"If He Had Committed a Crime"
Karine stood, as I said, perhaps a couple of yards distant from her
friends, and their backs, at the present moment, were more than half
turned to her. It would be just possible for me to speak to her, without
being observed by them, if I were both extraordinarily cautious and
lucky. At any moment Wildred, who had perhaps gone to rectify some
vexatious mistake about a table, might return. If I meant to take the
step at all there was no time to be lost in doing so.
Without giving myself a second for further reflection, and with the
blood surging to my temples, I found myself, with a few strides, beside
her. Mud-stained boots and trousers were forgotten. I would waste no
time in apologising for my appearance.
What she must have thought of my pale and eager face, suddenly bent over
her, I do not know. I felt that a great crisis in my life, perhaps in
hers as well, had arrived, and my eyes must have shown something of that
which stirred so passionately in mind and heart, for she started with a
look almost of fear as she saw and recognised me.
She uttered no exclamation, however. If she had, Sir Walter and Lady
Tressidy would have heard and looked round, and my one chance, so
desperately snatched from Fate, would have been gone like a bubble that
bursts ere it has fairly expanded.
Without one spoken word I made her see that she must come with me, and
the quick realisation of my power over her, as she laid her hand upon my
arm unhesitatingly, thrilled me to the very core of my being.
Most women would have refused to come, or at least questioned my sudden
appearance and intention, but not so with her. She knew that I had
something to say to her which must be said, and it was her will to hear
it.
She had been pale as a statue of marble, as she stood leaning listlessly
against the wall in her white dress, but as she moved away with me life
and colour came back to her face. I led her down the hall to a small
public drawing-room, and not once did she hesitate or look back,
unconventional as was the adventure in which she was engaged.
Luckily, the place was empty, save for two elderly French women, who
gossiped and gabbled with their heads close together on a sofa in a
corner.
"What is it--oh, what is it?" questioned Karine. "Quick! there will only
be a moment, I know, for they will see that I have gone, and will soon
find me here."
Without any preface I came straight to the asking of the bald, crude
question which was in my mind to ask.
"For the sake of--our friendship, Miss Cunningham, forgive me, and tell
me whether you love Carson Wildred?"
She started and quivered almost as though I had struck her a blow, and
her large, frightened eyes studied mine for a long second without
answering. Then she said, simply, "No, my friend, I do not--love him."
"Yet you have promised to marry him?"
"Yes."
"And you mean to carry out that promise?"
"Yes, unless----"
"Unless what?"
"Something--happens to prevent me."
"If you do not love him something _shall_ prevent. Let me help you.
For heaven's sake, let me! Only give me an idea how it can best be
done--I ask no more. I will teach you what such a--friendship as mine
can have the power to do."
I hoped to give her courage by the passion and force of my words, but,
strangely enough, the bright eagerness died out of her face as I spoke.
In some way I had missed saying the thing which might have comforted
her. If I had only known--if I had only known!
"You are very kind," she said, gently and sadly. "I am not looking
forward to any great degree of happiness in my life, but I daresay,
after all, I shall get on as well as most women. I don't think anything
_will_ happen to prevent--what we were speaking of."
"Why, is it to come so soon, then?" I questioned, impetuously.
"In six weeks. It was all arranged to-day"--with a soft little sigh at
the end of her sentence.
"Tell me this: Are you in any way being forced into the marriage?"
"Not by people--exactly. Only by _circumstances_. I--I can't tell
you any more, though, believe me, I am grateful for all you mean, and
all you would do for friendship's sake." There seemed a faint ring of
stifled bitterness in the last three words, though wherefore it should
come I knew not. If she had resented the warmth of my "friendship" after
our brief acquaintance, what would she feel, I dimly wondered, should I
forget myself, and be coward and fool enough to tell her of my mad love
on the very day of her betrothal to another man?
With all my strength I held my tongue under control, and heaven knows it
was no easy victory, with those sweet eyes looking into mine!
"Tell me what _could_ prevent it?" I persisted imploringly. "If you
found that he was unworthy, would that----"
She half smiled, though without any mirthfulness. "There are so many
degrees of unworthiness, aren't there? And I am not near enough to
perfection to believe myself a judge."
"If _he had committed a crime_?" I went desperately on. And the
words on my own lips made me start as though with a sudden revelation. I
seemed to have assured myself of a fact which had actually taken place,
rather than uttered a mere suggestion. The conviction grew within me
that if Carson Wildred had not successfully altered his face and each
characteristic of his personality, I should at once be able not only to
remember, but to prove that my haunting half-recollection was intimately
connected with some criminal deed done by him.
"Ah, _then_! But it is wrong to wish that he should have been
guilty of any wickedness. I think, Mr. Stanton, that as I have promised
to be his wife we must talk no more of this--you and I. I have always
had a horror of disloyalty."
"I know," I said, "that I have done an unheard-of thing in thus stealing
you away from your friends to ask you questions which only the most
intimate friends could claim the right to ask, but----"
"Oh," she cried, impulsively. "Somehow you and I have bridged over
years. You are good to me--don't think I will misunderstand. I shall
always remember you, and--what you would have done for me."
"What I shall try _yet_ to do, in spite of all," I amended. "I
meant to leave England soon, but now--I shall stay."
"Yes--stay," she faintly echoed; "though you must leave me now. I--I
would rather _anything_ than that you were with me when they come
to me. I will make them some excuse for having separated myself from
them. Only go now--_please_ go."
As she spoke, outside in the hall we heard voices and footsteps coming
nearer.