enigmatical influence of Aline was upon her, for I saw that to herdark, brilliant eyes there had already returned that love-light whichonce had shone upon me, and noticed how her sweet, well-remembered voicetrembled with an excitement which she strove vainly to conceal. Herdress was of grey stuff, plainly made as always, but her black hat witha touch of blue in it suited her well, and as she sat before me in thechair wherein the mysterious Temptress had sat, she seemed extremelygraceful and more handsome than ever.
"You have, I suppose, almost forgotten me during this long separation,haven't you?" she faltered with abruptness, after some hesitation.Apparently she had carefully prepared some little diplomatic speech, butin the excitement of the moment all recollection of it had passed fromher mind.
"Forgotten you, Muriel!" I echoed, gazing earnestly into her soft,beautiful eyes. "When we last met, did I not tell you that I shouldnever forget?"
Her breast heaved and fell; her countenance grew troubled.
"Surely it is you who have forgotten me?" I said, with a touch ofbitter reproach. "You have cast me aside in preference for another.Tell me what I have done that you should treat me thus?"
"Nothing!" she responded nervously, her grave eyes downcast.
"Then, why cannot you love me, Muriel?" I demanded, bending towards herin desperation.
"I--I'm foolish to have come here," she said, in sudden desperation,rising from her chair.
"Why foolish?" I asked. "Even though you may love another you arealways welcome to my rooms as of old. I bear you no ill-will, Muriel,"I said, not, however, without bitterness.
A silence fell. Again she sighed deeply, and then at last raising herfair face to mine, she exclaimed in an eager, trembling tone--
"Forgive me, Clifton! Forgive me! I have come here to-night to ask youto have pity upon me. I know how I have wronged you, but I have come totell you that I still love you--to ask whether you consider me stillworthy of your love?"
"Of course, darling!" I cried, springing forward, instantly placing myarm about her neck and imprinting a fond kiss upon her white brow. "Ofcourse I love you," I repeated, enthusiastic in my newly-foundcontentment. "Since you have gone out of my life I have been sad andlonely indeed; and when I knew that you loved another all desire forlife left me. I--"
"But I love you, Clifton," she cried, interrupting. "It was but afoolish passing fancy on my part to prefer that man to you who havealways been my friend, who have always been so kind and so thoughtful onmy behalf. I wronged you deeply, and have since repented it."
"The knowledge that you still love me, dearest, is sufficient. It givesme the completest satisfaction; it renders me the most happy man in allthe world," and still retaining her hand I pressed it warmly to my lips.
"Then you forgive me?" she asked, with a seriousness that at such amoment struck me as curious.
"Forgive you? Certainly!" I answered. "This estrangement has testedthe affection of both of us. We now know that it is impossible for usto live apart."
"Ah, yes!" she answered. "You are quite right. I cannot live withoutyou. It is impossible. I have tried and have failed."
"Then in future you are mine, darling," I cried, in joyous ecstasy."Let the past remain as a warning to us both. Not only were youinconstant, but I was also; therefore on my part there is nothing toforgive. Let happiness now be ours because we have both discovered thatonly in each other can we find that perfect love which to the pure andupright is as life itself."
For me the face of the world had changed in those moments. A new andbrighter life had come to me.
"Yes," she answered in a low tone, which showed plainly how affected shewas. And raising her full, ready lips to mine, she kissed mepassionately, adding: "You are generous, indeed, Clifton. I feared anddreaded always that you had cast me aside as fickle and unworthy athought."
"No, no!" I said, my arm around her protectingly. "Think no more ofthat. Don't let us remember the past, dearest, but look to a brighterfuture--a future when you will always be with me, my companion, myhelpmate, my wife!"
There were tears in her dark eyes, tears of boundless joy and abundanthappiness. She had come there half expecting a rebuff, yet had found meready and eager to forgive; therefore, in a few moments her emotionovercame her, and she hid her tear-stained face in her hands.
The prophecy of the Woman of Evil had been fulfilled. Yet at what costhad I gained this felicity? At the cost of a guilty silence--a silencethat shielded her from the exposure of some mysterious, unknown guilt.
Such thoughts I endeavoured to cast from me in the dreamy happiness ofthose felicitous moments. Yet as I held Muriel in my arms and kissedher pale, tear-stained cheeks, I could not help reflecting upon the veilof mystery which surrounded the woman whose inexplicable influence hadcaused my love to return to me. In my sudden happiness there stillremained the dregs of bitterness--the strange death of the man who hadbeen my most intimate friend, and the demoniacal power possessed by thewoman to whom I had unconditionally bound myself in return for Muriel'slove.
The words I uttered caused her to hesitate, to hold her breath, and lookup at me with those dark, brilliant eyes which had so long ago held mebeneath their spell. Again her hand trembled, again tears rose in hereyes, but at last, when I had repeated my sentence, she faltered aresponse.
It was but a single word, but it caused my heart to bound for joy, andin an instant raised me to the seventh heaven of delight. Her responsefrom that moment bound us in closer relationship than before.
She had given me her promise to become my wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
ONE MAN'S HAND.
In the hour that followed many were our mutual declarations, many werethe kisses I imprinted upon those lips, with their true Cupid's bow,without which no woman's beauty is entirely perfect.
From her conversation I gathered that the assistants at the great shopin the Holloway Road were treated, as they often are, as mere machines,the employers having no more regard for their health or mentalrecreation than for the cash balls which roll along the inclined planesto the cash-desk. Life within that great series of shops was meredrudgery and slavery, the galling bonds of which only those who have hadexperience of it can fully appreciate.
"From the time we open till closing time we haven't a single moment'srest," she said, in reply to my question, "and with nearly eighty finesfor breaking various rules, and a staff of tyrannical shop-walkers whoare always either fining us or abusing us before the customers, thingsare utterly unbearable."
"Yes," I said, indignantly, "the tyrannies of shop life ought to beexposed."
"Indeed they ought," she agreed. "One of our rules fines us a shillingif after serving a customer we don't introduce at least two articles toher."
"People don't like things they don't want pushed under their noses," Isaid. "It always annoys me."
"Of course they don't," she agreed. "Again, if we're late, only fiveminutes, in the morning when we go in to dust, we're fined sixpence; ifone of the shop-walkers owes any girl a grudge he will fine her ashilling for talking during business, and if she allows a customer to goout without buying anything and without calling his attention to it, shehas to pay half-a-crown. People don't think when they enter a shop andare met by a suave man in frock-coat who hands them a chair and calls anassistant, that this very man is watching whether the unfortunatecounter-slave will break any of the code of rules, so that the instantthe customer has gone she may be fined, with an added warning that if asimilar thing again occurs she will be dismissed."
"In no other trade would men and women conform to such rules," Iexclaimed, for she had often told me of these things before. "Who takesthe fines?"
"The firm, of course," she answered. "They're supposed to go towardsthe library; but the latter consists of only about fifty worn-out,tattered books which haven't been added to for the past three years."
"I don't wonder that such an existence should crush all life from you.It's enough to rende
r any one old before their time, slaving away inthat place from morning till night, without even sufficient time foryour meals. But why are you a favourite?" I asked.
She looked at me for an instant, then dropped her eyes and remainedsilent.
"I scarcely know," she faltered at last, and I scented in her indecisionan element of mystery.
"But you must be aware of the reason that you are not treated quite asharshly as the others."
"Well," she laughed, a slight flush mounting to her cheek, "it may bebecause of my friendliness towards the shop-walker."
"The shop-walker!" I
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