The Two Destinies

by Wilkie Collins

allow me tobe entrapped into receiving you, and you accept as your accomplice Mr.Van Brandt! Oh, sir, I have accustomed myself to look up to you as ahigh-minded man. How bitterly you have disappointed me!"

  Her reproaches passed by me unheeded. They only heightened her color;they only added a new rapture to the luxury of looking at her.

  "If you loved me as faithfully as I love you," I said, "you wouldunderstand why I am here. No sacrifice is too great if it brings me intoyour presence again after two years of absence."

  She suddenly approached me, and fixed her eyes in eager scrutiny on myface.

  "There must be some mistake," she said. "You cannot possibly havereceived my letter, or you have not read it?"

  "I have received it, and I have read it."

  "And Van Brandt's letter--you have read that too?"

  "Yes."

  She sat down by the table, and, leaning her arms on it, covered her facewith her hands. My answers seemed not only to have distressed, but tohave perplexed her. "Are men all alike?" I heard her say. "I thought Imight trust in _his_ sense of what was due to himself and of what wascompassionate toward me."

  I closed the door and seated myself by her side. She removed her handsfrom her face when she felt me near her. She looked at me with a coldand steady surprise.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked.

  "I am going to try if I can recover my place in your estimation," Isaid. "I am going to ask your pity for a man whose whole heart is yours,whose whole life is bound up in you."

  She started to her feet, and looked round her incredulously, as ifdoubting whether she had rightly heard and rightly interpreted my lastwords. Before I could speak again, she suddenly faced me, and struck heropen hand on the table with a passionate resolution which I now saw inher for the first time.

  "Stop!" she cried. "There must be an end to this. And an end there shallbe. Do you know who that man is who has just left the house? Answer me,Mr. Germaine! I am speaking in earnest."

  There was no choice but to answer her. She was indeed inearnest--vehemently in earnest.

  "His letter tells me," I said, "that he is Mr. Van Brandt."

  She sat down again, and turned her face away from me.

  "Do you know how he came to write to you?" she asked. "Do you know whatmade him invite you to this house?"

  I thought of the suspicion that had crossed my mind when I read VanBrandt's letter. I made no reply.

  "You force me to tell you the truth," she went on. "He asked me who youwere, last night on our way home. I knew that you were rich, and that_he_ wanted money. I told him I knew nothing of your position in theworld. He was too cunning to believe me; he went out to the public-houseand looked at a directory. He came back and said, 'Mr. Germaine has ahouse in Berkeley Square and a country-seat in the Highlands. He is nota man for a poor devil like me to offend; I mean to make a friend ofhim, and I expect you to make a friend of him too.' He sat down andwrote to you. I am living under that man's protection, Mr. Germaine. Hiswife is not dead, as you may suppose; she is living, and I know her tobe living. I wrote to you that I was beneath your notice, and you haveobliged me to tell you why. Am I sufficiently degraded to bring you toyour senses?"

  I drew closer to her. She tried to get up and leave me. I knew mypower over her, and used it (as any man in my place would have used it)without scruple. I took her hand.

  "I don't believe you have voluntarily degraded yourself," I said. "Youhave been forced into your present position: there are circumstanceswhich excuse you, and which you are purposely keeping back from me.Nothing will convince me that you are a base woman. Should I love you asI love you, if you were really unworthy of me?"

  She struggled to free her hand; I still held it. She tried to change thesubject. "There is one thing you haven't told me yet," she said, with afaint, forced smile. "Have you seen the apparition of me again since Ileft you?"

  "No. Have _you_ ever seen _me_ again, as you saw me in your dream at theinn in Edinburgh?"

  "Never. Our visions of each other have left us. Can you tell why?"

  If we had continued to speak on this subject, we must surely haverecognized each other. But the subject dropped. Instead of answering herquestion, I drew her nearer to me--I returned to the forbidden subjectof my love.

