acquaintance with me andconsequently all knowledge of the affair? Lolita is in peril. If youwill you can save her, although she is your enemy--although I know howyou hate her."
I stood aghast at this fresh development of the mystery. I had actuallyurged this woman to disclaim all that the man Keene might allege, yet inutter ignorance that, by so doing, she was bringing ruin upon my love!My ears were open to catch every word. The Countess was Lolita's enemy!Could that be the actual truth? Did this woman whose beauty was soremarkable so mask her real feelings towards her husband's sister that,while outwardly showing great affection for her, she had secretlyplotted her ruin and disgrace?
"I know nothing," was her persistent reply.
"Then you prefer that Lolita shall suffer," he said in a calm hardvoice. "Remember that her enemies are unscrupulous, relentless. Theword once spoken can never be recalled. Do you intend that her lifeshall actually be sacrificed?"
"How?"
"She intends to take it by her own hand the instant the truth is known.I have been up to Scotland."
"And you have, I suppose, threatened her, as you have me?" sneered herladyship.
"I have no necessity to threaten her," was his answer. "She knows quitewell enough the peril in which she is placed by those who have soughther downfall."
"Well, and what does her future concern me, pray?" asked the womancoldly.
"Only that you can save her," he argued. "Think if, in a moment ofdespair, she took her life, what a burden of remorse would be yours."
"There is no such word as remorse in my vocabulary," she laughed. "Ifthere were I should have entered a convent long ago."
"Yes," he said. "You speak the truth, Marigold. You are one of thosefew women who are, perhaps fortunately, untroubled by conscience. Thepast is to you a closed book, would that it were also to me! Would thatI could forget completely that affair at which you and I exercised suchdastardly cunning and scandalous duplicity. But I cannot, and it is forthat reason I am here to beg--to beseech of you to at least save poorLolita, who is being driven to extremity by despair!"
Lolita! I thought of her, desperate and unprotected, the victim of avile and yet mysterious conspiracy--the victim of this woman who was,after all, her secret enemy. Heaven formed me as I was, a creature ofaffection, and I bowed to its decree in living but for love of her.Upon the tablet of my heart was graven Lolita, and death alone couldefface it. I was no sensualist; thank heaven I had not brutalised mymind, nor contaminated the pure ray of my divinity. I loved with truth,with ardour, and with tenderest affection, from which had arisen allthose ecstasies that constituted the heaven of loving. True, I wasjealous--madly jealous. I was a tyrant in the passion that consumed me,but none can truly love who would receive it when divided.
Poverty claimed wealth--ambition craved for honour--kings would haveboundless sway--despots would be gods--and I merely asked for love.Where was my crime in claiming a return for that already given? Or ifit could never be mine, why should I dash at once to earth the air-drawnvision of felicity?
Fate was inscrutable; and sanctioned by its will, I determined to yieldwithout a sign to my reward, be it love or be it misery.
Each pleasure has its pain, nor yet was ever mortal joy complete. Inthose days before the advent of Richard Keene in Sibberton I had beenlulled by bliss so exquisite that reason should have told me it was buta dream. I had forgotten everything in the great vortex of love whichhad, till then, overwhelmed me. And as I stood there listening to everyword that passed, I felt that I alone had power to save the woman Iadored.
There was a plot, some vile dastardly plot, the mystery of which wasinscrutable. And she was to be the victim. Was it right that I shouldremain silent and make no effort to rescue her from the doom which thisman Keene declared must be hers?
"How can I save her, when I am in ignorance?" asked the woman, stillpersistent in the disclaimer I had so foolishly urged upon her.
"Then you still deny all knowledge of the affair?" he said in his deepearnest voice. "You still dare to stand there and tell me that you arenot the woman who assisted Marie Lejeune--the woman for whom the policestill hold a warrant, but who do not seem to recognise a common criminalin the person of the Countess of Stanchester. Think for a moment what aword from me to the police might mean to you," he added in a threateningtone.
"And think also, Mr Smeeton--or whatever you choose to call yourself--that I also possess knowledge of a fact which, if known to ScotlandYard, would prevent you in future from pushing your unwelcome presenceinto a house where you were not wanted. Do you understand?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, as you've spoken so plainly," she said in an angry tone, "I willalso tell you what I mean to do. You are here bent upon mischief; youintend to carry out the threat you made long ago. Good! From the verystart I openly defy you," and she snapped her slim white fingers in hisface. "Tell my husband any lie you like! Do your worst to injure myreputation, but recollect that from to-night, instead of being friends,we are enemies, and I shall tell the police something which will be tothem of enormous interest. You wish to quarrel with me, therefore letit be so. My husband shall know of your insults at once, and that willallow you an opening to denounce me as one of the worst women inEngland. The result will be interesting--as you will see. One of uswill suffer--but depend upon it it will not be myself," she laugheddefiantly.
"I have no wish to quarrel," he assured her quickly. "I said I had comehere to make terms with you and to save Lolita."
"What do you wish? That I should incriminate myself?" she asked."Lolita does not concern me in the least, neither do you, for the matterof that. I've given you the ultimatum," she added. "If you wish topick a quarrel, then my own safety will be assured."
"You misunderstand me," he said in a tone more conciliatory than before.
"Yes, I certainly misunderstand your desire to bring upon yourself whatmust be a very serious disaster by coming here and trying to wring fromme certain things which I am determined, for my own good name andreputation, to keep secret. My own opinion of you is that you are afool, and that if you are wise you'll make an excuse, and to-morrowmorning leave Sibberton."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," he responded in quick indignation. "Iintend to act as I have told you."
"Very well, then, that is sufficient. I wish you a very good-night,"she said passing on before the doorway where I stood hidden. "Myhusband shall know at once how you, a stranger to me, have dared toinsult me with your outrageous insinuations and threats."
"No, I did not mean--" he commenced, as though to modify his actions.
"Enough, Mr Smeeton. I have decided upon my course of action, and youhad better leave this house while there is yet time. Otherwise perhapsyou will have unwelcome inquiries made after you."
The man upon whom she had so cleverly turned the tables gave vent to amuttered imprecation, while the swish of her silken flounces recededdown the long dark corridor, and I stood there breathless andmotionless, not daring to betray my presence.
The result of such an open quarrel as it had become I dreaded tocontemplate, for I knew, alas! too well that whatever it be my love mustsuffer, and that she was bent upon taking her life rather than faceexposure of the mysterious scandal.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE SAINTS' GARDEN.
After breakfast on the following morning I contrived to make anappointment with the Countess to meet her at a short distance from thehouse in what was known as the Saints' Garden.
Her ladyship's habit was to walk in the garden for half an hour afterbreakfast, and I deemed that the Saints' Garden, being at a secludedspot down near the lake, and little frequented either by the gardenersor visitors, was a good place of meeting. The gardens at Sibberton werenoted for their beauty. There was an old lavender garden; one forbulbs; another for roses, and--most charming of all, Lolita's pride--theSaints' Garden, the flowers of which were supposed to blossom on thedays set apart for certain
saints. In it were veronicas, lilies,Christmas roses, and a wild tangle of old-world flowers.
I waited in patience in this little "garden of the good," encompassed byits dark thick box hedges. The morning was bright, the dew glistenedeverywhere in the sunlight, and the flowers filled the air with theirfragrance. It was a peaceful spot where Lolita loved to linger, andwhere we had often walked and talked in secret.
She came at last--the reckless, handsome woman who held my love's lifein her hands.
Her fair face was smiling as she came along in her neat short skirt andfresh morning blouse, and greeted me saying--
"Really, Mr Woodhouse, I hardly think it was wise of you to meet mehere. One of the