CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FORBIDDEN LOVE
I stood before Shuttleworth angry and defiant.
I had crossed to Sylvia and had taken her soft hand.
"I really cannot see, sir, by what right you interfere between us!" Icried, looking at him narrowly. "You forbid! What do I care--why,pray, should you forbid my actions?"
"I forbid," repeated the thin-faced clergyman, "because I have aright--a right which one day will be made quite plain to you."
"Ah! Mr. Shuttleworth," gasped Sylvia, now pale as death, "what areyou saying?"
"The truth, my child. You know too well that, for you, love andmarriage are forbidden," he exclaimed, looking at her meaningly.
She sighed, and her tiny hand trembled within my grasp. Her mouthtrembled, and I saw that tears were welling in her eyes.
"Ah! yes," she cried hoarsely a moment later. "I know, alas! that I amnot like other women. About me there have been forged bonds ofsteel--bonds which I can never break."
"Only by one means," interrupted Shuttleworth, terribly calm andcomposed.
"No, no!" she protested quickly, covering her face with her hands asthough in shame. "Not that--never that! Do not let us speak of it!"
"Then you have no right to accept this man's love," he saidreproachfully, "no right to allow him to approach nearer the brink ofthe grave than he has done. You know full well that, for him, yourlove must prove fatal!"
She hung her head as though not daring to look again into my eyes. Thestrange clergyman's stern rebuke had utterly confused and confoundedher. Yet I knew she loved me dearly. That sweet, intense love-look ofhers an hour ago could never be feigned. It spoke far more truly thanmere words.
Perhaps she was annoyed that I had told Shuttleworth the truth. Yes, Ihad acted very foolishly. My tongue had loosened involuntarily. Mywild joy had led me into an injudicious confession--one that I hadnever dreamed would be fraught with sorrow.
"Mr. Shuttleworth," I said at last, "please do not distress yourselfon my account. I love Sylvia, and she has promised to be mine. Ifdisaster occurs, then I am fully prepared to meet it. You seem inclose touch with this remarkable association of thieves and assassins,or you would hardly be so readily aware of their evil intentions."
"Ah!" he responded, with a slight sigh, "you are only speaking inignorance. If you were aware of the true facts, you would, on thecontrary, thank me for revealing the peril in which love for thisyoung lady will assuredly place you."
"But have I not already told you that I am fearless? I am prepared tomeet this mysterious peril, whatever it is, for her sake!" Iprotested.
A curious, cynical smile overspread his grey, ascetic face.
"You speak without knowledge, my dear sir," he remarked. "Could I butreveal the truth, you would quickly withdraw that assertion. Youwould, indeed, flee from this girl as you would from the plague!"
"Well," I said, "your words are at least very remarkable, sir. Onewould really imagine Miss Pennington to be a hell-fiend--from yourdenunciation."
"You mistake me. I make no denunciation. On the other hand, I amtrying to impress upon you the utter futility of your love."
"Why should you do that? What is your motive?" I asked quickly, tryingto discern what could be at the back of this man's mind. How strangeit was! Hitherto I had rather liked the tall, quiet, kind-manneredcountry rector. Yet he had suddenly set himself out in open antagonismto my plans--to my love!
"My motive," he declared, "is to protect the best interests of youboth. I have no ends to serve, save those of humanity, Mr. Biddulph."
"You urged Miss Pennington to make confession to me. You implied thather avowal of affection was false," I said, with quick indignation.
"I asked her to confess--to tell you the truth, because I am unable soto do," was his slow reply. "Ah! Mr. Biddulph," he sighed, "if onlythe real facts could be exposed to you--if only you could be told theghastly, naked truth."
"Why do you say all this, Mr. Shuttleworth?" protested Sylvia in alow, pained voice. "Why should Mr. Biddulph be mystified further? Ifyou are determined that I should sacrifice myself--well, I am ready.You have been my friend--yet now you seem to have suddenly turnedagainst me, and treat me as an enemy."
"Only as far as this unfortunate affair is concerned, my child," hesaid. "Remember my position--recall all the past, and put to yourselfthe question whether I have not a perfect right to forbid you tosacrifice the life of a good, honest man like the one before you," hesaid, his clerical drawl becoming more accentuated as he spoke.
"Rubbish, my dear sir," I laughed derisively. "Put aside all this cantand hypocrisy. It ill becomes you. Speak out, like a man of the worldthat you are. What specific charge do you bring against this lady?Come, tell me."
"None," he replied. "Evil is done through her--not by her."
And she stood silent, unable to protest.
"But can't you be more explicit?" I cried, my anger rising. "If youmake charges, I demand that you shall substantiate them. Recollect allthat I have at stake in this matter."
"I know--your life," he responded. "Well, I have already told you whatto expect."
"Sylvia," I said, turning to the pale girl standing trembling at myside, "will you not speak? Will you not tell me what all this means?By what right does this man speak thus? Has he any right?"
She was silent for a few moments. Then slowly she nodded her head inan affirmative.
"What right has he to forbid our affection?" I demanded. "I love you,and I tell you that no man shall come between us!"
"He alone has a right, Owen," she said, addressing me for the firsttime by my Christian name.
"What right?"
But she would not answer. She merely stood with head downcast, andsaid--
"Ask him."
