The Man Who Rose Again Part 25

"No," he cried. "Loathsome as was the whole business, it was not so bad as that. We bound ourselves that no word of the affair should leak out, not one word. Only three men knew of it beside myself. You know whom they were, I daresay. Two of them had proposed to you and had been rejected; the other, as you say, was Winfield here. Whatever had happened, no one would have known had they not told. One of the other two has told you, which I do not know as yet; but I will know--mind that. Perhaps you will tell me?"

Olive was silent.

"Well, that does not matter. I shall find out, yes, I shall find out, and then----" He laughed bitterly, and any one who had looked into his eyes would have seen murder there. "But there is another side to this business, bad as it is, and no one feels its loathsomeness more than I.

Let me at least have the opportunity of putting the other side."

For the first time Olive seemed to unbend a little. She did not speak, but she seemed ready, nay, even eager, to hear what he had to say.

"Let me say this, then," said Leicester. "Almost ever since the first time I saw you I have repented of the whole business. It has haunted me night and day. When I came to know you, and to realise how n.o.ble and true you were, I scorned, I loathed myself. I would have given anything to have undone what had been done. I dared not tell you, for I feared you would drive me from your presence. No man honours a woman more than I honour you, no man believes in a woman's n.o.bility and honour more than I believe in yours. As I said, as soon as I saw you I loathed what had taken place, for I loved you."

"You mean," said Olive, "that you no longer came here because of your desire to win this wager, but----"

"Because I loved you," said Leicester eagerly. He forgot the presence of Winfield, and John Castlemaine. Only he and Olive were together, the others did not exist. "Yes, that is true, I came only for you. More than once I was tempted to tell you everything; but I was a coward--I was afraid. I had learnt that you were a proud woman, and I felt sure that if I told you, you would drive me from your presence. And I could not bear the thought of it, Olive. You are everything to me, life, hope, heaven! You know you are--yes, you know it. As for the other business, I hated it, as I hated myself when I thought of it. My great desire was to drive it from my mind. Surely you believe this, Olive--you must! Yes, I deserve all you have said--all and more; but now that you know the truth, now that you know what was begun in ghastly farce has ended in terrible reality, now you know that all my life is bound up in you, you only, you will forgive, will you not?"

Olive Castlemaine never took her eyes from him as he spoke, she seemed to be trying to read his inmost thoughts. Once or twice her face softened as he spoke, as though she wanted to yield to his pleading, but when he had finished she hesitated.

"This is true?" she said quietly. "Every word is true, is it not?"

"By all I hold sacred it is true," he cried. "I had not known you a week before I loathed the business, and cast it from me as I would cast a serpent from me. I thought of you only, because I loved you more than ever man loved woman, because the very thought of life was unbearable without you."

"Then there is another question I would ask you," she said.

CHAPTER XI

LEICESTER AND WINFIELD

Leicester, whose heart was again beating with hope, took a step nearer to her as she spoke.

"I will answer any question you ask me, Olive," he said; "let everything come to light."

"I wish to know," she said calmly, "if what you say is true, why you told the others that you were only seeking to marry me to prove your wager."

"It is a lie," said Leicester; "I never told them."

"Less than two months ago you told them. After our wedding-day had been fixed you told them. You met them in your club, in the same room where I was first discussed. The two others, and this--gentleman. They besought you to give up this"--Olive hesitated as though the very thought stung her--"this wager. But you insisted on paying the money yourself--this hundred pounds, the price at which I was valued. They urged you, I repeat, and you refused. They asked you whether you had become reformed in your opinions and you denied it. Then they accused you of still playing a part to obtain my consent to marry you, that you might win your wager. And you admitted it."

"That is a lie."

"I happen to remember the words that were used," said Olive, speaking in the same hard, quiet voice. "One of them said to you, it does not matter which, but one of them used these words after you had made certain statements: 'Then you have been simply playing a part with Miss Castlemaine?' and you replied, 'And if I have, what is that to you?'

