Muriel previously, then fromAline, that woman whom once in my hearing he had urged to the commissionof a crime.
"I trust you implicitly, Muriel," I answered. "But in this matter I amdetermined that the man whose hand struck you down shall answer for hiscrime to me."
"No, no!" she cried in alarm. "Don't act rashly, for your own sake, andfor mine. Wait, and I will ere long give you an explanation which Iknow will astound you. To-day I cannot move in the matter because I amnot allowed out. When I can go out I will find a means of giving yousome explanation." Then, lifting her dark, trustful eyes to mine sheasked again, "Clifton, cannot you trust me? Will you not obey me inthis?"
"Certainly," I answered at last, with considerable reluctance I admit."If you promise me to explain, then I will wait."
"I promise," she answered, and her thin, white hand again clasped mine,and our lips met to seal our compact.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
TO SEEK THE TRUTH.
The days of my love's convalescence were happy indeed. Most of the timewe spent together, planning the future and gossiping about the past.Those were halcyon hours when we reckoned time only by the meals servedto us by Simes, and we both looked forward to a visit to the oldLincolnshire town that was so very lethargic, so redolent of the "goodold days" of our grandfathers.
Once she received a letter left by a man, and marked "private." In thisI scented mystery; for she never referred to it, and when I inquired whowas the sender she merely replied that a friend had written to her.This was strange, for none knew that she remained with me. We hadthought it best not to tell any one until all could be explained, for alady who lives in a bachelor's chambers is looked upon with somesuspicion if no very valid excuse can be given for such a flagrantbreach of the _convenances_.
The letter without doubt caused her much thought and considerableanxiety. By her face I detected that she was dreading some dire result,the nature of which she dared not tell me; and it was on that veryafternoon that Jack Yelverton called to inquire after me, for I hadneither written nor seen him since that night when the chalice at StPeter's had disappeared into ashes.
He was stretched out in a chair smoking furiously, laughing more merrilythan usual, and talking with that genuine _bonhomie_ which was one ofhis most engaging characteristics, when suddenly Muriel entered.
They met face to face, and in an instant she drew back, pale as death.
"I--I didn't know you had a visitor," she exclaimed half-apologetically,her cheeks crimsoning in her confusion.
"Come in," I exclaimed, rising. "Allow me to introduce you," and I wentthrough the conventional formality.
Upon Yelverton's face I detected an expression of absolute wonder andbewilderment; but seeing that she treated him with calm indifference, heat once reseated himself, and the pair recovered their self-possessionalmost instantly.
Puzzled at this strange complication, I spoke mechanically, explainingthat Muriel was engaged to marry me, and that she had been ill, althoughI did not tell him the cause.
Yet all Jack Yelverton's levity had in that brief moment of unexpectedmeeting departed. He had become brooding and thoughtful.
I confess that I entertained doubts. So many things had recentlyoccurred which she refused to explain, that day by day I was haunted bya horrible consuming suspicion that, after all, she did not love me--that for some purpose of her own she was merely making shallow pretence.I fear that the remainder of Yelverton's visit was a dismal affair.Certainly our conversation was irresponsible and disjointed, for neitherof us thought of what we said. Our reflections were far from thesubject under discussion.
At last the Vicar of St Peter's made his adieux, and when he had gone Iawaited in vain her explanation.
She said nothing, yet her efforts at concealment were so apparent thatthey nauseated me. I was annoyed that she should thus believe me to beone so blinded by love as to be unable to observe signs so palpable asthose in her countenance. The more I thought it over, the more apparentit became that as Yelverton and Aline were lovers, Muriel, knowingAline, would certainly be acquainted with him. If so, and all theirdealings had been straightforward, why had not she at once welcomed himas a friend, and not as a stranger?
I saw that he was plainly annoyed at meeting her, and detectedastonishment in his face when I announced my intention of marrying her.
I wondered why he looked at me so strangely. His expression was asthough he pitied my ignorance. Thoughts such as these held me in doubtand suspicion.
With a self-control amazing in such circumstances, she reseated herselfand took up some needlework, which she had that morning commenced--acushion-cover intended for our home--and when at last I grew calm againand sat with her she commenced to chat as though our happiness had in noway been disturbed.
As the days went on and she rapidly grew stronger her attitude becamemore and more puzzling. That she loved me passionately with a fierce,all-consuming affection, I could not doubt. Not that she uttered manywords of re-assurance. On the contrary, she heard most of mydeclarations in silence. Yet the heaving of her breast, and thatbright, truthful look in her eyes, were signs of love which I could notfail to recognise.
During those nine weeks of Muriel's illness I heard nothing of Aline,and was wondering if she knew of my beloved's presence, or if she wouldagain visit me. To her I had bound myself by an oath of secrecy, inreturn for a gift to me more precious than any on earth, yet the manystrange occurrences which had happened since that first night at thetheatre formed a puzzle so intricate that the more I tried to discoverthe solution the more bewildering it became.
Soon the dark-haired fragile girl who was to be my wife had so improvedin health that the doctor allowed her to go for a drive, and in the daysfollowing we went out together each afternoon perfectly happy andcontent in each other's love. Those who have loved truly know well theecstasy of the first hours in public with one's betrothed, therefore itis unnecessary for me to describe my feeling of perfect bliss andthankfulness that she was well at last, and that ere long we shouldbecome man and wife.
It had been arranged that Muriel should leave for Stamford in two orthree days, when one morning, she having gone out with the nurse, and Iremaining alone in my room, Jack Yelverton was admitted. In an instantI saw from his countenance that something unusual had occurred. Hispale, unshaven face was haggard and worn, his clerical collar wassoiled, his coat unbrushed, his hair unkempt, and as he seated himselfand put out his hand I felt it quiver in my grasp.
"Why, what's the matter, old chap?" I inquired in surprise. "What'shappened?"
"I'm upset, Clifton," he answered hoarsely.
"What's upset you? This isn't like your usual self," I said.
"No," he responded, rising and pacing the room with his hand to hiswhite brow, "it isn't like me." Then, turning quickly to me, he addedwith gravity which startled me, "Clifton, I think I'm mad!"
"Mad! Nonsense! my dear fellow!" I protested, placing my hand upon hisshoulder. "Tell me what all this is about."
"I've failed!" he cried in a voice of utter despair. "I've striven, andstriven in my work, but all to no purpose. I've sown the wind, and theDevil has placed a bar between myself and the Master."
"How?" I asked, failing to grasp his meaning.
"I have made a discovery," he answered in a dry, harsh tone.
"A discovery!" I echoed.
"Yes, one so appalling, so terrible, so absolutely horrible, that I amcrushed, hopeless, paralysed."
"What is it?" I demanded quickly, excited by his strange wildness ofmanner.
"No," he answered. "It is useless to explain. You could never believethat what I told you was the truth."
"I know that you would not willingly tell a lie to your oldest friend,Jack," I answered, with grave earnestness.
"But you could never fully realise the truth," he declared. "A sorrowhas fallen upon me greater and more terrible than ever man hasencountered; for at the instant of my recovery I knew that
I was shutout from the grace of God, that all my work had been a mere mockery ofthe Master."
"Why do you speak like this?" I argued, knowing him to be a devout man,and having seen with my own eyes how self-denying he was, and howuntiring he had worked among the poor.
"I speak the truth, Clifton," he said, a strange look in his eyes. "Ishall never enter my church again."
"Never enter your church!" I cried. "Are you really mad?"
"The wiles of Satan have encompassed me," he responded hoarsely, in thetone of a man utterly broken.
"How? Explain!" I said.
"A woman's eyes fascinated me. I fell beneath her spell, only
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