The Temptress

by William Le Queux

Theletter she had addressed to him had softened his heart towards her, andas he stood watching the coffin being consigned to the grave in thechurchyard at Bude, tears welled in his eyes.

  He had forgiven her, endeavouring to believe that she had been moresinned against than sinning.

  Contrary to the expectations of his friends, he did not leave Coombeafter the funeral, but took what appealed to many to be a sad, bitterpleasure in remaining amid surroundings that reminded him of his latewife. Scarcely uttering a word to any one save his faithful servantJacob, he grew cynical and morose, while his face wore a fixedexpression of gloom.

  People thought that Valerie's death had been a terrible blow to him, andthat he cherished everything which brought her to his memory. In truth,however, it was quite the opposite. He was gradually removing everytrace of her occupancy. Her photographs, several of which stood aboutin the rooms, he destroyed with his own hands. Cushion-covers that shehad embroidered, and a mantel fringe she had made, he ruthlessly toreoff and threw into the fire.

  When he had destroyed all the small articles, the sight of which wasrepugnant, he called in a furniture dealer from Bude, and for a meretrifle sold the whole of the contents of the boudoir which she hadfurnished so extravagantly. The rooms were dismantled to the curtainsand blinds, and after it had been repainted and redecorated, he gaveorders to a London firm to refurnish it as a boudoir in a style evenmore costly than before.

  The servants marvelled greatly at what they considered their master'sfolly, and even the discreet Jacob was puzzled at his irony andresolution.

  Bright spring days succeeded the boisterous, gloomy ones of winter onthe wild Cornish coast, still Hugh Trethowen continued to live insemi-seclusion. The greater part of each day he spent in the librarywith his books, and for recreation took long, lonely walks along theseashore, or over the moorlands, swept by the invigorating Atlanticbreeze.

  Suddenly his habitual sullenness left him, and one day in July heannounced to Jacob that he expected visitors. Thenceforward there was acomplete change in his demeanour. Resuming his normal lightheartedness,he greeted his friends with that thoroughness and _bonhomie_ that werecharacteristic of him in the old days, and personally looked after theircomfort.

  His guests, a pleasant, merry party, consisting of Jack Egerton, DollyVivian, and Gabrielle Debriege, had no reason to complain of thecordiality of their host's welcome, or of the efforts he made toentertain them with the various pleasurable pursuits which theneighbourhood afforded.

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  The close of a hot summer's day.

  A charming little hollow, fringed with hazels and ferns, on a greenhillside overlooking the shining sea. A long stretch of bay lies in themellow light, curved like a crescent moon, while behind rise hills thatare somewhat low but steep, scalloped by dells clad in silver birches,hazels, graceful ferns, and golden gorse. Nearly at the centre of thispicturesque amphitheatre of green slopes and rocky buttresses snuglynestles a quaint old-world village, a community of pretty cottagesclustered around the ancient church, and deeply set in the verdure ofthe hillside like a handful of snow-white shells in a green dell of thesea.

  Not only the crimson-tinted ocean, but the land also, is strangelytransfigured in the glow of twilight. The long stretches of cliff, withthe precipitous Raven's Crag towering high above the rocks on eitherside, which, in the fierce glare of noonday, stood out like bastions,centres of strength and power, and now rounded by the softening shadowsof the gloaming hour. The mantling grass with which they are crownedhas lost its emerald colour, and assumes a subdued preternatural tint,while the softened sea in its violet light comes up to the deep shadowsof the overhanging crags, lustrous, pure, serene.

  Hugh had driven with his visitors from Coombe, and they had left thecarriage at the village inn, and set out on foot to explore the beautiesof the district. Dolly and he had wandered away from Egerton andGabrielle, and walked upon the top of the cliffs towards the greatperpendicular Crag.

  While they had been strolling along, she had been telling him of thevile plot to keep them apart while Valerie exerted her irresistiblecharms upon him. She showed him the dark red scar upon her throat, nowconcealed by a narrow band of black velvet, and explained how she hadmade the discovery while imprisoned in the strange house nearTwickenham, her escape, her visit to the church on the morning of hismarriage, and her denunciation of Holt. To all this he listened withincredulous amazement.

