Adrien Leroy Part 31

"I have my motor," said Leroy; "I suppose you would not return in that?"

"Good Heavens, no!" she exclaimed. "Whatever would people think? No, I'll return by train, and take a taxi from Waterloo. I shall even then be in time to dress for Lady Martindale's 'At Home.'"

He did not seek to alter her decision, but sent the boat along with rapid strokes, which broke up the placid water into ripples at each plunge of the oars.

Lady Merivale leaned forward and gave a sudden start.

"Look, look!" she cried in terror-stricken tones. "What is that?" She pointed to a sheet of spray rising and falling a few yards from them, or rather below them. Adrien turned his head to see the cause of her alarm, and his very heart seemed to stop beating.

"Sit still," he cried, "for Heaven's sake. You have steered us near the weir!"

With all his strength he started to row back. The strain was tremendous.

That line of silver spray marked their fall to instant and certain death. No aid was possible; the solitude of the woods and lands was as absolute as if they had been in an unknown country. All he could do was to keep the woman in whose safety he was concerned quiet, if not rea.s.sured, while he exerted every nerve in his body to withdraw the little craft from the danger line.

"Cling to the boat," he shouted loudly, for the falling water rang in his ears with a deafening roar.

As he spoke, the frail craft capsized, and its occupants were plunged into the foaming, churning water. Leroy made a frantic grasp at his companion's dress, but missed it. A second later, he saw, in the midst of the foam, her slight form being carried down to the weir. With a cry of horror he struck out, in an attempt to rescue her.

In those few awful seconds he prayed that the punishment of their light-hearted folly might not fall on the woman, but on him; that his life might be lost, sooner than her good name.

Luckily, he was an expert swimmer; and aided by the stream, which was as swift as a mill-race, he soon managed to get within reach of Lady Merivale. With a great effort he grasped her firmly, and, turning slowly and painfully, swung aslant the stream to the opposite bank.

Her face was white, as if life were already extinct. Her eyes were closed.

"Heaven grant me her life!" he groaned, as, panting and nearly exhausted, he dragged himself and his precious burden up on the bank.

He laid her down and felt for some signs of life; to his intense grat.i.tude, she still breathed; and with a silent prayer of thankfulness, he turned to look for a.s.sistance.

At a little distance a light burned in a window. Without pausing an instant, he took the still form in his arms and hastened towards it.

All unconscious of the struggle for life going on so close to her, Lucy Ashford sat working busily, her pretty face lifted to the clock every minute or so, as she waited for her husband to return.

The children were in bed, and Jessica was just coming down the tiny staircase when a sharp knock sounded at the outer door, causing Lucy to drop her work in her usual terror at any unexpected sound.

The shop had been closed, it was too late for rural customers, and wondering who it could be, she took up her candle and went to the door.

Timidly she pulled back the latch and peered out. A gentleman stood on the threshold with his face towards the river. At the sound of the opening door, he turned. Down went the candle with a crash and splutter; up went the two hands to her face.

Mr. Jasper Vermont stood looking down at her with a cruel, amused smile for a moment; then in his soft, purring voice he said:

"I'm afraid I've startled you, Miss--Mrs. Ashford. Pray let me recover the candle. There that's better." As he spoke he pushed past her into the dimly lighted shop.

"Quite startled, eh?" he continued blandly. "Unwelcome visitor, I suppose?"

"No, no!" breathed the poor little woman, who at the moment resembled a sparrow in the clutches of a hawk, or a mouse beneath the paw of its enemy, the cat. "No, no, I--I am very glad to see you, sir. Will you come in?"

At this faint welcome Mr. Vermont smiled still more.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lucy," he said, "I think I will," and he followed her into the spotless sitting-room.

Meanwhile, Jessica, at the first sound of a strange voice, and afraid of being sought for by Wilfer, had concealed herself at the back of the house.

Jasper looked round the room in mock admiration.

"What a delightful little place you have here," he continued. "Most charming! Commerce and romance mingled together, I declare. And now,"

sinking into a seat and fixing his eyes upon the white, frightened face of his victim, "how is your husband, Mr. John Ashford?"

"Very well, sir," faltered the miserable woman, praying with all her heart that John might not come home.

"And the children," continued her persecutor; "two, are there not?

Pretty little dears! I'm so fond of children, you know, Mrs. Lucy. Quite a happy woman you must be. A most comfortable little house, I never saw anything like it, excepting once, and that was at Canterbury."

The poor woman, her worst fears realised, fell down on her knees, and turned up her white face piteously to the cruel, mocking one above her.

"Oh, sir, kind, good sir," she implored, "spare me! You will not, say you will not ruin me? We are so happy; it will break his heart if he learns my secret. He is so good. The children! Have pity on them at least, sir, and do not betray me."

Jasper smiled, and Lucy became even more incoherent.

"Oh, sir," she cried, the tears streaming down her white face unheeded.

"I was so young, so giddy and thoughtless, and that man was so wicked.

He tempted me. Oh, Mr. Vermont, sir, I will pray every night for you as I pray for John and my little ones, if you will but spare me and keep my secret."

She might just as well have prayed to the wooden table, as expect any mercy or pity from this man, to whom such abject misery was better than meat and drink.

With a contemptuous gesture, as if to spurn her from his sight, he said:

"Get up, my good woman. I shall keep your secret as long as it pleases me. Perhaps for ever, who can tell? Good John, simple John," he laughed maliciously. "He little thinks his wife was given to taking trips to Canterbury with handsome young men. There! There!" he added, as a moan of anguish burst from the dry lips of the tortured woman. "That will do.

I shan't enlighten good kind John, as long as you do what I want. I need a bed. I'm going to sleep here to-night. Hullo! who's that?" He broke off suddenly, as Jessica, tired of waiting outside for his departure, entered the room, her dark eyes dilated with anxiety.

She paused at the sound of his voice, and stared at him. She recognised him as the man she had seen with Leroy, and some subtle instinct seemed to tell her that he was evil. Jasper, too, stared at her uneasily. A memory of another person, strangely like her, crossed his mind, but he was too full of his knowledge concerning Leroy to consider any fresh train of thought.

Mrs. Ashford hastily composed her features.

"Only a girl stopping here," she said hurriedly; then, turning to the silent spectator, she said, "Go, my dear, I shall not want you at present," and Jessica gladly left the room, while Jasper, taking her to be a servant, gave no more thought to her.

"Now what about a room?" he said imperiously, as he took off his light overcoat.

"You shall have the best, sir," replied Lucy, only too eager to conciliate him. "Anything--everything we have is yours."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," yawned Jasper. "Set about it then."

He was tired, for he had done a great deal of walking for him, who was accustomed to use his own or his friend's motor for every journey, great or small. Besides, he had somehow missed Adrien despite his care, and was greatly puzzled and irritated.

He was turning to follow Lucy, when there came a sound of footsteps, followed by another loud knock at the door, and a man's commanding voice:

"Help! Quick here with a light!"