For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  John Rex found the "George" disagreeably prepared for his augustarrival. Obsequious waiters took his dressing-bag and overcoat, thelandlord himself welcomed him at the door. Two naval gentlemen cameout of the coffee-room to stare at him. "Have you any more luggage,Mr. Devine?" asked the landlord, as he flung open the door of the bestdrawing-room. It was awkwardly evident that his wife had no notion ofsuffering him to hide his borrowed light under a bushel.

  A supper-table laid for two people gleamed bright from the cheeriestcorner. A fire crackled beneath the marble mantelshelf. The latestevening paper lay upon a chair; and, brushing it carelessly with hercostly dress, the woman he had so basely deserted came smiling to meethim.

  "Well, Mr. Richard Devine," said she, "you did not expect to see meagain, did you?"

  Although, on his journey down, he had composed an elaborate speechwherewith to greet her, this unnatural civility dumbfounded him. "Sarah!I never meant to--"

  "Hush, my dear Richard--it must be Richard now, I suppose. This is notthe time for explanations. Besides, the waiter might hear you. Let ushave some supper; you must be hungry, I am sure." He advanced to thetable mechanically. "But how fat you are!" she continued. "Too goodliving, I suppose. You were not so fat at Port Ar---Oh, I forgot, mydear! Come and sit down. That's right. I have told them all that I amyour wife, for whom you have sent. They regard me with some interest andrespect in consequence. Don't spoil their good opinion of me."

  He was about to utter an imprecation, but she stopped him by a glance."No bad language, John, or I shall ring for a constable. Let usunderstand one another, my dear. You may be a very great man to otherpeople, but to me you are merely my runaway husband--an escaped convict.If you don't eat your supper civilly, I shall send for the police."

  "Sarah!" he burst out, "I never meant to desert you. Upon my word. It isall a mistake. Let me explain."

  "There is no need for explanations yet, Jack--I mean Richard. Have yoursupper. Ah! I know what you want."

  She poured out half a tumbler of brandy, and gave it to him. He took theglass from her hand, drank the contents, and then, as though warmed bythe spirit, laughed. "What a woman you are, Sarah. I have been a greatbrute, I confess."

  "You have been an ungrateful villain," said she, with sudden passion, "ahardened, selfish villain."

  "But, Sarah--"

  "Don't touch me!" "'Pon my word, you are a fine creature, and I was afool to leave you." The compliment seemed to soothe her, for her tonechanged somewhat. "It was a wicked, cruel act, Jack. You whom I savedfrom death--whom I nursed--whom I enriched. It was the act of a coward."

  "I admit it. It was." "You admit it. Have you no shame then? Have you nopity for me for what I have suffered all these years?"

  "I don't suppose you cared much."

  "Don't you? You never thought about me at all. I have cared this much,John Rex--bah! the door is shut close enough--that I have spent afortune in hunting you down; and now I have found you, I will make yousuffer in your turn."

  He laughed again, but uneasily. "How did you discover me?"

  With a readiness which showed that she had already prepared an answer tothe question, she unlocked a writing-case, which was on the side table,and took from it a newspaper. "By one of those strange accidents whichare the ruin of men like you. Among the papers sent to the overseer fromhis English friends was this one."

  She held out an illustrated journal--a Sunday organ of sportingopinion--and pointed to a portrait engraved on the centre page. Itrepresented a broad-shouldered, bearded man, dressed in the fashionaffected by turfites and lovers of horse-flesh, standing beside apedestal on which were piled a variety of racing cups and trophies. JohnRex read underneath this work of art the name,

  MR. RICHARD DEVINE, THE LEVIATHAN OF THE TURF.

  "And you recognized me?"

  "The portrait was sufficiently like you to induce me to make inquiries,and when I found that Mr. Richard Devine had suddenly returned from amysterious absence of fourteen years, I set to work in earnest. I havespent a deal of money, Jack, but I've got you!"

  "You have been clever in finding me out; I give you credit for that."

  "There is not a single act of your life, John Rex, that I do not know,"she continued, with heat. "I have traced you from the day you stole outof my house until now. I know your continental trips, your journeyingshere and there in search of a lost clue. I pieced together the puzzle,as you have done, and I know that, by some foul fortune, you have stolenthe secret of a dead man to ruin an innocent and virtuous family."

