VII
"MARRY ME"
"Wait a moment, I must speak to you." It was Amabel who was holdingFrederick back. She had caught him by the arm as he was about leavingthe room with his father, and he felt himself obliged to stop andlisten.
"I start for Springfield to-day," she announced. "I have anotherrelative there living at the house. When shall I have the pleasure ofseeing you in my new home?"
"Never." It was said regretfully, and yet with a certain brusqueness,occasioned perhaps by over-excited feeling. "Hard as it is for me to sayit, Amabel, it is but just for me to tell you that after our partinghere to-day we will meet only as strangers. Friendship between us wouldbe mockery, and any closer relationship has become impossible."
It had cost him an immense effort to say these words, and he expected,fondly expected, I must admit, to see her colour change and her headdroop. But instead of this she looked at him steadily for a moment, thenslipped her hand down his arm till she reached his palm, which shepressed with sudden warmth, drawing him into the room as she did so, andshutting the door behind them. He was speechless, for she never hadlooked so handsome or so glowing. Instead of showing depression orhumiliation even, she confronted him with a smile more dangerous thanany display of grief, for it contained what it had hitherto lacked,positive and irresistible admiration. Her words were equally dangerous.
"I kiss your hand, as the Spaniards say." And she almost did so, with abend of her head, which just allowed him to catch a glimpse of twostartling dimples.
He was astounded. He thought he knew this woman well, but at this momentshe was as incomprehensible to him as if he had never made a study ofher caprices and sought an explanation for her ever-shiftingexpressions.
"I am sensible of the honour," said he, "but hardly understand how Ihave earned it."
Still that incomprehensible look of admiration continued to illumine herface.
"I did not know I could ever think so well of you," she declared. "Ifyou do not take care, I shall end by loving you some day."
"Ah!" he ejaculated, his face contracting with sudden pain; "your love,then, is but a potentiality. Very well, Amabel, keep it so and you willbe spared much misery. As for me, who have not been as wise as you---"
"Frederick!" She had come so near he did not have the strength tofinish. Her face, with its indefinable charm, was raised to his, as shedropped these words one by one from her lips in lingering cadence:"Frederick--do you love me, then, so very much?"
He was angry; possibly because he felt his resolution failing him. "Youknow!" he hotly began, stepping back. Then with a sudden burst offeeling, that was almost like prayer, he resumed: "Do not tempt me,Amabel. I have trouble enough, without lamenting the failure of my firststeadfast purpose."
"Ah!" she said, stopping where she was, but drawing him toward her byevery witchery of which her mobile features were capable; "your generousimpulse has strengthened into a purpose, has it? Well, I'm not worth it,Frederick."
More and more astounded, understanding her less than ever, but charmedby looks that would have moved an anchorite, he turned his head away ina vain attempt to escape an influence that was so rapidly undermininghis determination.
She saw the movement, recognised the weakness it bespoke, and in thetriumph of her heart allowed a low laugh to escape her.
Her voice, as I have before said, was unmusical though effective; buther laugh was deliciously sweet, especially when it was restrained to amere ripple, as now.
"You will come to Springfield soon," she avowed, slipping from beforehim so as to leave the way to the door open.
"Amabel!" His voice was strangely husky, and the involuntary opening andshutting of his hands revealed the emotion under which he was labouring."Do you love me? You have acknowledged it now and then, but always as ifyou did not mean it. Now you acknowledge that you may some day, and thistime as if you did mean it. What is the truth? Tell me, without coquetryor dissembling, for I am in dead earnest, and---" He paused, choked, andturned toward the window where but a few minutes before he had takenthat solemn oath. The remembrance of it seemed to come back with themovement. Flushing with a new agitation, he wheeled upon her sharply."No, no," he prayed, "say nothing. If you swore you did not love me Ishould not believe it, and if you swore that you did I should only findit harder to repeat what must again be said, that a union between us cannever take place. I have given my solemn promise to---"
"Well, well. Why do you stop? Am I so hard to talk to that the wordswill not leave your lips?"
"I have promised my father I will never marry you. He feels that he hasgrounds of complaint against you, and as I owe him everything---"
He stopped amazed. She was looking at him intently, that same low laughstill on her lips.
"Tell the truth," she whispered. "I know to what extent you consideryour father's wishes. You think you ought not to marry me after whattook place last night. Frederick, I like you for this evidence ofconsideration on your part, but do not struggle too relentlessly withyour conscience. I can forgive much more in you than you think, and ifyou really love me---"
"Stop! Let us understand each other." He had turned mortally pale, andmet her eyes with something akin to alarm. "What do you allude to inspeaking of last night? I did not know there was anything said by us inour talk together---"
"I do not allude to our talk."
"Or--or in the one dance we had---"
"Frederick, a dance is innocent."
The word seemed to strike him with the force of a blow.
"Innocent," he repeated, "innocent?" becoming paler still as the fullweight of her meaning broke gradually upon him.
"I followed you into town," she whispered, coming closer, and breathingthe words into his ear. "But what I saw you do there will not prevent mefrom obeying you if you say: 'Follow me wherever I go, Amabel;henceforth our lives are one.'"
"My God!"
It was all he said, but it seemed to create a gulf between them. In thesilence that followed, the evil spirit latent beneath her beauty beganto make itself evident even in the smile which no longer called intoview the dimples which belong to guileless mirth, while upon his face,after the first paralysing effect of her words had passed, thereappeared an expression of manly resistance that betrayed a virtue whichas yet had never appeared in his selfish and altogether reckless life.
That this was more than a passing impulse he presently made evident bylifting his hand and pushing her slowly back.
"I do not know what you saw me do," said he; "but whatever it was, itcan make no difference in our relations."
Her whisper, which had been but a breath before, became scarcelyaudible.
"I did not pause at the gate you entered," said she. "I went in afteryou."
A gasp of irresistible feeling escaped him, but he did not take his eyesfrom her face.
"It was a long time before you came out," she went on, "but previous tothat time the shade of a certain window was thrust aside, and---"
"Hush!" he commanded, in uncontrollable passion, pressing his hand withimpulsive energy against her mouth. "Not another word of that, or Ishall forget you are a woman or that I have ever loved you."
Her eyes, which were all she had remaining to plead with, took on apeculiar look of quiet satisfaction, and power. Seeing it, he let hishand fall and for the first time began to regard her with anything but alover's eyes.
"I was the only person in sight at that time," she continued. "You havenothing to fear from the world at large."
"Fear?"
The word made its own echo; she had no need to emphasise it even by asmile. But she watched him as it sunk into his consciousness with anintentness it took all his strength to sustain. Suddenly her bearing andexpression changed. The few remains of sweetness in her face vanished,and even the allurement which often lasts when the sweetness is gone,disappeared in the energy which now took possession of her wholethreatening and inflexible personality.
"Marry me," she cried, "or I will
proclaim you to be the murderer ofAgatha Webb."
She had seen the death of love in his eyes.
Agatha Webb Page 7