Read Ebook: Whoso Findeth a Wife by Le Queux William

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Ebook has 1006 lines and 46310 words, and 21 pages

"I have loved you, Ella," I said hoarsely, after a pause, brief and full of suspense. "No man could have loved a woman with a passion more tender than I have done, but now that I have discovered how basely I have been deceived, my affection has turned to hatred."

"You hate me!" she wailed. "Ah, no, you cannot--you shall not," she cried, as, rushing towards me, she threw both arms around my neck, and, notwithstanding my efforts to avert her, pressed her tear-stained face to mine.

Roughly I unclasped her arms and cast her from me, saying,--

"I have resolved. Nothing will cause me to reconsider my decision. We must part."

"It is not like you, Geoffrey, to be cruel to a woman," she said reproachfully, standing before me. "I admit I have acted foolishly, but that man you saw was not my lover. I care for no one except your own dear self."

"Terms of endearment are unnecessary," I answered impatiently, turning from her. "Such expressions from one who has so grossly deceived me are absolutely nauseating. I have striven for your social advancement and have loved you dearly, but from this moment you are my wife only in name."

She buried her face in her hands and was seized by a fit of hysterical sobbing. All her self-control had vanished at the instant she realised that I know the truth, and she now stood before me bent and penitent.

"Forgive me," she whispered earnestly. "Forgive me, Geoffrey."

"No," I answered, with firmness. "I cannot trust you."

"Overlook this incident, and I will never again give you cause for jealousy," she exclaimed. "I will do anything you ask, only have patience with me."

"I have already had patience," I answered. "Yet, deceived as I am daily, we can live together no longer."

"But I love you," she declared, with fierce earnestness, fixing her fathomless eyes upon me. "If I lose you I shall kill myself."

"It is your own fault entirely," I said. "You have chosen to act in this manner, and whatever are the consequences they are of your own seeking. I suppose you will tell me next that this man who was with you compelled you to meet him."

"That is the absolute truth," she faltered.

"Ah, always the same lame tale," I observed in disgust. "I have not forgotten that night at `The Nook' when I watched you walking with Beck. No, Ella. There is some strange mystery about it all that I don't like. You pretend to love me; but you have some ulterior motive."

"There is a mystery, it is true," she admitted, her eyes dimmed with tears. "A mystery so strange and startling that when you know the truth you will stand aghast and dumbfounded. But with its elucidation you will have knowledge of how I have suffered and striven for your sake; therefore I can only pray that the revelations that must accrue may be hastened, for, although to-day you regard me as base and deceitful, you will then learn how much one woman has endured and sacrificed because she loved you."

"Then we must part until this mystery is cleared up," I said calmly, my heart full of grief. "You refuse to take me, your husband, into your confidence, therefore I can place no further reliance in your word."

"Think," she cried, clutching my arms convulsively. "Why should the happiness of both of us be wrecked by a mere misunderstanding?"

"A misunderstanding!" I echoed. "It is assuredly more than that."

"No," she answered, endeavouring to stifle her sobs. "You misunderstand me, believing me false to you, whereas I am acting solely in our mutual interests."

"To walk alone with a stranger is surely not acting in your husband's interests," I observed bitterly.

"Ah, you are mistaken," she said quickly. "When all is explained you will regret the cruel words you have uttered this evening."

"Have I, then, no cause to object to your acquaintance with this man?" I inquired, looking sharply at her.

"None whatever. He is neither my lover nor my friend."

"What is his name?"

"I do not know. He did not tell me," she replied.

"Was this the only occasion you had met?"

"It was."

"He spoke to you casually in the street, I suppose?"

"No, we met by appointment at Victoria Station," she answered quite frankly.

"No, our meeting was arranged by a third person. It was by no means of an amatory character, I assure you."

"What was its object?" I asked.

Slowly she shook her head. "I cannot tell you without relating to you facts which I dare not yet divulge."

"Ah! as I thought," I cried in anger. "You refuse always to explain. As each week passes the mystery surrounding you increases."

"Unfortunately I cannot prevent it," she answered in a low, earnest tone. "Before we married I told you plainly that I intended to seek the truth of the conspiracy against Dudley's life, and you did not object."

"Why not leave that wretched affair to the police and secure our own happiness?" I urged.

"Because the police are powerless. They can have no clue."

"Is it then absolutely necessary that you should attain this end?" I inquired dubiously. "Are you ready to sacrifice your own home and husband in order to ascertain the truth regarding a crime?"

"Yes, it is absolutely imperative," she replied emphatically. "Before perfect happiness can be ours we must both be aware of the causes which led to Dudley's sudden death. Towards that end I am striving, and knowing what I do, I am regardless of your suspicions and your cruel words. If we part--well, it will be you who one day will be filled with bitter regret; and as for me, I shall not pause in my merciless quest."

Often she had told me that to ascertain the true cause of Dudley's death was, next to her duty as my wife, her main object in life, and these words, uttered with an earnestness that was genuine, bore out her most frequent declarations. Glancing at the facts as a whole, it was not surprising that I should have suspected Dudley of having been her lover, whose death she intended to avenge.

In silence and hesitation I paced the room that she had furnished with such exquisite taste. A dozen times she asked forgiveness, but no word passed my lips. She stood motionless, her head bent in submission, her hands clasped before her, awaiting my decision.

Her pale, tear-stained face betrayed signs of a terrible, breathless suspense, she fearing that I intended to cast her off, while I could not bring myself to any firm belief that her declarations of affection were genuine. Between us there yawned a gulf of darkness and mystery which hourly grew wider and more impassable.

"Tell me that you'll still be patient and wait," she implored at last. "Surely you can see how intensely I love you and how utterly aimless will be my life if we part."

"This mystery is, I confess, Ella, driving me to distraction," I said, halting at last before her. "Cannot you confide in me? I will preserve silence, I promise."

"No, no," she gasped in fear. "I dare not."

Her attitude was one of deep dejection, yet I could not fail to notice, even at this moment of her abject despair, how beautiful she was. But a look of unutterable terror was in her deep blue eyes, and upon her handsome features was an expression as though, dreading exposure, she were haunted by some terrible ghost of the past.

"You told me this once before," I said gravely, "and I trusted you. To-day I have discovered my confidence ill-placed."

"Trust me once again," she cried hoarsely. "Only once, and I will show you ere long that your suspicions are utterly without foundation."

I took another turn up and down the drawing-room, my hands clasped behind my back, my gaze fixed upon the carpet. I was still undecided.

With a sudden impulse she rushed forward, and flinging her warm arms about my neck, kissed me, next second bursting into tears and burying her face upon my shoulder. My hand unconsciously stroked her hair, and, bending, I pressed my lips upon her soft cheek.

Then she knew that I had forgiven, and holding back her sobs with difficulty, raised her face, and kissing me passionately, thanked me in a low, broken voice, assuring me that I should never regret the step I had taken.

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