Two days passed before David Cable was permitted to see his wife.During those trying hours he lived an age of agony in suspense. Shehad been removed to her home late on the night of the "hold-up," asthe newspapers felt justified in calling it. He did not go to hisoffice the next day--nor the next--but haunted her door, sleepless,nervous, held close by dread. A dozen times, at least, he soughtadmittance to her room, but was always turned away, cursing thedoctor and the nurses for their interference.
His worst fear, however, was that his wife would not forgive him.Not the dread of exposure, nor his own shame or remorse--not eventhe punishment that the law might inflict, could be compared to thefear of what might be her life-long hatred. He grew to feel thatthe doctor, the nurses, the servants looked upon him with strange,unfriendly though respectful eyes. In his heart he believed thathis wife had cursed him in their presence, laying bare his part inthe unhappy transaction.
At last the suspense became unbearable. He had noticed a slightchange in Jane's manner and at once attributed it to somethinghis wife had said, for Jane had been allowed in the sick-room. Thediscovery that she was not his child had not as yet struck deepinto his understanding. In a vague sort of way he realised that shewas different, now that he knew, but it was impossible for him toconsider her in any other light than that of the years gone by.The time would come when the full realisation would cut into hisheart more deeply than now, but at present a calamity of his ownmaking was forcing all other troubles into the background. Hisgreatest desire was to reach his wife's side, to know the worstthat could come of his suit for forgiveness.
The evening of the second day he swore that he would see her--andalone. They admitted him and he entered trembling in every nerve.She was lying, white and haggard, in her bed, her back toward him.He paused for an instant and was certain that he saw her shudderviolently. It was significant. She feared and loathed him.
"Is it you, David?" he heard her ask weakly. "At last! Oh, I wasafraid that something had happened to you! That---"
He threw himself on his knees beside the bed and wept with all thepent-up bitterness and misery that was in him--and still he wasafraid to speak to her. Not a word left his lips until he felt herhand in his hair--a tender, timid hand. It was then that he beganpouring forth his cry for forgiveness. With a groan, he checkedher own appeal for mercy.
"We can talk about Jane another time, not now," he cried. "I mustknow that you forgive me--I don't care for anything--nothing elsein the world."
When the nurse came in a few minutes later, he was sitting upon theedge of the bed holding her hands in his. Their faces were radiant.
"Please stay out," he said, almost gruffly.
"For just a little while," his wife added gently. The nurse hesitateda moment and then left the room.
Frances Cable told him Jane's history so far as it was known toher. He listened dully.
"She will never know her true parents," said she in the end.
"No, I suppose not," said he, looking out of the window.
"You understand, don't you, David, dear," she said feebly; "howI dreaded to have you learn the truth after all these years, andabove all, how I hoped that Jane might never know. I tried everymeans in my power to buy James Bansemer's silence. It was not moneythat he wanted, it was..." she buried her head shamefully in herarms; after a moment, she went on: "He professes to love his son,but his is the love an animal gives the offspring it would destroy.And yet Graydon worships him."
"Are you quite sure that Graydon is as unsuspecting as you think?"
"In regard to his father?"
"In regard to Jane."
"Oh, I'm sure of it. He is not a party to his father's schemes. IfJames Bansemer has not already told Graydon, he never will. It isnot his plan to do so; his only object has been to browbeat me intosubmission. David, it will all come out right in the end, won'tit? You'll forgive me?"
"Yes, dear; but this man," and David Cable shook with emotion as hespoke, "will have to answer to me. There will be no more to fear,"he said reassuringly; "I'll crush him as I would a snake."
"David, you must not---"
"Don't worry," he broke in; "I'll attend to him and see that noharm comes to anyone else. That man has no business among honestpeople."
"But, David, I was not honest with you," she confessed.
"That was a long time ago, and she's as much mine as she is yours.So, what's the odds now? It's a facer, I'll admit, but it can'tbe helped." It was thus that the man whose anger, only a few hoursbefore had led him almost to crime, now readily absolved her ofany blame.
