The Man Who Rose Again

"I am glad to meet you chaps," he said, as he came up to them, "and I think myself lucky in finding you all together. I want to speak to you."

Purvis and Sprague exchanged glances, and from the eyes of the latter an evil look shone. He had not forgiven Leicester for the many times he had held him up to ridicule, neither did he forgive him for being successful where he, Sprague, had failed.

"When last we were all together in this clubroom," said Leicester, speaking with an effort, for as may be imagined the thoughts in his mind were far from pleasant, "we – well, as you know, a kind of wager was made."

They waited for him to go on.

"As you know," he continued presently; "I – I – have – "

"Won the wager," said Sprague. "That being so, I shall be prepared to give my cheque to – what was it? Guy's Hospital. All the same, I think it is time that this farce should cease. It was unworthy of us all and for my own part I regret having had anything to do with it."

Sprague's tones, rather than his words, angered Leicester. The thought of the woman he loved more than all on earth being associated with a wager maddened him.

"To whom shall I send my cheque, Leicester?" went on Sprague. "Purvis also wants to know. Having fulfilled our part of the business, you will, of course, also finish yours. It reflects no credit upon any of us."

"No," said Leicester, speaking very quietly. "If any cheque is sent, I will send it myself."

"You mean then that all we have heard is false, and that the young lady has refused you."

"What I mean does not affect you, providing I send the cheque," replied Leicester, still speaking quietly.

"Leicester has been converted at a drawing-room meeting, after all," said Sprague, with a sneer. "I hear he has adopted quite a different tone in his speeches. We shall see him addressing mothers' meetings yet."

Still Leicester kept himself under control, although Sprague tried him sorely.

"Come, Leicester," want on Sprague, "if you are converted, you ought to give up this unworthy business; if you are not, then you have no right to ruin a woman's life."

"I think I can mind my own business," said Leicester.

"But the question is, are you converted from the error of your ways? Have you turned moral reformer, temperance lecturer, and the rest of it?"

"And if I have?"

"Oh, nothing – only I think it ought to be duly reported in the religious papers."

Leicester still kept himself under control, nevertheless Sprague's sneers were telling on him.

"Besides," went on his tormentor, "you've hardly played the game, Leicester. The understanding was that you were to win her as an atheist, hard drinker, and a cynic, whereas you've turned moral reformer. You've been wearing a mask."

"Well, that's not your business."

"I think it is. Anyhow, you admit that this engagement is a grim joke."

"I repeat that that is not your business," said Leicester; "if I send the cheque to the hospital, the matter is done with, as far as you are concerned."

"And you really mean to say that you are a reformed character? I sincerely congratulate you."

"If you mean by that that I believe in your profession or your drawing-room meetings, no. I regard them as I always did."

"Then you have been simply playing a part with Miss Castlemaine?"

"And if I have, what is that to you?"

He was scarcely master of himself now, or he would not have allowed the conversation to drift into such a channel. But the man angered him almost beyond words, all the more so because he was mixed up in the affair, of which he felt ashamed.

"You admit it, then. All this teetotalism, this tone of moral earnestness which you have introduced into your speeches – it's all to win your wager."

"And if it is!" he cried. "Have I ever pretended to believe in any of the whining sentimentality of the world? Have I not all along insisted that everything is a matter of price!"

He had meant to have said exactly opposite to this when he saw these men, but they had, in spite of himself, aroused him to a kind of unreasoning anger.

"I think Miss Castlemaine ought to know," said Sprague.

"Perhaps you mean to tell her?" he asked.

"I have thought of it, certainly."

"Then let me tell you this, you fellows," he said, "if ever you do, I'll crush you, as I would crush an empty egg-shell. I'll make life a hell for you. I mean it! I have no fear of Winfield. He makes no profession of religion, and therefore will act squarely; but I say this to you two fellows – you, Sprague, and Purvis – if ever Miss Castlemaine hears of it, I know it will come from one of you two. No one else knows of it, and I shall quickly find out which of you two has told her. Well, I tell you this, no lost soul in the hell about which you preach to sinners shall suffer as you shall suffer."

He had taken the wrong line, and he knew it, yet he did not think, at that time, of a way in which he could make them feel what he felt. His pride forbade him telling them that he was really in earnest now, and that he was ashamed of the compact they had made. He did try to bring himself to it; but to go to Sprague and Purvis and to tell them that he really loved Miss Castlemaine, and to ask them to refrain from mentioning what had passed between them, was too much. Had they been men of a different order, he might have done it; but after the way he had regarded them, after he had laughed to scorn their religious notions, and their professed faith in women, he could not. He would maintain his old character, and he would make them fear to divulge the secret, which had now become the great fear of his life.

For the first time Sprague felt that he had pierced the weak place in Leicester's armour. He knew now that the man who had laughed at him was afraid of him, and he determined to take advantage of the position he held. It would help him to pay off old scores.

"If you will assure us that you are sincere in this new role you are playing," said Sprague, "and if you will promise never to touch drink of any sort again, it might be that – "

But Leicester did not allow him to finish the sentence. He rose to his feet in his passion.

"Promise you!" he cried, "Promise you!" He laughed bitterly, and scornfully. Then he sat down again, ashamed of himself for having allowed a man like Sprague to anger him so. "You mistake yourself," he said. "A gentleman does not argue with a cabman, or invite his laundress to dinner. You are presuming too far." He hesitated again for a second. "No," he went on, "I shall not promise anything, nor profess anything. I simply tell you that no word of this affair must pass your lips."

Sprague, stung by Leicester's words, was about to retort angrily.

"No, no, wait a minute," said Leicester, who now spoke very quietly. "Look at me for a moment – that's it. Now, you know me. You know that I am not tied down to claptrap morality. And you know this, too, when I say a thing I'll do it, ay, even if I have to swing for it. I'll do it. Whatever part I play elsewhere, I'm not playing a part now. I am in deadly earnest, and the devil always helps the man who is faithful to him. Well, I say this: if either of you breathe one word concerning that compact of ours – one word, mark you, especially to Miss Castlemaine – then no leper on a leper island shall suffer what you shall suffer, no victim of the Inquisition invented by your religious teachers has ever gone through the torments which you shall go through; no hell that was ever invented shall be as ghastly as the hell I will drag you through."

"You mean she would throw you over if she knew."

"No matter what I mean; but remember this, I am a man of my word, and I am in earnest about this. Winfield I know is safe, he is a gentleman, and he's not a rejected lover; but you others – well, I have said my say."

He left the club as he spoke, while the three men looked at each other wonderingly.

For some time after this nothing happened to disturb the serenity of Leicester's life. Little by little he was mastering the drink craving, while his outlook on life made him more and more cheerful. Olive Castlemaine had indeed wrought a wondrous change. When he was in her presence, at all events, the old Leicester was gone, and a new and happier man had taken his place. It is true Olive was not demonstrative in her affection towards him, but he was content, and as the wedding-day drew near it seemed to him that his happiness could not continue. The sky of his life was too bright, the joy was too great. Especially did he feel this on the evening before the day fixed for their wedding. He had come down from town to dinner, and when, after he had smoked a cigar with John Castlemaine, he and Olive were alone, it seemed to him as though his present happiness were a dream, and that he would presently awake to grim and stern realities.

"Why are you so sad, Radford?" asked Olive; "is anything worrying you?"

"Yes, no – I don't know."

She looked at him keenly.

"Something is troubling you," she said. "Won't you tell me?"