Then this man said, 'You admit it then? All this teetotalism, this tone of moral earnestness which you have introduced into your speeches, it is all to win your wager?' And then you answered, 'And if it is, have I ever pretended to believe in any of the whining sentimentality of the world? Have I not all along insisted that it was a matter of price?'

Then these men said I ought to know, whereupon you threatened them with terrible punishment if they dared to tell me. Do you pretend to deny this?"

"I deny everything," said Leicester sullenly. The resurrection of the past, the destruction of his happiness had unhinged his mind. He scarcely knew what he was saying, the ground seemed to be dug from under his feet.

"I wondered whether you were base enough to deny that," she said; "I even hoped that you were not, but after I had learnt what I have learnt I dared not believe. My informant asked me to appeal to Mr. Winfield to verify the truth of this, that was why I told the servant to bring him with you. Mr. Winfield, have I described exactly what took place? Did this man say the words I have repeated?"

Winfield, who had been listening like a man in a dream, felt himself unable to speak. He could not, with Olive's eyes upon him, tell a lie, and say that what had been told her was false, neither could he, as he saw the deathly pallor on Leicester's face, and the fearful look in his eyes, confess the truth.

"You do not speak, Mr. Winfield," she said; "even you cannot support your friend. Still, if I have misjudged him, it is right that you should tell the truth. Did he, or did he not say these things?"

"I am sure he did not mean them," said Winfield tamely.

"Thank you; now then, go, Mr. Leicester."

Leicester started like a man who had been stung.

"You surely do not mean that," he cried. "No, no, Olive, you cannot mean that."

"The disgrace of being the subject of hundreds of gossiping tongues, as I am at this moment, is nothing to this disgrace of being the subject of a wager among drunken men. Do you think I could ever speak to you again after knowing what I know? Even now I feel contaminated by being in your presence. It is like poison to me. Your every word has been proved to be lies, your protestations worthy of the creed you profess. Go, then, and may G.o.d forgive you for the pain you have caused."

But Leicester never moved.

"If I were a man," she said, "I would throw you out of the house; and but for the fact that the servants would talk, I would ring for them at this moment, that you might be treated as such as you deserve. As it is, seeing you have not shame enough to leave such a house as this for the telling, I will leave the room myself."

Leicester lost control of himself. The man's sky had become as black as night; all he regarded as worth living for had been destroyed in an hour.

"You shall not go," he cried, "that is, you shall not go until I have explained those words which were uttered in a fit of madness."

"Explain? yes, doubtless you would explain, if I would sully my ears by listening; but I will not. Moreover, see to it that you never dare to cross my path again."

"I dare anything," he cried, "anything, everything. No, you shall not get away from me so easily. Oh, yes, I remember, and you remember, too, the promise which you made last night. You said then, that whatever might happen, you would _never_ marry another man. Surely you, with your fine notions, will never break your promise?"

He was beside himself, or he would never have uttered such words. He saw, moreover, that the arrow had gone home; a look of pain shot across her face.

"Oh, yes, I've got you," he went on wildly, "and I will hold you to your words, too. If ever you dream of marrying another man, I will tell him what you said. Yes, I will do that and more, and----"

"Let me pa.s.s," she cried; "as though I could ever dream of marrying an honourable man after promising to be the wife of such as you. Stand aside, or I will call the servants."

But she had no need to make this threat. Her words had crushed him too completely. He obeyed her like a frightened child, and then watched her with a dazed look in his eyes as she walked out of the room.

"Now go," said John Castlemaine, as he rang the bell. A servant appeared, and Radford Leicester walked out of the house with the black night of h.e.l.l in his heart.

The carriage was still waiting, and both men entered it without a word.

"Where to, sir?" asked the coachman.

But Leicester did not reply, indeed he did not know the man had spoken.

"Where to, sir?" repeated the driver in a louder voice.

Winfield mentioned the name of a station which they had come from that morning. For two miles they rode in silence, then Leicester turned and looked at his companion.

"Are you doing anything particular this afternoon, Winfield?" he said.