CHAPTER XV.
FROM THE DEAD.
There were not many people about town. The strollers had gone back totown, or down the hill to their dinners. The Terrace, and the gardensthat dropped below it to the Thames, were bathed in the purplishopalescent shades of evening. From the windows of the Roebuck streamed ashaft of light, playing on the trunks of the great trees, and gleamingthe breadth of the graveled walk. It shone full on Nevill and hiscompanions, and it revealed a woman coming along the Terrace from thedirection of the Star and Garter; she was smartly dressed, and steppedwith a graceful, easy carriage.
"Look!" whispered Jimmie. "The Lass of Richmond Hill! There's somethingnice for you."
"Not for me," Jack laughed.
The woman, coming opposite to the three young men, shot a bold glance atthem. She stopped with a little scream, and pressed one hand agitatedlyto her heart.
"Jack!" she cried in an eager whisper. "My Jack!"
That once familiar voice woke the chords of his memory, bridged the gulfof years. His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He stared at thehandsome face, with its expression of mingled insolence and terror--metthe scrutiny of the large, flashing eyes. Then doubt fled. His brainthrobbed, and the world grew black.
"Diane! My God!" fell from his lips.
"Fancy _her_ turning up!" Nevill whispered to Drexell.
"It's a bad business," Jimmie replied; he, as well as Nevill, had knownDiane Merode while she was Jack's wife.
The woman came closer; she shrugged her shoulders mockingly.
"Jack--my husband," she said. "Have you no welcome for me?"
With a bitter oath he caught her arm. His face indicated intenseemotion, which he vainly tried to control.
"Yes, it is you!" he said, hoarsely. "You have come back from the graveto wreck my life. I heard you were dead, and I believed it--"
"You read it in a Paris paper," interrupted Diane, speaking English witha French accent. "It was a lie--a mistake. It was not I who was draggedfrom the river and taken to the Morgue. It would have been better so,perhaps. Jack, why do you glare at me? Listen, I am not as wicked as youthink. There were circumstances--I was not to blame. I can explainall--"
"Hush, or I will kill you!" he said, fiercely. He snatched at a chainthat encircled her white throat, and as it broke in his grasp asparkling jewel fell to the ground. The most stinging name that a mancan call a woman hissed from his clenched teeth. She shrank back,terrified, into the shadow, and he followed her. "Are you dead to allshame, that you dare to make yourself known to me?" he cried. "The lifeyou lead is blazoned on your painted cheeks! You are no wife of mine!Begone! Out of my sight! Merciful God, what have I done to deserve this?"
"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!" urged Jimmie. "Control yourself,old man." He looked anxiously about, but as yet the altercation had notbeen observed by the few persons in the vicinity. "Nevill, we must stopthis," he added.
"I _won't_ go away," Diane vowed, obstinately. "You are my husband,Jack, and you know it. Let your friends, who knew us in the old days,deny it if they can! I have a wife's claim on you."
"Take her away!" Jack begged.
Nevill drew the woman to one side, and though she made a show ofresistance at first, she quickly grew calm and listened quietly to hiswhispered words. He whistled for a passing hansom, and it stopped at theedge of the street. He helped Diane into it, and rejoined his companions.
"It's all right--she is reasonable now," he said in a low voice. "Braceup, Jack; I'll see you through this. Jimmie, go over and pay the account,will you? Here is the money. And say that I will send for the trapto-morrow."
Nevill entered the cab, and it rattled swiftly down the hill. As theecho of the wheels died away, Jack dropped on a bench and hid his facein his hands.
"I'll be back in a moment, old chap," said Jimmie. "Wait here."
He had scarcely crossed the street when Jack rose. His agony seemed toointense to bear, and even yet he did not realize all that the blowmeant. For the moment he was hardly responsible for his actions, anda glimpse of the river, shining far below, lured him on blindly andaimlessly. A little farther along the Terrace, just beyond the upperside of the gardens, was a footway leading down to the lower road andthe Thames. He followed this, swaying like a drunken man, and he hadreached the iron stile at the bottom when Jimmie, who had sighted himin the distance, overtook him and caught his arm. Jack shook him roughlyoff.