This I did, but the thin-faced man refused to reply. All he would saywas--
"I have forbidden this fatal folly, Mr. Biddulph. Please do not let usdiscuss it further."
I confess I was both angry and bewildered. The mystery was hourlyincreasing. Sylvia had admitted that Shuttleworth had a right tointerfere. Yet I could not discern by what right a mere friend couldforbid a girl to entertain affection. I felt that the ever-increasingproblem was even stranger and more remarkable than I had anticipated,and that when I fathomed it, it would be found to be utterlyastounding!
Sylvia was unwavering in her attachment to myself. Her antagonismtowards Shuttleworth's pronouncement was keen and bitter, yet, withher woman's superior judgment, she affected carelessness.
"You asked this lady to confess," I said, addressing him. "Confesswhat?"
"The truth."
Then I turned to my well-beloved and asked--
"What is the truth? Do you love me?"
"Yes, Owen, I do," was her frank and fervent response.
"I did not mean that," said Shuttleworth hastily. "I meant the truthconcerning yourself."
"Mr. Biddulph knows what I am."
"But he does not know who you are."
"Then you may tell him," was her hoarse reply. "Tell him!" she criedwildly. "Tear from me all that I hold sacred--all that I hold mostdear--dash me back into degradation and despair--if you will! I am inyour hands."
"Sylvia!" he said reproachfully. "I am your friend--and your father'sfriend. I am not your enemy. I regret if you have ever thought I havelifted a finger against you."
"Are you not standing as a barrier between myself and Mr. Biddulph?"she protested, her eyes flashing.
"Because I see that only misfortune--ah! death--can arise. You knowfull well the promise I have made. You know, too, what has been toldme in confidence, because--because my profession happens to be what itis--a humble servant of God."
"Yes," she faltered, "I know--I know! Forgive me if I have spokenharshly, Mr. Shuttleworth. I know you are my friend--and you areOwen's. Only--only it seems very hard that you should thus put thisban upon us--you, who preach the gospel of truth and love."
Shuttleworth drew a deep breath. His
thin lips were pursed; his greyeyebrows contracted slightly, and I saw in his countenance adistinctly pained expression.
"I have spoken with all good intention, Sylvia," he said. "Your lovefor Mr. Biddulph must only bring evil upon both of you. Surely yourealize that?"
"Sylvia has already realized it," I declared. "But we have resolved torisk it."
"The risk is, alas! too great," he declared. "Already you are a markedman. Your only chance of escape is to take Sylvia's advice and to gointo hiding. Go away--into the country--and live in some quiet, remotevillage under another name. It is your best mode of evading disaster.To remain and become the lover of Sylvia Pennington is, I tell you,the height of folly--it is suicide!"
"Let it be so," I responded in quiet defiance. "I will never forsakethe woman I love. Frankly, I suspect a hidden motive in thissuggestion of yours; therefore I refuse to accept it."
"Not to save your own life?"
"Not even to save my life. This is surely my own affair."
"And hers."
"I shall protect Sylvia, never fear. I am not afraid. Let our enemiesbetray their presence by sign or word, and I will set myself out tocombat them. They have already those crimes in Bayswater to accountfor. And they will take a good deal of explaining away."
"Then you really intend to reveal the secret of that house inPorchester Terrace?" he asked, not without some apprehension.
"My enemies, you say, intend to plot and encompass my death. Good!Then I shall take my own means of vindication. Naturally I am a quiet,law-abiding man. But if any enemy rises against me without cause, thenI strike out with a sledgehammer."
"You are hopeless," he declared.
"I am, where my love is concerned," I admitted. "Sylvia has promisedto-day that she will become my wife. The future is surely our ownaffair, Mr. Shuttleworth--not yours!"
"And if her father forbids?" he asked quite quietly, his eyes fixedstraight upon my well-beloved.
"Let me meet him face to face," I said in defiance. "He will notinterfere after I have spoken," I added, with confidence. "I, perhaps,know more than you believe concerning him."
Sylvia started, staring at me, her face blanched in an instant. Thescene was tragic and painful.
"What do you know?" she asked breathlessly.
"Nothing, dearest, which will interfere with our love," I reassuredher. "Your father's affairs are not yours, and for his doings youcannot be held responsible."
She exchanged a quick glance with Shuttleworth, I noticed.
Then it seemed as though a great weight were lifted from her mind bymy words, for, turning to me, she smiled sweetly, saying--
"Ah! how can I thank you sufficiently? I am helpless and defenceless.If I only dared, I could tell you a strange story--for surely mine isas strange as any ever printed in the pages of fiction. But Mr.Shuttleworth will not permit it."
"You may speak--if you deem it wise," exclaimed the rector in astrangely altered voice. He seemed much annoyed at my open defiance."Mr. Biddulph may as well, perhaps, know the truth at first as atlast."
"The truth!" I echoed. "Yes, tell me the truth," I begged her.
"No," she cried wildly, again covering her fair face with her hands."No--forgive me. I can't--_I can't!_"
"No," remarked Shuttleworth in a strange, hard, reproachful tone, andwith a cruel, cynical smile upon his lips. "You cannot--for it is toohideous--too disgraceful--too utterly scandalous! It is for thatreason I forbid you to love!"