"Poor child, poor child!" she moaned; "it will break her heart.She is so proud and so happy."
"Yes, she's proud. There is good blood in her. I don't wonder nowthat I used to think she was such a marvel. She's--she's not justthe same sort of stock that we are, take it as you will."
"She never must know the truth, David."
"She's bound to find it out, dear. We'd better tell her. It willbe easier for her. Bansemer's fangs must be made harmless forever.He shan't bother her. She'd better hear the story from us and notfrom him."
"But Graydon? She'll lose him, David."
"I'm not so sure of it. She's worthy of any man's love and we mustknow that Graydon loves her. I'll trust to that. But, first ofall, we must put it beyond the power of James Bansemer to injureher in any shape or form. Then, when I go after him--Graydon or noGraydon--he'll know that there is such a place as hell."
"Be rational, David. Let us take our time and think well, dear.I can't bear the thought of the story that will go out concerningme--how I deceived you about Jane for years and years. What willpeople think of me? What will they say?" she almost wailed.
"Frances," said he, his voice tense and earnest, "that is betweenyou and me. I intend to say to the world, if occasion demands, thatI have known from the first that Jane was not our child. That willbe---"
"Oh, David, you CAN'T say that," she cried joyously.
"I shall say it, dear old partner. I shall say that you took herfrom the asylum with my consent. There is only James Bansemer tocall me a liar, and he will not dare!"
"That old man Droom, David--his clerk. The man who saved me--heknows."
"He is in the boat with his master. He DID save you, though. I'llspare him much for that. And I have more to fear from him than youthink. Frances, I am sure he saw me night before last down thereat the sea wall. He knows--I am morally certain--that you were notattacked by a robber."
"But, David, I WAS robbed. My rings and my pendant were taken bysomeone. If Droom was the first man at my side--after you--then hemust have taken them."
"I can't charge him with the theft," groaned Cable. "He saved yourlife and he might ruin mine. I would give anything I have to knowjust how much he saw of the affair. I can't account for his presencethere. It seems like fate."
"It is impossible for him to accuse you, David."
"It is not impossible, I'm afraid. He may have seen me plainly."
"But I have described my assailant to the police. You do not answerthe description in any particular."
In the next ten minutes the nurse came in twice to caution himagainst overtaxing her nerves, politely hinting that he shoulddepart at once. There was no medicine, no nursing, no care thatcould have done her so much good as this hour with her husband.
"It hurt me more than I can tell you, David, when I saw that youwere jealous of him. I could see it growing in you day after day,and yet I could not find the courage to make everything clear toyou. Oh, how could you have suspected me of that?"
"Because I am a man and because I love you enough to care whatbecomes of you. I was wrong, I am happy to confess. Forgive me,dear. I can't tell you how terrible the last month has been to me.I can't tell you of the bitter thoughts I have had, nor the viciousdeeds I have planned. I was almost insane. I was not accountable.I have much to pay to you in the rest of the years that I live;I have much to pay to my own conscience; and I also owe somethingto James Ban
semer. I shall try to pay all these different debts inthe coin that they call for."
"We owe something, you and I, to Jane," said she, as he arose toleave the room.
"A confession and more love than ever, Frances. I love her withall my heart. When you are stronger, we will tell her that she isnot our child. We have loved her so long and so well that she can'task for better proof of our devotion. That terrible thing at thesea wall must remain our secret, dear. To-morrow I shall beginpulling James Bansemer's fangs."
He found Graydon downstairs with Jane. A sharp look into the youngman's eyes convinced him that his questions concerning Mrs. Cableand the latest news concerning the efforts to take the bandit weresincere. Cable held his hand for a long time; the firm, warm graspwas that of an honest man. As he stepped out into the night for ashort walk over town he wondered, with a great pain in his heart,if Graydon Bansemer would turn from Jane when he heard the truthconcerning her.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE VISIT OF HARBERT