"What do you want?" he said, hoarsely.
"Don't take it so hard," pleaded Jimmie. "I'm awfully sorry for you,old man. I know it's a knock-down blow, but--"
"You don't know half. It's worse than you think. I am the most miserablewretch on earth! And an hour ago I was the happiest--"
"Come with me," said Jimmie. "That's a good fellow."
Jack did not resist. Linked arm in arm with his friend, he stumbledalong the narrow pavement of the lower road. At The Pigeons they found acab that had just set down a fare. They got into it, and Jimmie gave thedriver his orders.
It seemed a short ride to Jack, and while it lasted not a word passedhis lips. He sat in a stupor, with dull, burning eyes and a throbbinghead. In all his thoughts he recalled the lovely, smiling face of Madge.And now she was lost to him forever--there was a barrier between themthat severed their lives. In his heart he bitterly cursed the day whenhe had yielded to the wiles of Diane Merode, the popular dancer of theFolies Bergere.
The cab stopped, and he reeled up a dark flight of steps. He was sittingin a big chair in his studio, with the gas burning overhead, and Jimmiestaring at him with an expression of heartfelt sympathy on his honestface.
"This was the best place to bring you," he said.
Jack rose, and paced to and fro. He looked haggard and dazed; his hairand clothing were disheveled.
"Tell me, Jimmie," he cried, "is it all a dream, or is it true?"
"I wish it wasn't true, old man. But you're taking it too hard--you'reas white as a ghost. It can be kept out of the papers, you know. And youwon't have to live with her--you can pension her off and send herabroad. I dare say she's after money. Women are the very devil, Jack,ain't they? I could tell you about a little scrape of my own, withTotsy Footlights, of the Casino--"
"You don't understand," said Jack, in a dull, hard voice. "I believedthat Diane was dead."
"Of course you did--you showed me the paragraph in the _Petit Journal_."
"I considered myself a free man--free to marry again."
"Whew! Go on!"
Jack was strangely calm as he took out his keys and unlocked a cabinetover his desk. He silently handed his friend a photograph.
"By Jove, what a lovely face!" muttered Jimmie.
"That is the best and dearest girl in the world," said Jack. "I thoughtI was done with women until I met her, a short time ago. We love eachother, and we were to be married in September. And now--My God, thiswill break her heart! It has broken mine already, Jimmie! Curse the dayI first put foot in Paris!"
"My poor old chap, this _is_--"
That was all Jimmie could say. He vaguely realized that he was in thepresence of a grief beyond the power of words to comfort. There was asuspicious moisture in his eyes as he turned abruptly to the table andmixed himself a mild stimulant. He drank it slowly to give himself timeto think.
Jack thrust the photograph into the breast pocket of his coat. He rubbedone hand through his hair, and kicked an easel over. He burst into aharsh, unnatural laugh.
"This is a rotten world!" he cried. "A rotten world! It's a stagefull of actors, and they play d---- little but tragedy! I've foundmy long-lost wife again, Jimmie! Rejoice with me!"
He poured three fingers of neat brandy into a glass and drank it at agulp. Then the mocking laughter died on his lips, and he threw himselfinto a chair. He buried his face in his hands, and his body shook withthe violence of the sobs he was powerless to stifle.
"It will do him good," thought Jimmie.
The clock ticked on, and at intervals there was
the rumble of trainspassing to and from Ravenscourt Park station, and the clang of distanttram-bells. The voice of mighty London mocked at Jack's misery, and heconquered his emotions. He lifted a defiant face, much flushed.
"I've made a beastly fool of myself, Jimmie."
"Not a bit of it, old chap. Brace up; some one is coming." He had hearda cab stop in the street.
There were rapid steps on the stairs, and Nevill entered the studio. Hisface was eloquent with sympathy, and he silently held out a hand. Jackgripped it tightly.
"Thanks, Vic," he said, gratefully. "Where did--did you take her?"
"To her lodgings, off Regent street. And then I came straight on here.I thought she was dead, Jack. I don't wonder you're upset."
"Upset? It's worse than that. If I were the only one to suffer--"
"Then there's another woman?"
