, but she did not flinch. She
stood up, seeming as if turned to stone, and a sickly pallor appeared on
her cheeks.
"There, quick; get me the brandy! I have a long way to go."
"Yes," she said quietly, as a low moan escaped her lips; "you have a
long way to go."
She fetched the brandy decanter and glass from the sideboard, placed
them before him, and he poured out a goodly quantity, raised the glass,
listened, and then put it down.
"Who's below?" he said sharply, as he turned towards the door.
"Jane Glyne," she said, moaning; and then once more she tried to clasp
his neck.
"What's the matter with you?" he cried mockingly, as he thrust her arm
away, and, catching up the glass, he raised it to his lips.
"No, no!" she cried, her coldness giving way to a look of horror; "don't
drink it;" and she threw up her hands to seize the glass. But once more
his hand fell heavily upon her, and she shrank away, covering her
bruised face with her fingers, as he drained the glass and then dropped
it, to shiver to atoms on the fender.
"What! That brandy?" he cried, with his face convulsed. "What have you
given me to drink?"
"Death!" she said sternly, as she dropped her hands, to stare him full
in the face.
He caught at the mantelpiece and steadied himself, his lips parting, but
no words came. Then, with his countenance changing horribly, he said in
a hoarse whisper:
"How long?"
She grasped his meaning, and shook her head. He smiled, and swung
himself to the table, caught the decanter in his hand, and stood
pointing.
"A glass--quick!"
She glided to the sideboard, and returned to place one before him. The
neck of the decanter chattered loudly against the thin edge, and his
teeth gnashed horribly as he poured out half the glass full, and then
dropped the vessel, for the remainder to run gurgling out with a strange
noise, as if the spirit within the decanter were dying. Then, grasping
the glass, he raised it and held it out.
"Drink!" he said huskily--"drink!"
The woman stood motionless for a few moments, rigid, as if petrified.
Then, without a word, she raised her hand, took the glass calmly, and
raised it to her lips, when in a paroxysm of agony the dying man threw
out his arms, the glass was dashed from her hand, and he fell heavily
upon the floor. As he fell writhing upon the rug the door was thrust
open, and a detective-sergeant and a couple of policemen entered the
room.
"John Huish, _alias_ Mark Riversley, I have a warrant--Good heavens!"
The sergeant stopped, caught the decanter from the table, smelt it, and
set it down. "Too late!" he exclaimed, as a strong odour of bitter
almonds floated through the room. "Here--a doctor--quick!"
As one constable reached the door the man they sought uttered a low
animal cry, writhed himself partly up, and caught at the woman's hands
as she sank upon her knees at his side.
"Too--late," said the man faintly, as he threw up his head and seemed to
be speaking to someone invisible to those present. "Your--fault, your
sin--a curse--a curse!"
Those present glanced at one another and then at the woman who knelt
there silent and motionless, as if carved in stone.
They thought him dead, but he struggled faintly, and the woman held his
head upon her arm, as his eyes slowly turned upon her, and a smile
played round his pinched blue lips.
She shuddered, and her brow knit as she bent her head to hear his dying
curse.
"Only a dog, and a dog's death," he whispered--"a wolf--in my blood--
cursed--cursed. Gentlemen, too late; poison; I took it myself. An
accident--I--Ah! No room for us both. Good-bye!--my--"
He made a faint effort to throw one arm round the woman's neck, but it
fell lifeless by his side, and as a shudder ran through him a piteous
cry rang through the room, and all turned to see that a wild-looking,
haggard woman had entered the room.
"My poor, handsome boy!" she wailed. "Dead, dead!"
Volume 3, Chapter XVII.