The Bond of Black

by William Le Queux

ofmy own actions."

  "Then you don't love me?" I exclaimed despairingly.

  She shook her head, and her breast slowly heaved and fell. Thefoot-passengers hurrying past little dreamed that in that busy road Iwas making a declaration of my love.

  "You have cast me aside merely because of this man!" I went on, afierce anger of jealousy rising within me. "To love and to cherish you,to make you my wife and give you what comfort in life I can, is my soleobject. I think of nothing else, dream of nothing else. You are myvery life, Muriel," I said, bending again until my words fell in awhisper in her ear.

  But she started back quickly as if my utterances had stung her, andpanting said--

  "Why do you still persist in speaking like this when I have alreadygiven you my answer? I cannot love you."

  "Cannot!" I echoed blankly, all my hopes in an instant crushed. Then,determinedly, I added: "No, you shall not thrust me aside in thismanner. The man who declares his love for you shall not snatch you thusfrom me!"

  "But cannot you see that it is because of our long friendship I amdetermined not to deceive you. You have asked me a question, and I havegiven you a plain, straightforward answer."

  "You are enamoured of this cunning, lank-haired individual around whomcentres a mystery as great as that which envelops Aline Cloud," I said.

  Her lips compressed, and I saw that mention of Aline's name caused heruneasiness, as it had before done. There were many people passing andrepassing, therefore in that broad artery of London's ceaseless trafficour conversation was as private as though it had taken place in thesilence of my own room.

  "Does the mystery surrounding that woman still puzzle you?" sheinquired, with a calmness which I knew was feigned. Her fond eyes,which once had shone upon me with their love-light, were cold andcontemptuous.

  "Puzzle me?" I repeated. "It has almost driven me to distraction. Iverily believe she possesses the power of Satan himself."

  "Yes," she agreed. "If the truth is ever known regarding her Ianticipate a strange and startling revelation."

  "Ah!" I exclaimed instantly. "You know more than you will tell. Whydo you seek always to conceal the truth?"

  "I know nothing," she protested. "Aline is your friend. Surely you mayascertain the truth from her?"

  "But this lover of yours--this man who now occupies the place in yourheart which I once hoped to occupy--who is he?"

  She hesitated, and I saw that she intended still to fence with me. Oflate all her woman's wit seemed to concentrate in the ingenious evasionsof my questions in order to render my cross-examination fruitless.

  "He is my lover, that is all."

  "But what is he?" I asked.

  "I have never inquired," she responded with affected carelessness.

  "And you have actually accepted a strange man as your lover withoutfirst ascertaining who or what he is?" I said in amazement. "This isnot like you, Muriel. You used to be so prudent when at Madame's thatsome of the girls laughed at you and called you prudish. Yet now yousimply fling yourself helplessly in the arms of this rather odd-lookingman without seeking to inquire anything about him."

  "I know sufficient to be confident in him," she responded, with agirlish enthusiasm which at the moment struck me as silly.

  "If you are confident in him it is quite plain that he reposes noconfidence in you," I argued.

  "Why?"

  "Because he has told you nothing of himself."

  "It matters not," she responded in enraptured voice. "Our love isitself a mutual confidence."

  "And you are perfectly happy in this new situation of yours?"

  "No," she answered, vainly endeavouring to restrain a sigh. "Notperfectly. I'm in the ribbon department, and the work is much harderand the hours longer than at Madame's. Besides, the rules are terriblystrict; there are fines for everything, and scarcely any premiums. Theshop-walkers are perfect tyrants over the girls, and the food is alwaysthe same--never a change."

  "Yet you told me a short time ago that you were quite contented?" Isaid reproachfully.

  "Well, so I am. There are many worse places in London, where the hoursare even longer, and the girls have no place but their bedrooms in whichto sit after business hours. The firm provides us with a comfortableroom, I must admit, even if they only half feed us."

  Long ago, in the early days of our friendship, when she used to sit andchat with me over tea in my chambers, she had explained how unvariedfood was one of the chief causes of complaint among shop-assistants.

  "But I can't bear to think that you are in such a place as that," Isaid. "Madame's was so much more genteel."

  "Oh, don't think of me!" she responded with a brightness which I knewshe did not really feel at heart.

  "But I do," I said earnestly. "I do, Muriel; because I love you. Tellme now," I added, taking her arm. "Tell me why you have turned fromme."

  She was silent a moment, then in a faltering voice, replied--

  "Because--because it was imperative. Because I knew that I did not loveyou."

  "But will you never do so?" I asked in desperation. "Will you nevergive me hope? I am content to wait, only tell me that you will stillremember me, and try to think of me with thoughts of love."

  "To entertain vain hope is altogether useless," she answeredphilosophically.

  "Then you actually love this man?" I inquired bitterly. "You haveallowed him to worm himself into your heart by soft glances and softerspeeches; to absorb your thoughts and to kiss your lips, withouttroubling to inquire if he is worthy of you, or if he is honest, manly,and upright? Why have you thus abandoned prudence?"

  "I have not abandoned prudence," she answered, a trifle indignantly, atthe same time extricating her arm from mine. "I should certainly do sowere I to consent to become yours."

  I started at the firmness of this response, looking at her in dismay.

  She spoke as though she feared me!

  "Then you have no trust in me?" I exclaimed despairingly. "For onesimple little piece of negligence you have utterly abandoned me!"

  "No!" she replied, in a voice low but firm. "You have spoken the truth.I cannot trust you, neither can I love you. Therefore let us part, andlet us in future remain asunder."

  "Ah, no!" I cried, imploringly. "Don't utter those cruel words,Muriel. You cannot really mean them. You know how fondly I love you."

  We had arrived outside Highbury Station; and as I uttered these wordsshe halted, and without response, held out her hand, saying in a coldtone--

  "You must leave me now. I ask this favour of you."

  "I cannot leave you," I panted in the wild desire which possessed me."You must be mine, Muriel. Do not let this man draw you beneath hisinfluence by his smooth words and studied politeness, for recollect whohe is. You are aware--therefore I need not tell you."

  "Who he is? What do you mean?"

  "I mean that he is in no way fit to be your lover," I responded, mylover's flame of passion unallayed. "When you meet him, test him andwatch if he really loves you. Recollect that your beauty, Muriel, isstriking; and that personal beauty is often woman's deadliest enemy. Ihave, as you know, always sought to protect you from men who haveflattered you merely because you possessed a pretty face. I loved youthen, darling--I love you now!"

  A sigh escaped her, but without a word she turned and left me ere Icould prevent her, and even as I stood I saw her walk straight across tothe station entrance, where she joined the lean, shabby man who had beenawaiting her to keep an appointment.

  Her eyes, quickened by love, had detected him ere he had noticed her,for he gave no glance in my direction, but lifting his shabby silk hathe grasped her hand, then walked on by her side, while I stood lonelyand desolate, watching him disappear in the darkness with the woman I sofondly loved.

  I, faint soul, had given myself helplessly into the evil hands of Alinefor no purpose. All was in vain. I had been brought near to hope'sfruition, but Muriel had forsaken me. She had tol
d me plainly that inher heart no spark of affection remained.

  I stood crushed--hopeless--the past an inexplicable mystery, the futurea grey, barren sea of despair.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

  THE CHALICE.

  Early in September my chambers were insufferably hot and dusty. In theroad below the eternal turmoil was increased every hour, as the pressesof the _Pall Mall Gazette_ turned out their various editions, which wereloaded into the carts by an army of shouting men and boys. The club wasdeserted; most men I knew were out of town, and I felt utterly lonelyand miserable.

  A