"Yes!"
"That's bad! I didn't dream of such a thing. I can't tell you how sorryI feel."
Nevill sat down and lighted a cigar; he thoughtfully watched the smokecurl up.
"I suppose I could get a divorce?" Jack asked, savagely.
"No doubt of it, but--"
"But you wouldn't advise me to do it. No, you're right. I couldn'tstand the publicity and disgrace."
"I would like to choke her," muttered Jimmie.
"I had a talk with her on the way to town," said Nevill. "She has beenin London for a month, and knew your address all the time, but did notwish to see you. Now she is hard up, and that is why she made herselfknown to you to-night."
"What became of the scoundrel she ran away with? Did he desert her?"
"Yes," Nevill answered, after a brief hesitation.
"Do you know who he was?"
"She intimated that he was a French Count. I believe she has had severalothers since, and the last one left her stranded."
"She wants money, then?"
"Rather. That's her game. She knows she has no legal claim on you, andfor a fixed sum I think she will agree to return to Paris and not molestyou in future."
"I don't care what becomes of her," Jack replied, bitterly, "but I amdetermined not to see her again. Let her understand that, and tell herthat I will give her three hundred pounds on condition that she goesabroad and never shows her face in England again. And another thing,there must be no further appeals to me."
"Bind her tight, in writing," suggested Jimmie.
"It's asking a lot of you, Nevill," said Jack, "but if you don't mind--"
"My dear fellow, it is a mere trifle. I will gladly help you in thematter to my utmost power, and I only wish I could do more."
"That's the way to talk," put in Jimmie. "Can I be of any assistance,Nevill? I've a persuasive sort of way with women--"
"Thanks, but I can manage much better alone, I think." Nevill took amemorandum book from his pocket, and turned over the pages. "Trust allto me, Jack," he added. "I am free to-morrow after four o'clock. I willsee Diane--your wife--fix the terms with her, and come down in theevening to report to you."
"What time?"
"That is uncertain. But you will be here?"
"Yes; I shall expect you," said Jack. "I can't thank you enough. It's ablessing for a chap to have a couple of friends like you and Jimmie."
"You would do as much for me," replied Nevill. "I'm going to see youthrough your trouble."
Jack walked abruptly to the open window, and looked out into the starrynight.
"What does it matter," he thought, "whether I am rid of Diane or not? Ihave lost my darling. Madge is dead to me. I can't grasp it yet. How canI tell her?--how can I live without her?"
"Are you going up to town, Jimmie?" Nevill asked. "My cab is waiting,and you can share it."
"No; I shall stop with poor old Jack," Jimmie replied. "I don't like toleave him alone."
"That's good of you. It's a terrible blow, isn't it?"
Nevill went away, and Jimmie remained to comfort his friend. But therewas no consolation for Jack, whose bitter mood had turned to dulldespair and grief that would be more poignant in the morning, when hewould be better able to comprehend the fell blow that had shattered hishappiness and crushed his ambitions and dreams. He refused pipe andcigars. Until three o'clock he sat staring vacantly at the floor,seemingly oblivious of Jimmie's presence, and occasionally helpinghimself to brandy. At last he fell asleep in the chair, and Jimmie, whohad with difficulty kept his eyes open, dozed away on the couch.
Meanwhile, Victor Nevill had driven straight to his rooms in Jermynstreet and had gone to bed. He rose about ten o'clock, and after a lightbreakfast he sat down and wrote a short letter, cleverly disguising hisown hand, and imitating the scrawly penmanship and bad spelling of anilliterate woman.
"The last card in the game," he reflected, as he addressed and stampedthe envelope. "It may be superfluous, in case he sees or writes to herto-day. But he won't do that--he will put off the ordeal as long aspossible. My beautiful Madge, for your sake I am steeping myself ininfamy! It is not the first time a man has sold himself to the devil fora woman. Yet why should I feel any scruples? It would have been farworse to let them go on living in their fool's paradise."
An hour later, as he walked down Regent street, he posted the letter hehad written in the morning.
"It will be delivered at just about the right time," he thought.
In Friendship's Guise Page 15