  "Hullo! hullo!" said John Rex. "Since when have you learnt to talk ofvirtue?"

  "It is well to taunt, but you have got to the end of your tether now,Jack. I have communicated with the woman whose son's fortune you havestolen. I expect to hear from Lady Devine in a day or so."

  "Well--and when you hear?"

  "I shall give back the fortune at the price of her silence!"

  "Ho! ho! Will you?"

  "Yes; and if my husband does not come back and live with me quietly, Ishall call the police."

  John Rex sprang up. "Who will believe you, idiot?" he cried. "I'll haveyou sent to gaol as an impostor."

  "You forget, my dear," she returned, playing coquettishly with herrings, and glancing sideways as she spoke, "that you have alreadyacknowledged me as your wife before the landlord and the servants. Itis too late for that sort of thing. Oh, my dear Jack, you think you arevery clever, but I am as clever as you."

  Smothering a curse, he sat down beside her. "Listen, Sarah. What is theuse of fighting like a couple of children. I am rich--"

  "So am I." "Well, so much the better. We will join our riches together.I admit that I was a fool and a cur to leave you; but I played for agreat stake. The name of Richard Devine was worth nearly half a millionin money. It is mine. I won it. Share it with me! Sarah, you and Idefied the world years ago. Don't let us quarrel now. I was ungrateful.Forget it. We know by this time that we are not either of us angels.We started in life together--do you remember, Sally, when I met youfirst?--determined to make money. We have succeeded. Why then set towork to destroy each other? You are handsomer than ever, I have not lostmy wits. Is there any need for you to tell the world that I am a runawayconvict, and that you are--well, no, of course there is no need. Kissand be friends, Sarah. I would have escaped you if I could, I admit. Youhave found me out. I accept the position. You claim me as your husband.You say you are Mrs. Richard Devine. Very well, I admit it. You have allyour life wanted to be a great lady. Now is your chance!" Much as shehad cause to hate him, well as she knew his treacherous and ungratefulcharacter, little as she had reason to trust him, her strange anddistempered affection for the scoundrel came upon her again withgathering strength. As she sat beside him, listening to the familiartones of the voice she had learned to love, greedily drinking in thepromise of a future fidelity which she was well aware was made but tobe broken, her memory recalled the past days of trust and happiness,and her woman's fancy once more invested the selfish villain she hadreclaimed with those attributes which had enchained her wilful andwayward affections. The unselfish devotion which had marked her conductto the swindler and convict was, indeed, her one redeeming virtue; andperhaps she felt dimly--poor woman--that it were better for her to clingto that, if she lost all the world beside. Her wish for vengeance meltedunder the influence of these thoughts. The bitterness of despisedlove, the shame and anger of desertion, ingratitude, and betrayal, allvanished. The tears of a sweet forgiveness trembled in her eyes, theunreasoning love of her sex--faithful to nought but love, and faithfulto love in death--shook in her voice. She took his coward hand andkissed it, pardoning all his baseness with the sole reproach, "Oh, John,John, you might have trusted me after all?"

  John Rex had conquered, and he smiled as he embraced her. "I wish Ihad," said he; "it would have saved me many regrets; but never mind. Sitdown; now we will have supper."

  "Your preference has one drawback, Sarah," he said, when the meal wasconclude
d, and the two sat down to consider their immediate course ofaction, "it doubles the chance of detection."

  "How so?"

  "People have accepted me without inquiry, but I am afraid not withoutdislike. Mr. Francis Wade, my uncle, never liked me; and I fear I havenot played my cards well with Lady Devine. When they find I have amysterious wife their dislike will become suspicion. Is it likely that Ishould have been married all these years and not have informed them?"

  "Very unlikely," returned Sarah calmly, "and that is just the reason whyyou have not been married all these years. Really," she added, witha laugh, "the male intellect is very dull. You have already told tenthousand lies about this affair, and yet you don't see your way to tellone more."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why, my dear Richard, you surely cannot have forgotten that you marriedme last year on the Continent? By the way, it was last year that youwere there, was it not? I am the daughter of a poor clergyman of theChurch of England; name--anything you please--and you met me--whereshall we say? Baden, Aix, Brussels? Cross the Alps, if you like, dear,and say Rome." John Rex put his hand to his head. "Of course--I amstupid," said he. "I have not been well lately. Too much brandy, Isuppose."

