FOR PITY'S SAKE
The library at Tredowen was a room of irregular shape, full of anglesand recesses lined with bookcases. It was in one of these, standingmotionless before a small marble statue of some forgotten Greek poet,that Wingrave found his visitor. She wore a plain serge traveling dress,and the pallor of her face, from which she had just lifted a voluminousveil, matched almost in color the gleaming white marble upon whichshe was gazing. But when she saw Wingrave, leaning upon his stick, andregarding her with stern surprise, strange lights seemed to flash inher eyes. There was no longer any resemblance between the pallor of hercheeks and the pallor of the statue.
"Lady Ruth," Wingrave said quietly, "I do not understand what hasprocured for me the pleasure of this unexpected visit."
She swayed a little towards him. Her head was thrown back, all thesilent passion of the inexpressible, the hidden secondary forces ofnature, was blazing out of her eyes, pleading with him in the brokenmusic of her tone.
"You do not understand," she repeated. "Ah, no! But can I make youunderstand? Will you listen to me for once as a human being? Willyou remember that you are a man, and I a woman pleading for a littlemercy--a little kindness?"
Wingrave moved a step further back.
"Permit me," he said, "to offer you a chair."
She sank into it--speechless for a moment. Wingrave stood over her,leaning slightly against the corner of the bookcase.
"I trust," he said, "that you will explain what all this means. If it ismy help which you require--"
Her hands flashed out towards him--a gesture almost of horror.
"Don't," she begged, "you know that it is not that! You know very wellthat it is not. Why do you torture me?"
"I can only ask you," he said, "to explain."
She commenced talking quickly. Her sentences came in little gasps.
"You wanted revenge--not in the ordinary way. You had brooded over ittoo long. You understood too well. Once it was I who sought to revengemyself on you because you would not listen to me! You hurt my pride.Everything that was evil in me rebelled--"
"Is this necessary?" he interrupted coldly. "I have never reproachedyou. You chose the path of safety for yourself. Many another woman inyour place would doubtless have done the same thing! What I desire toknow is why you are here in Cornwall. What has happened to make thisjourney seem necessary to you?"
"Listen!" she continued. "I want you to know how thoroughly you havesucceeded. Before you came, Lumley and I were living together decentlyenough, and, as hundreds of others live, with outside interests forour chief distraction. You came, a friend! You were very subtle, veryskillful! You never spoke a word of affection to me, but you managedthings so that--people talked. You encouraged Lumley to speculate--notin actual words, perhaps, but by suggestion. Then you lent me money.Lumley, my husband, let me borrow from you. Everyone knew that we wereruined; everyone knew where the money came from that set us right. Somisery has been piled upon misery. Lumley has lost his self respect, heis losing his ambition, he is deteriorating every day. I--how can I doanything else but despise him? He let me, his wife, come to your roomsto borrow money from you. Do you think I can ever forget that? Do youthink that he can? Don't you know that the memory of it is dragging usapart, must keep us apart always--always?"
Wingrave leaned a little forward. His hands were clasped upon the handleof his stick.
"All that you tell me," he remarked coldly, "might equally well havebeen said in London! I do not wish to seem inhospitable, but I am stillwaiting to know why you have taken an eight hours' journey to recite afew fairly obvious truths. Your relations with your husband, frankly, donot interest me. The deductions which society may have drawn concerningour friendship need scarcely trouble you, under the circumstances."
Then again the light was blazing in her eyes.
"Under the circumstances!" she repeated. "I know what you mean. It istrue that you have asked for nothing. It is true that all this time youhave never spoken a single word which all the world might not hear, youhave never even touched my fingers, except as a matter of formality.Once I was the woman you loved--and I--well you know! Is this part ofyour scheme of torture, to play with me as though we were marionettes,you and I, with sawdust in our veins, dull, lifeless puppets! Well, itis finished--your vengeance! You may reap the harvest when you will!Publish my letters, prove yourself an injured man. Take a whip in yourhand if you like, and I will never flinch. But, for heaven's sake,remember that I am a woman! I am willing to be your slave, nurse you,wait upon you, follow you about! What more can your vengeance need? Youhave made me despise my husband, you have made me hate my life withhim! You have forced me into a remembrance of what I have never reallyforgotten--and oh! Wingrave," she added, opening her arms to him witha little sob, "if you send me away, I think that I shall kill myself.Wingrave!"
There was a note of despair in her last cry. Her arms fell to her side.Wingrave was on his way to the further end of the room. He rang the belland turned towards her.
"Listen," he said calmly, "you will return to London tonight. If everI require you, I shall send for you--and you will come. At present I donot. You will return to your husband. Understand!"
"Yes," she gasped, "but--"
He held out his hand. Morrison was at the door.
"Morrison," he said, "you will order the motor to be round in half anhour to take Lady Ruth to Truro, She has to catch the London express.You will go with her yourself, and see that she has a reserved carriage.If, by any chance, you should miss the train, order a special."
"Very good, sir."
"And tell the cook to send in tea and wine, and some sandwiches, in tenminutes."
Once more they were alone. Lady Ruth rose slowly to her feet and,trembling in every limb, she walked down the room and fell on her kneesbefore Wingrave.
"Wingrave," she said, "I will go away. I will do all that you tell me;I will wear my chains bravely, and hold my peace. But before I go, forheaven's sake, say a kind word, look at me kindly, kiss me, hold myhands; anything, anything, anything to prove to me that you are nota dead man. I could bear unkindness, reproaches, abuse. I can bearanything but this deadly coldness. It is becoming a horror to me! Do,Wingrave--do!"
She clasped his hand--he drew it calmly away.
"Lady Ruth," he said, "you have spoken the truth. I am a dead man. Ihave no affections; I care neither for you nor for any living being. Allthat goes to the glory and joy of life perished in that uncountable rollof days, when the sun went out, and inch by inch the wall rose whichwill divide me forever from you and all the world. Frankly, it was notI who once loved you. It was the man who died in prison. His flesh andbones may have survived--nothing else!"
She rose slowly to her feet. Her eyes seemed to be dilating.
"There is another woman!" she exclaimed softly. Her voice was likevelvet, but the agony in her face was unmistakable.
"There is no other woman," he answered.
She stood quite still.
"She is here with you now," she cried. "Who is it, Wingrave? Tell me thetruth!"
"The truth is already told," he answered. "Except my cook and herassistants, there is not a woman in the house!"
Again she listened. She gave a little hoarse cry, and Wingrave started.Out in the hall a girl's clear laugh rang like a note of music to theirears.
"You lie!" she cried fiercely. "You lie! I will know who she is."
Suddenly the door was thrown open! Juliet stood there, her hands full ofroses, her face flushed and brilliant with smiles.
"How delightful to find you here!" she exclaimed, coming swiftly acrossto Wingrave. "I do hope you won't mind my coming. Normandy is off, and Ihave nowhere else to go."
She saw Lady Ruth and stopped.
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed. "I did not know."
"This is Lady Ruth Barrington," Wingrave said; "my ward, Miss JulietLundy."
"Your--ward?" Lady Ruth said, gazing at her intently.
Juliet
nodded.
"Sir Wingrave has been very kind to me since I was a child," she saidsoftly. "He has let me live here with Mrs. Tresfarwin, and I am afraidI sometimes forget that it is not really my home. Am I in the way?" sheasked, looking wistfully towards Wingrave.
"By no means!" he exclaimed. "Lady Ruth is just going. Will you see thatshe has some tea or something?"
Lady Ruth laughed quietly.
"I think," she said, "that it is I who am in the way! I should lovesome tea, if there is time, but whatever happens, I must not miss thattrain."
The Malefactor Page 33