The Yellow House; Master of Men

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XX

  I AM THE VICTIM

  I rose to my feet and stood apart from her. For a moment it was likethe end of the world--like the end of all sensation. I was tremblingin every limb. I believe that I gasped for breath. She sat and lookedat me. When I spoke my voice seemed to come from a long distance. Idid not recognize it. My sense of my own identity seemed confused.

  "I am the victim, then--the unhappy victim of your miserabletheories!" I cried.

  "And you are--oh! my God!--you are the weak spot in a faith of which Iwas once an ardent disciple," she said, quietly. "You made all thedifference. When you came I knew that I had sinned. All my argumentsseemed suddenly weak and impotent when I strove to bring them to bearupon the face of your existence."

  "You should have married him--at once," I cried.

  "It was too late," she answered. "He had separated himself from meforever by entering a profession which I despised. He had entered theChurch."

  A horrible thought flashed into my mind.

  "The other man," I whispered, with burning cheeks, for she was mymother.

  She pointed out of the window--pointed along that narrow, hateful pathwhich threaded the plantation.

  "He is dead," she faltered. "He died--there!"

  By this time my sense of horror was almost numbed. I could speakalmost calmly. I felt as though I was standing on the world's edge.Nothing more mattered. The end had come.

  "My father killed him," I said, almost calmly.

  She looked away from me and fixed her eyes upon a particular spot inthe carpet.

  "Ask no questions, child," she said, sadly. "You know enoughnow. There were some things which it were wiser for you not to know."

  "It is true," I cried, bitterly. "I have learned enough for oneafternoon--I have learned enough to make me miserable forever."

  The woman covered her face with her hands. It were as though a spasmof inward pain had distorted her features. She was suffering terribly.Yet at that time I had no thoughts of any pity. I was merciless.

  "You have learned what has given you pain to hear, and what has givenme much pain to confess," she said, slowly. "Confess," she repeated,slowly, and with unutterable bitterness. "That is a hateful word. Inever foresaw the time when I should have to use it--to my owndaughter! When one is young one is proud."

  "You were short-sighted," I said, brutally.

  Again she bowed her head and suffered. But what did I care? I was noheroine, and I never laid any claim to gentleness of disposition orgreat unselfishness. I was simply an ordinary human being, confrontedwith a great humiliation. My heart was closed to hers. The wrong tomyself seemed to loom above everything else. The interruption that wasat hand was perhaps merciful. I might have said things whichafterwards I should have blushed to have remembered. But at thatmoment there came a sound of voices in the hall. Bruce Deville wasthere and Miss Berdenstein.

  We both rose up. Her coming was a surprise to us. She entered by hisside in some embarrassment. Mr. Deville proceeded to explain herpresence.

  "I met Miss Berdenstein here, and persuaded her to come in with me,"he said, in a brusque, matter of fact tone. "I took the liberty ofassuring her that you would be glad to see her."

  "You did quite right," Adelaide Fortress said, calmly. "I am very gladto see her."

  She greeted the girl kindly, but in a subdued manner. As for me, Ishook hands with her coldly and under protest. I was very muchsurprised that she should have come here, even at the instigation ofBruce Deville.

  "I hope we are not too late for tea," he remarked, glancing around theroom.

  Adelaide Fortress rang the bell. I smiled faintly at a certain ironyin the thought called up by his question. I had shaken hands with thegirl unwillingly. We were to be enemies. I was sure of that, and Ipreferred open warfare.

  Tea was brought in, and a little general conversation was started, inwhich I took no part. Presently he came over to my side. The othertwo were talking, the girl was relating some of her South Americanexperiences to Adelaide Fortress, who was leaning back amongst theshadows.

  "What made you bring her here," I asked, softly.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "Why not? It is better to be on friendly terms with her. We know thenwhat she is going to do."

  "So you appear to think," I remarked, with some emphasis. "You seem tobe progressing wonderfully. I congratulate you."

  He laughed in my face.

  "Oh, she is not at all uninteresting," he declared. "If you had seenas much of her as I have the last few days you would find herenchanting."

  I looked at her contemplatively. Her little person was almost lost ina huge sealskin coat, and her ungloved hands were blazing withdiamonds. As she talked her white teeth (she had beautiful teeth)gleamed, and her black eyes flashed in their sallow setting. She wasan odd-looking creature. Every now and then she darted swift, anxiousglances towards us, once she paused and made a strenuous effort tooverhear what we were saying. She need not have troubled herself. Ibarely heard what Bruce Deville was saying to me; my answers to himwere purely mechanical. I was scarcely conscious whether it was indeedI who was sitting there within a few yards of that pale-faced,composed woman from whose lips only a few minutes ago I had heard thatstory which seemed to me yet like a dark, shadowy nightmare. Theechoes of her passionate words seemed still lingering around the dimlylit room. Once or twice I raised my hand to my temples--my head wasreeling. At last I could bear it no longer. The irony of small talkwas too bitter. A sense of suffocation came over me. I rose to myfeet and made my excuses.

  Scarcely a word passed between the woman whom I had learned to know asAdelaide Fortress and myself. I touched her fingers, and they were ascold as ice. Then, with a single look at her dark eyes, I left theroom.

  Bruce Deville followed me out. The girl too had sprung up, and wasmaking her hasty adieux. Before she could leave the room, however,Bruce Deville had reached my side.

  "I am coming home with you, Miss Ffolliot," he said, in my ear.

  I did not answer him. We were half-way down the path when MissBerdenstein's shrill voice reached us.

  "Mr. Deville!"

  He paused. Involuntarily I stopped too.

  "You will take me home, Mr. Deville, won't you?" she said. "I couldn'tpossibly find the way by myself; and, besides, I should be terrifiedto death. It is so dark. I should not have dreamed of staying so lateif I had been alone."

  He muttered something profane under his breath. I started to walk on.

  "Won't you be here when I come back," he inquired, brusquely. "I wasonly going a few steps with Miss Ffolliot."

  "I am quite ready to start now," she answered; "and I have saidgoodbye to Mrs. Fortress. I really don't see how I can stay anylonger; and I dare not go a step alone. It is almost pitch dark. ShallI walk home with Miss Ffolliot and you first?"

  I was almost out of hearing when she had finished, for at thecommencement of her speech I had quickened my pace. When I clamberedup the bank to reach the footpath I looked behind. They were walkingalong the road together--an oddly assorted couple. His shoulders wereup--a bad sign--and he was taking long strides, to keep up with whichshe had almost to run, holding her skirts in both hands, and pickingher way through the mud. Behind in the doorway of the Yellow House Isaw a woman, pale and motionless, watching me with wistful, sorrowingeyes. But I turned my head and hurried away.