  When, on their return, they arrived at the stile at the entrance of thewooded hollow through which they had to pass to reach the village, theyboth paused. Hugh stood leaning with his back against the rails,thoughtfully puffing his cigarette. The manner in which Dolly had toldthe story puzzled him. True, they were still friends, and since herarrival at Coombe had often spoken confidentially; nevertheless, he didnot forget that on the last occasion they strolled together alone on theCornish cliffs, he ridiculed her warning, and openly professed hispreference for Valerie.

  He glanced at her handsome face. Her head was turned seaward; her softbrown eyes wore a thoughtful, serious look, and a ray of fading sunlighttinted her hair. The cool, flimsy blue dress fitted her lithesomefigure with scarcely a wrinkle, and the wide-brimmed hat set off toadvantage the fair countenance beneath.

  "Dolly," he said earnestly, after a short silence, taking her glovedhand in his at the same time, "all this you have just told me addsincreased horror to Valerie's terrible crimes. I now understand thereason you wrote that warning--it was because you entertained some sortof affection for me. Ah, had I fully understood you before I alliedmyself with that woman--had I seen her in her true light as anadventuress, and summoned sufficient strength to cast her off--I shouldnot have been instrumental in bringing such a calamity upon you. Ialone am to blame for all the misery that has fallen upon you, and mustask your forgiveness."

  "There is nothing to forgive, for I consider you are in no way to blame,Hugh--I mean, Mr. Trethowen."

  "No, no; call me Hugh, as you did in the old days. Why need there beany formalities?"

  "You are not to blame, Hugh," she repeated ingenuously. "That womanfascinated you as she enmeshed many other men, all of whom paid dearlyfor the privilege of bestowing their affections upon her. Think ofJack--of your brother, Douglas! Did she not entice them both into hercoils, so that she might use them for her own ends? Hubert Holt sheensnared in the same manner, she--"

  "Why was he so obedient to her will?" asked Hugh interrupting.

  "Gabrielle told me all about it a few days ago. It appears that when hewas a fellow-student with Jack he also admired Valerie. In order tosupply her with money he forged a cheque at her instigation, theproceeds of which, amounting to something like twenty thousand francs,he handed over to her, thinking thereby to secure her good graces. Butshe treated him the same as the others. Though he abandoned Art andentered the church, she did not allow the crime to fade from his memory,for at intervals she compelled him to perform services for her whichwere revolting to one who was trying to atone and lead a better life.Now, fearing exposure and detection, he has fled to South America,where, I believe, he has been joined by that old scoundrel, Graham, whomValerie paid handsomely for his services. It is not likely that theywill ever return to England."

  "And you really forgive me for all the trials and torture I have broughtupon you?" he asked earnestly, with a slight pressure on the little handhe held.

  "Of course I do," she said frankly, raising her fine, wide-open eyes tohis.

  "Before I met that woman I flirted with you, Dolly," he said, in a low,intense tone. "You were not averse to flattery or sly whispers in thestudio when Jack's back was turned, and I, having nothing else to do,amused myself in your company. Indeed, it was not before that nightwhen, being on the verge of ruin, I came to wish you farewell, that Idiscovered you really cared for me. Then I blamed myself for being socruel as to let you see that I loved you--"

  "Hugh!"
she cried in astonishment. "Why, what do you mean?"

  "Listen, and I'll tell you, dearest," he answered, looking earnestlyinto her eyes. "It was soon after my brother's death that I metValerie. Prior to that, however, I had grown to love you, because Iknew that, although you lived in an atmosphere that was somewhatquestionable as regards morals, you were nevertheless pure and good. Iwas on the point of asking you to become my wife when Valerie crossed mypath. You know the rest. She was no fairer, no better-looking than youare at this moment, but with that fatal, irresistible power shepossessed she drew me to her, and I became her slave and as helpless asa child. Now and then you and I met, and as you did not appear tonotice the coldness I exhibited, I congratulated myself that you nolonger entertained any affection for me."

  "What caused you to think that?" she demanded in dismay.

  "To tell the truth," he responded hesitatingly, "I believed thoserepeated warnings you gave me against Valerie were merely the rancorousfictions of a jealous heart, and that is why I took no heed of them."

