An Eye for an Eye

by William Le Queux

rid oneself of thememory of its sweetness or its bitterness," I said. "Your visit herehas brought it all back to me--all that I have striven so long and sostrenuously to forget."

  She sighed. For a single instant her dark eyes met mine, and then sheavoided my gaze.

  "I ventured here," she explained in a low, apologetic tone, "because Ibelieved that our youthful passion had mutually died, and that I mightrenew your acquaintance not as lover but as friend. If, by coming here,I have pained you, or caused you any particularly unhappy recollections,forgive me, Frank--forgive me," and she stretched forth her hand andplaced it upon my arm with a gesture of deep earnestness and regret.

  "Certainly, I forgive you," I answered, annoyed with myself for havingthus worn my heart on my sleeve. It was foolish, I knew. That idylliclove of ours was a mere dream of youth, like the other castles in theair we build when in our teens. It was unwise to have spoken as I had,for after all, truth to tell, I was at that moment secretly glad of myfreedom. And why? Because the mysterious woman, whose beauty wasperfect, yet whose very existence was an enigma, had awakened within mysoul a new-born love.

  Since that bright morning when she had first passed me in St. James'sPark my thoughts had been constantly of her. Although I had notexchanged a single word with her I loved her, and all thought of thisdark-eyed woman who had once played me false had passed from me.

  Thus, angry with myself at having spoken as I had, I strove to remedywhatever impression my words had made by treating my visitor with astudied courtesy, at the same time seeking to discover the real motiveof her call. I recollected the mystery, together with the fact that hadbeen elicited regarding the tenancy of the house, and felt convincedthat her visit was not without some strong incentive. She either cameto me in order to learn something, or else with the object of satisfyingherself upon some point remaining in doubt.

  This thought flashing through my troubled brain placed me on the alert,and as we with mutual eagerness changed the topic of conversation, I satgazing into her mobile countenance, filled with ecstatic wonder.

  "As you know," she chattered on, quite frankly, in her ratherhigh-pitched key, "before we left Shenley father had some very heavylosses in the City. At first we found a smaller house simply horrible,but now we are quite used to it, and personally I'm happier there,because we are right on the river and can have such jolly boating."

  "But Riverdene is not such a very small place, surely?" I said. Dick,who knew the river well, had once told me that it was a fine housesituated in one of the most picturesque reaches.

  "No," she laughed, "not really so very small, I suppose. But why notcome down and see for yourself? Mother often speaks of you, and youknow you're always welcome."

  Now, in ordinary circumstances I should have refused that invitationpoint-blank, but when I reflected that I was bound to make certaininquiries of Mrs. Blain, I, with apparent reluctance, accepted.

  "Mother will be most delighted to see you. We have tennis very often,and boating always. It's awfully jolly. Come down the day afterto-morrow--in the afternoon. I shall tell mother that I met you in thestreet and asked you down. She must, of course, never know that I camehere to see you," and she laughed at her little breach of the_convenances_.

  "Of course not. I won't give you away," I said. Then suddenlyrecollecting, I added: "May I get you a cup of tea?"

  "Oh, no, thanks, really," she answered. "I've been in Regent Street todo some shopping, and I had tea there. I was on my way home, butthought that, being alone, I'd venture to try and find you."

  "I'm very glad we have met," I said enthusiastically, for, truth totell, I saw in her opportune invitation a means by which I might get atthe truth I sought. There was something extremely puzzling in thisallegation that the calm-mannered, affable Mrs. Blain, whom I had knownso well, was the actual tenant of the mysterious house in PhillimorePlace. Then, looking at her steadily, I added: "In future our relationsshall be, as you suggest, those of friendship, and not of affection--ifyou really wish."

  "Of course," she replied. "It is the only sensible solution of thesituation. We are both perfectly free, and there is no reason whateverwhy we should not remain friends--is there?"

  "None at all," I said. "Tell your mother that I shall be most delightedto pay you a visit. You have a boat, I suppose?"