  "Look at me," I pleaded, "and tell me the truth. Can you see me, can youhear me, and do you feel no answering sympathy in your own heart? Do youreally care nothing for me? Have you never once thought of me in all thetime that has passed since we last met?"

  I spoke as I felt--fervently, passionately. She made a last effort torepel me, and yielded even as she made it. Her hand closed on mine,a low sigh fluttered on her lips. She answered with a suddenself-abandonment; she recklessly cast herself loose from the restraintswhich had held her up to this time.

  "I think of you perpetually," she said. "I was thinking of you at theopera last night. My heart leaped in me when I heard your voice in thestreet."

  "You love me!" I whispered.

  "Love you!" she repeated. "My whole heart goes out to you in spite ofmyself. Degraded as I am, unworthy as I am--knowing as I do that nothingcan ever come of it--I love you! I love you!"

  She threw her arms round my neck, and held me to her with all herstrength. The moment after, she dropped on her knees. "Oh, don't temptme!" she murmured. "Be merciful--and leave me."

  I was beside myself. I spoke as recklessly to her as she had spoken tome.

  "Prove that you love me," I said. "Let me rescue you from thedegradation of living with that man. Leave him at once and forever.Leave him, and come with me to a future that is worthy of you--yourfuture as my wife."

  "Never!" she answered, crouching low at my feet.

  "Why not? What obstacle is there?"

  "I can't tell you--I daren't tell you."

  "Will you write it?"

  "No, I can't even write it--to _you_. Go, I implore you, before VanBrandt comes back. Go, if you love me and pity me."

  She had roused my jealousy. I positively refused to leave her.

  "I insist on knowing what binds you to that man," I said. "Let him comeback! If _you_ won't answer my question, I will put it to _him_."

  She looked at me wildly, with a cry of terror. She saw my resolution inmy face.

  "Don't frighten me," she said. "Let me think."

  She reflected for a moment. Her eyes brightened, as if some new way outof the difficulty had occurred to her.

  "Have you a mother living?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Do you think she would come and see me?"

  "I am sure she would if I asked her."

  She considered with herself once more. "I will tell your mother what theobstacle is," she said, thoughtfully.

  "When?"

  "To-morrow, at this time."

  She raised herself on her knees; the tears suddenly filled her eyes. Shedrew me to her gently. "Kiss me," she whispered. "You will never comehere again. Kiss me for the last time."

  My lips had barely touched hers, when she started to her feet andsnatched up my hat from the chair on which I had placed it.

  "Take your hat," she said. "He has come back."

  My duller sense of hearing had discovered nothing. I rose and tookmy hat to quiet her. At the same moment the door of the room openedsuddenly and softly. Mr. Van Brandt came in. I saw in his face that hehad some vile motive of his own for trying to take us by surprise, andthat the result of the experiment had disappointed him.

  "You are not going yet?" he said, speaking to me with his eye on Mrs.Van Brandt. "I have hurried over my business in the hope of prevailingon you to stay and take lunch with us. Put down your hat, Mr. Germaine.No ceremony!"

  "You are very good," I answered. "My time is limited to-day. I must begyou and Mrs. Van Brandt to excuse me."

  I took leave of her as I spoke. She turned deadly pale when she shookhands with me at parting. Had she any open brutality to dread from VanBrandt as soon as my back was turned? The bare suspicion of
it made myblood boil. But I thought of _her_. In her interests, the wise thing andthe merciful thing to do was to conciliate the fellow before I left thehouse.

  "I am sorry not to be able to accept your invitation," I said, as wewalked together to the door. "Perhaps you will give me another chance?"

  His eyes twinkled cunningly. "What do you say to a quiet little dinnerhere?" he asked. "A slice of mutton, you know, and a bottle of goodwine. Only our three selves, and one old friend of mine to make upfour. We will have a rubber of whist in the evening. Mary and youpartners--eh? When shall it be?