  "Ah!" she exclaimed, with sadness, "I tried hard but could never bringyou to understand that my woman's power of perception was keener thanyours. You were so credulous, and did not suspect treachery. AlthoughJack's secret sealed his lips, yet I knew from the manner in which hespoke that if you attached yourself to her, ruin would quickly follow."

  "Yes," he admitted gloomily, "you told me so, but I was too blind anidiot to believe it. Had I taken your advice how much pain and sorrowwould have been avoided!"

  "Of what use is regret? She is dead--and you free!"

  "Free--free to marry you!" he said in a deep, earnest voice, pressingher hand to his lips at the same moment.

  She glanced inquiringly at him, as if unable to grasp his meaning, andtried to withdraw her hand.

  "To marry me?" she repeated.

  "Yes. Will you be my wife, Dolly?" he urged passionately. "We havebeen friends for so long that we ought to know each other'speculiarities of temperament by this time. I know I have no right tomake this request after the heartless manner in which I cast you aside.On the other hand, you have passed the ordeal and been true to me,trying to rescue me from ignominy and ruin, even when I ridiculed youraffection. For that reason I love you now more than ever, and I cannotrefrain from asking you to make me happy."

  "It is true that you left me, preferring Valerie," she saidreflectively. "But you should not forget that you thought her a womanin your own sphere, whereas I was only an artist's model. It was butnatural you should consider her a more fitting wife than myself; and,although I loved you so well!"

  "Did you love me, then?"

  She blushed.

  "But do you still care for me?" he asked with earnestness, putting hisarm around her slim waist and pressing her to his breast. "Promise me,Dolly," he pleaded--"promise me that you will be my wife!"

  "Do you love me sufficiently?"

  "Can you doubt me?"

  "No," she replied, in a tremulous voice; "I do not doubt you, Hugh. Iwill be your wife."

  Then she bent her fair head, and hid from him her tears of happiness.The only light that can show us the road to better things is that whichshines within us. The words he uttered were tender and reassuring, andfor a long time they stood together talking of the new, bright, andunclouded life that lay before them.

  Meanwhile the exquisite gradations of colour on sea and land had faded,the glow upon the horizon had disappeared, the wind had fallen, and allwas calm and still in the mystic gloom of the dying day.

  Startled by hearing voices behind them, they turned and faced Jack andGabrielle, who had approached unnoticed.

  After a hearty laugh and some good-natured chaff in English, the purportof which was not thoroughly understood by mademoiselle, Hugh grasped theartist's hand, and, wringing it warmly exclaimed--

  "Congratulate me, old fellow! I'm beginning life afresh from to-day.Dolly has consented to become my wife."

  "By Jove, is that so?" Egerton cried, in pleasant surprise. "Well, youhave my heartiest wishes, Hugh." Then he added, after a moment'shesitation: "Strangely enough, I, too, have to make a similarannouncement."

  "What?" cried Hugh and Dolly simultaneously. "Gabrielle has resolved togive up the stage and become Mrs. Egerton," he answered, with a happysmile. "We knew one another years ago in Paris, and although no word ofaffection was then spoken, we have to-day discovered that we love oneanother."

  "Yes," added Gabrielle, her accent making her voice sound pleasant toEnglish ears. "Having released him from the thrall of `La PetiteHirondelle,' and proving that he was not guilty of the crime he believedhe had committed, I am going to many him. It is as it should be--eh?"

  And she laughed contentedly.

  After many mutual congratulations and expressions of surprise, theycrossed the stile, and continued their stroll through the dell towardsthe village, where the scattered lights had already commenced totwinkle.

  The two men walked together at a little distance behind.

  "Hugh, old fellow," the artist remarked confidentially, "I'm glad Dollyis to be your wife. I feel confident that you'll never regret the step;for I know, perhaps better than any one, how pure and honest she is, howdearly she loves you, and how acutely she suffered when you forsookher."

  "Don't mention the past again, Jack, old fellow. We both played dicewith the devil, expecting to throw sixes," said Hugh, as they steppedout upon the broad highway. Then he added, "I feel assured we shall nowbe happy and contented. Let us look only to a bright and prosperousfuture, and let us forget forever the grim shadow that fell upon us, theshadow of The Temptress."

  The End.