  "Oh, yes. And a punt, too. This season I've learned to punt quitewell."

  I smiled.

  "Because that pastime shows off the feminine figure to greatestadvantage," I observed. "Girls who punt generally wear pretty brownshoes, and their dresses just a trifle short, so that as they skip fromend to end of the punt they are enabled to display a discreet _soupconof lingerie_ and open-work stocking--eh?"

  "Ah, no," she protested, laughing. "You're too sarcastic. Punting isreally very good fun."

  "For ladies, no doubt," I said. "But men prefer sculling. They've nowaists to show, nor pretty flannel frocks to exhibit to the rivercrowd."

  "Ah, Frank, you always were a little harsh in your conclusions," shesighed. "I suppose it is because you sometimes write criticisms.Critics, I have always imagined, should be old and quarrelsome persons--you are not."

  "No," I responded. "But old critics too often view things through theirown philosophical spectacles. The younger school take a much broaderview of life. I'm not, however, a critic," I added, "I'm only ajournalist."

  I could hear old Mrs. Joad growling to herself because the steak wasready and she could not lay the cloth because of my visitor. Meanwhile,the room had become filled to suffocation with the fumes of frizzlingmeat, until a blue haze seemed to hang over everything. So used was Ito this choking state of things that until that moment I never noticedit. Then I quickly rose and opened the window with a word of apologythat the place "smelt stuffy."

  She glanced around the shabby, smoke-mellowed room, and declared that itpleased her. Of course bachelors had to shift for themselves a gooddeal, she said, yet this place was not at all uncomfortable. I told herof my companion who shared the chambers with me, of his genius as ajournalist, and how merrily we kept house together, at which she wasmuch interested. All girls are more or less interested in bachelors'arrangements.

  Our gossip drifted mostly into the bygones--of events at Harwell, andthe movements of various mutual friends, when suddenly Dick Cleugh burstinto the room crying--

  "I say, old chap, there's another first-class horror! Oh! I beg yourpardon," he said in apology, drawing back on noticing Mary. "I didn'tknow you had a visitor; forgive me."

  "Let me introduce you," I said, laughing at his sudden confusion. "Mr.Cleugh--Miss Blain."

  The pair exchanged greetings, when Cleugh, with that merry good humourthat never deserted him, said--

  "Ladies never come to our den, you know, Miss Blain; therefore pleaseforgive me for blaring like a bull. Our old woman who cleans out thekennels is as deaf as a post, therefore we have contracted a habit ofshouting."

  "What is the horror of which you spoke?" she asked, with a forced laugh,I was looking at her at that instant and noticed how unusually pale andagitated her face had suddenly become.

  "Oh, only a startling discovery in to-night's special," he answered.

  "A discovery!" she gasped, "Where?"

  He glanced at the paper still in his hand, while she bent forward in herchair with an eagerness impossible of concealment. Her cheeks werepallid, her eyes dark, wild-looking and brilliant.

  "The affair," he said, "seems to have taken place in Loampit Vale,Lewisham."

  "Ah!" she ejaculated, quite involuntarily giving vent to a sigh ofrelief which Cleugh, quick and observant, did not fail to notice.

  My friend threw the paper aside, sniffed at the odour of burnt meat, andsuggested that the Hag was endeavouring to asphyxiate us.

  "The Hag!" exclaimed Mary, surprised. "Who's the Hag!"

  "Old Mrs. Joad," responded Dick. "We call her that, first, becauseshe's so ugly; and secondly, because when she's cook
ing for us shecroons to herself like the Witch of Endor."

  "She certainly is decidedly ugly with that cross-eye of hers. It struckme, too, that she had an ancient and witch-like aspect when she admittedme," she laughed.

  Thus we chatted on until the bell on the Hall struck seven and she roseto go, first, however, inviting Dick to accompany me to Riverdene, aninvitation which he gladly accepted. Then she bade him adieu and Iaccompanied her out into Holborn, where I placed her in a taxi forWaterloo.

  On re-entering the room, Dick's first exclamation was--

  "Did you