  "Well, we will alter all that," she returned with a laugh, which heranxious glance at him belied. "You are going to be domestic now, Jack--Imean Dick."

  "Go on," said he impatiently. "What then?"

  "Then, having settled these little preliminaries, you take me up toLondon and introduce me to your relatives and friends."

  He started. "A bold game."

  "Bold! Nonsense! The only safe one. People don't, as a rule, suspectunless one is mysterious. You must do it; I have arranged for your doingit. The waiters here all know me as your wife. There is not the leastdanger--unless, indeed, you are married already?" she added, with aquick and angry suspicion.

  "You need not be alarmed. I was not such a fool as to marry anotherwoman while you were alive--had I even seen one I would have cared tomarry. But what of Lady Devine? You say you have told her."

  "I have told her to communicate with Mrs. Carr, Post Office, Torquay,in order to hear something to her advantage. If you had been rebellious,John, the 'something' would have been a letter from me telling her whoyou really are. Now you have proved obedient, the 'something' will bea begging letter of a sort which she has already received hundreds, andwhich in all probability she will not even answer. What do you think ofthat, Mr. Richard Devine?"

  "You deserve success, Sarah," said the old schemer, in genuineadmiration. "By Jove, this is something like the old days, when we wereMr. and Mrs. Crofton."

  "Or Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, eh, John?" she said, with as much tendernessin her voice as though she had been a virtuous matron recalling herhoneymoon. "That was an unlucky name, wasn't it, dear? You should havetaken my advice there." And immersed in recollection of their pastrogueries, the worthy pair pensively smiled. Rex was the first to awakefrom that pleasant reverie.

  "I will be guided by you, then," he said. "What next?"

  "Next--for, as you say, my presence doubles the danger--we will contriveto withdraw quietly from England. The introduction to your mother over,and Mr. Francis disposed of, we will go to Hampstead, and live there fora while. During that time you must turn into cash as much property asyou dare. We will then go abroad for the 'season'--and stop there. Aftera year or so on the Continent you can write to our agent to sell moreproperty; and, finally, when we are regarded as permanent absentees--andthree or four years will bring that about--we will get rid ofeverything, and slip over to America. Then you can endow a charityif you like, or build a church to the memory of the man you havedisplaced."

  John Rex burst into a laugh. "An excellent plan. I like the idea of thecharity--the Devine Hospital, eh?"

  "By the way, how did you find out the particulars of this man's life. Hewas burned in the Hydaspes, wasn't he?"

  "No," said Rex, with an air of pride. "He was transported in the Malabarunder the name of Rufus Dawes. You remember him. It is a long story. Theparticulars weren't numerous, and if the old lady had been half sharpshe would have bowled me out. But the fact was she wanted to find thefellow alive, and was willing to take a good deal on trust. I'll tellyou all about it another time. I think I'll go to bed now; I'm tired,and my head aches as though it would split."

  "Then it is decided that you follow my directions?"

  "Yes."

  She rose and placed her hand on the bell. "What are you going to do?" hesaid uneasily.

  "I am going to do nothing. You are going to telegraph to your servantsto have the house in London prepared for your wife, who will return withyou the day after to-morrow."

  John Rex stayed her hand with a sudden angry gesture. "This is alldevilish fine," he said, "but suppose it fails?"

  "That is your affair, John. You need not go on with this business atall, unless you like. I had rather you didn't."

  "What the deuce am I to do, then?"

  "I am not as rich as you are, but, with my station and so on, I am worthseven thousand a year. Come back to Australia with me, and let thesepoor people enjoy their own again. Ah, John, it is the best thing to do,believe me. We can afford to be honest now."

  "A fine scheme!" cried he. "Give up half a million of money, and go backto Australia! You must be mad!"

  "Then telegraph."

  "But, my dear--"

  "Hush, here's the waiter."

  As he wrote, John Rex felt gloomily that, though he had succeeded inrecalling her affection, that affection was as imperious as of yore.

  CHAPTER XI. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF THE REV. JAMES NORTH.