The Daughter Pays Part 20

She had just sealed and stamped her letter, and was wondering whether she dare lie down upon the sofa and rest, when Gaunt came in, his letters for the post and the packet for the jeweller in his hand. He went up to the place she had just vacated, laid down what he carried, and took up the letter which she had left lying on the blotter.

"Shouldn't have sealed it until I had read it," he remarked coolly, as he broke the envelope open.

Virginia sprang to her feet, and her angry cry of "Oh, how _can_ you?" convinced him that he was on the right track at last. He was going to hear the truth, as she had written it to those with whom she knew no reserve. "One of my rules," said he, "is to read all the letters you write."

"You----" Half in shame, half in rage she broke off, she stifled the word upon her tongue. Drawing back, mistress of herself, she remarked scornfully: "I might have thought. People who break vows will not respect seals."

His back was towards her, so she could not see whether that stung. It certainly did not avail to change his intention. He read her letter deliberately through.

_My Own Precious Little Sister,_

_You will be so anxious to know how I am, and what my new home is like, that although I am very tired, I must send you a scribble before the post goes out, which is much earlier than I thought._

_Well, my darling, we got here quite safely. This house stands on a hill, and there are woods behind it. The garden goes right down the hill. It is not as big as Lissendean, but it is a very nice house, and there are kind servants._

_You would have laughed if you had seen Osbert and me, sitting each at one end of a great long table, having dinner in state._

_It seemed so odd this morning to be called--to have tea brought to me instead of taking it to mamma--to have no bed to make, nor breakfast things to wash up. Nothing to do, in fact, except order the dinner. The housekeeper, Mrs. Wells, is very nice. I think we shall be great friends. Her dairy is beautiful; they have those churns that darling father and I used to long for at Lissendean. I almost cried, remembering._

_This morning was gloriously fine. Osbert took me out over the farms, and showed me the horses and the cornland and all the estate. I was very silly and got faint when we had gone some way. You see, I don't like to confess to him how run down I have been; and having had so little food for so long, I have no appet.i.te, and the very sight of the abundant meals makes me feel ill. I simply can't swallow. I know this good air will make me better by degrees._

_Oh, darling, I felt so homesick--so deadly homesick last night. I thought of you all, and wondered what you were doing, how you were getting on, and whether you missed Virgie. Also I remembered that I never showed Caroline the place where your surgical things are kept.

You must show her before the great doctor comes. Oh, how anxious I shall be until I hear all about his visit. Keep up your heart, darling.

I know you will be much better before long._

_Osbert has given me a little sitting-room for my own. I am writing there now. He has given me a splendid emerald ring, and another with a diamond in it._

_Oh, Pansy, love, darling, pet, write and tell me everything--just everything you can think of, because I am very lonely._

_Your own most loving_ Virgie.

_P.S.--Hugs and kisses to my old Tony. I hope the bat is satisfactory._

While this letter was being read, there was complete stillness in the room. The writer stood in the window, her back turned to Gaunt. He, when he had finished reading, let the hand which held the paper drop between his knees, while he sat staring upon the motionless figure of his wife. He could not doubt that the letter was spontaneous. She had evidently no idea at all of his demanding to see it. But, if it were true, then what was he? Had he made the greatest mistake of his life?

"What induced you," he demanded huskily, "to write such a letter as this?"

She turned round, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"If you had written as you felt about me and my treatment of you----"

"But I cannot do that. I am bound to be loyal to you," she said quietly. "You know it. Besides, I may suffer, and perhaps I deserve it.

They never shall, if I can help it."

"But they shall, and can," he snarled. "This child will suffer if she never sees you again--and she never shall. No, by----"

He checked the oath. What was he saying? What was he thinking? There stood before him a dauntless creature, submissive but utterly unconquered. Was he going to find his pleasure in torturing her?... His head swam. Yet the perverse devil in him drove him on. "That's part of my plan," he said, "part of my scheme to pay your mother in full. You will never set eyes on any of them again. I told you yesterday--it is a life-sentence."

She answered gravely: "Yes, you told me that."

"And you--you write like this, because you think it would make the child unhappy if she knew the truth. How long do you think you can manage to keep up this farce, eh?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't look forward," she muttered hurryingly. "I must just do what I can--as long as I can."

He tossed the letter upon the table. "Seal it down and put it in the bag, for the lie it is," he said thickly.

She sat down obediently to re-seal the envelope. He stood watching her, with eyes full of baffled purpose. Upon them there entered Hemming, bearing a locked post-bag in his hand.

Gaunt unlocked it with a key which was fastened to his watch-chain, took out the contents, placed his own correspondence and his wife's one letter within, relocked the bag, and handed it to the man, who retired.

The letters lay behind him in a little pile. He sorted them, and selected one in a childish, unformed hand, addressed to Mrs. Gaunt.

"Of course," he said, "I also read all the letters you receive."

"I suppose so," replied Virginia dryly.

She felt that her limbs would no longer support her, and sat down white and shaking, clenching her hands together while again silence fell and Gaunt read:

_Virgie, my own darling, I must use up the time while you are being married, in writing to say O my sweet dear I hope G.o.d will let you be hapy like you deserve to be. I am so sorry I did not see Osbert when he came hear, but you must send me his foto, then I shall know what he is like. O, it is nise to think you will alwas have enuf to eat now. You used to think I did not notice when you gave it all to Tony and me, but I did. I knew too that morning when you fainted over scrubing the kitchen floor, when you came up with that wet stain on your ap.r.o.n I knew because I caled so many times and you did not answer. Now you will be rich and grand and hapy, and you must not think I shall fret, because I don't mean to. Carroline is a nise woman, very kind to me, but O Virgie, I shall not be so hapy with Mamma now you are not hear to keep her pleased, I hope it is not rong to write this. It must be so funny to have a husband, give him my love if you think he would like it, are your nees well yet? Mind you don't walk too far till they are.

Have you dissided which room is to be mine when I come to Omberleigh?

Do let it look out on the yard so I can see the chickens. Good-bye, darling_, DARLING,

Your LITTLE Pansy Blossom.

_P.S.--Urmintrude is quite well._

There was a pause after the man had finished reading. He frowned, bit his lip, and stared at the floor. At last he flung a question at his wife. "What's wrong with your knees?"

She started and flushed. "They are--they are a little swollen and sore--with housework--kneeling about, you know," she murmured apologetically. "Does Pansy mention it?"

"What housework have you had to do?"

"Only the keep of Laburnum Villa."

"But there was a servant; I saw her."

"Oh, she only came for that afternoon, because I--I didn't want to let you in myself...."

"... And you ask me to believe that you--_you_ have been a maid-of-all-work for the past two years?"

"Oh, no, I do not ask you to believe it," came the disdainful retort.

"I do not mind whether you believe it or not."

He went up to her with one of his unexpected, almost violent movements, s.n.a.t.c.hed the hand which hung at her side, opened it--studied its pink palm. It had been carefully tended, but it bore unmistakable marks of hard usage.