The Man Who Rose Again Part 27

Leicester laughed, and it was the laugh of a madman.

"Do you believe in the devil, Winfield?" he said.

"I don't see that the devil has anything to do with it," replied the other. "We are young, we have life before us, and----"

But Leicester did not listen to him further. He struck his spurs into his horse's sides, and the animal tore off at a mad gallop. Winfield's horse started to follow, but the young man held him back. "Let him go,"

he said to himself, "he's better without me. I've made a mistake evidently, and, great heavens! I don't like to think of what will happen."

Winfield watched the other, who galloped wildly across the broad open s.p.a.ce, and then waited while he rode the mad pa.s.sion out of himself.

When Leicester returned, half an hour later, there was a quieter look in his eyes, his face looked more natural.

"I thought you'd gone, Winfield," he said; "let's get back to town. What a wedding-day I'm having, eh?"

Both their horses were black with sweat when they returned them to the job-master from whom they had borrowed them, but Leicester did not wait to listen to the man's remarks. He hurried back to the club, and went straight to the office.

"Any letters for me?" he asked.

A number were handed to him which had come through the post.

"Not these," he said impatiently. "Has one come by private messenger?"

"Oh yes, I had forgotten. Here it is, sir."

He took the letter. Yes, it was addressed in Olive Castlemaine's hand-writing, and without a word he rushed straight to his bedroom. He wanted to be alone. Feverishly he turned on the electric light, and then broke the seal. The envelope contained nothing but his own unopened letter.

For some time he stood still. No sound, no movement did he make. He felt now that the last thread which held him to hope was broken, and yet he could not realise what it meant. Ever since he had left The Beeches that morning, he had lived in a kind of trance. The blow which had fallen had to an extent paralysed him. Everything seemed a long way off, even although he knew that a tragedy had taken place in his own life.

Presently, however, it became real to him. Hope was gone, joy was gone, purpose was gone. The sun had gone down on his wedding-day, and it had also gone down on his life. There was no light anywhere. For years he had lived a hopeless life, for years he had been chained by a degrading habit, for years he had ceased to believe in G.o.d, in virtue--in anything that made life worth the living. Then a new force had come into his life. Hope, faith, and more than all, love had sprung up in his heart.

The world had become new, and he knew what heaven meant. Then, when the day had come on which all his desires were to be fully realised, black ruin had fallen. The new-born hope and faith were destroyed in an hour.

No ray of light appeared anywhere.

"Leicester, old man, may I come in?" It was Winfield who spoke.

"No--yes--that is, who are you?"

"It is I, Winfield."

"Come in."

Winfield entered, and he had no need to be told what had happened. For this reason he asked no questions, he only said:

"Come and have some dinner, Leicester."

"Look," said Leicester, showing him the unopened letter.

"Yes, I see, old man. Come and have some dinner."

"Good," replied Leicester feverishly, "that's it, dinner! Haven't I always maintained that there was no love affair in the world but could be cured by a good dinner and a bottle of champagne? We'll prove it old man. Dinner, that's it; and afterwards--we'll make a night of it somewhere."

A new light had come into his eyes, and even Winfield, who was no saint, saw that it was evil.

"I haven't touched a drop of whisky for months," went on Leicester.

"I've been a whining dog, running at the heels of--but there, I'll make up for lost time to-night. Come on, Winfield!"

"Hadn't we better dress for dinner?" said Winfield. "I always keep some dress clothes here at the club."

"Hang dressing! Let's go as we are; how can we be better dressed for a drinking bout than in riding attire? Tally ho! my boy. 'If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she be?' That's the proper spirit, isn't it? I've been a sort of a dog led by a string for the last few months, now I am free again. I was becoming the kind of man that every one should despise, a whining sentimentalist. I had actually begun to talk about the moral aspect of things. What of that? It's never too late to mend, eh, Winfield? Off with the trappings, have done with shams, Richard's himself again! Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die."

His face was still pale, but his eyes shone with a mad light.

"But we can't go down like this, Leicester, we may as well----"

"All right, have your own way. I'll join you in five minutes. 'The apparel oft proclaims the man,' therefore let us be respectable.

Respectable, oh, I'll let some of 'em know what respectability means."

Winfield left the room deep in thought. He was a man of the world, but he was sorry to see how Leicester was taking his blow. He would rather have seen him give way to grief, or make threats of vengeance.

A few minutes later they met in the dining-room. Both were in faultless attire, although Winfield noticed that his friend's mood had not changed.

"The club dinner," said Leicester to the waiter, "and let us have it at once."

"Yes, sir. What'll you take to drink, sir?"

"Drink! Oh, whisky and soda. Bring a large bottle of each."

The waiter went away. He had heard that Leicester was to have been married that day, and he naturally wondered what he was doing there; but of course he showed no surprise.

"By the way, Leicester," said Winfield, as he toyed with a piece of bread on the table, "I've been thinking that things may not be so bad as we thought."

"Oh, chuck it, Winfield. I've learnt my lesson. I've been a fool, but I'll not close my eyes to facts any longer."

"She may love you still," persisted the other.

"Woman's love! I was right in the old days. It's all a matter of price; only I made a mistake about the price. I didn't reckon upon a woman's vanity--that's all."

"Well, let us meet facts fairly. It was natural that she should be mad.

When a high-minded girl like Miss Castlemaine----"

"High-minded! Don't talk such drivel."

"Yes, I repeat, high-minded. When she is told that the engagement was a matter of a wager, and when, after the wedding-day was fixed, you admitted that it was still a matter of winning the wager, then----"

"What are you driving at? I say, I'll kick up a row about the management of this club. That whisky has been ordered at least three minutes, and it's not brought yet."

"I'm driving at this. She was mad, and her madness was justifiable, but by to-morrow she'll have calmed down. I told you it was too soon for you to send that letter. If I were you I'd go down again to-morrow, and I'll warrant she'll be in a different frame of mind."

Winfield was wanting to gain time. He knew that if the whisky came while Leicester was in his present mood, nothing would stop him from fulfilling his threat.