A Woman's Burden: A Novel

"How do you know that?"

"Because I am sure of it. Jabez had no reason to harm Mr. Barton. As to the will, I will only ask you – to put it on the lowest possible grounds – what had I to gain by its disappearance?"

"This, that you wanted to see me done out of the money. You know how you were always preaching to me on that subject, and urging me not to take it, saying that it would be my ruin, and I don't know what else!"

"And so it would have been. You know well that if you had inherited that money you would have been in your grave by now."

"Now look here, Miriam, I've had about enough of this. I'll drink what I jolly well please. Here goes." He poured out nearly half a tumbler of whiskey, and drank it down. "Now then, what have you to say?"

"Nothing, Gerald – for the present – further than I think you had better go to bed."

"Oh, that's just like you – after you have riled a chap. 'Pon my soul, Miriam, you're the most exasperating woman I know. You're always ready to go for me; you take precious good care, though, not to tell me much about yourself."

"You know everything about me, Gerald."

"No, I don't. That Jabez business is precious queer. Who is he? – what is he to you I should like to know?"

"Jabez is not unlike yourself – a weakling and an ingrate. I tried to save him from himself, as I have tried to save you."

"Oh, you seem to be a pretty old hand at experimenting with men. I don't believe you're any better than you ought to be!"

The drink had mounted to his brain now, and he was quite beside himself.

As Miriam left the room, she saw him pour out another half-tumbler of spirit.

"I shall sleep in the small bedroom to-night," she said. "You will probably sleep on the floor."

It was not the first time she had occupied that little room. Indeed, the number of occasions upon which she had been forced to do so, had been increasing all too frequently of late. She had made a huge mistake – she recognised it now. With such a man as this there could be no sense of security, hence no real happiness, though the sun of prosperity shone ever so brightly. With the pitying love of an angel she had put out her strong arm to pluck him from destruction. And for a time she had succeeded. But now he was eluding her grasp. The instinct within him was too strong for her to combat. His employer would soon come to complain of him. And then the end would soon be. Already he complained of her. Her very virtues were fast becoming faults in his eyes. But even now it was not of herself she thought, though her intellect was being starved, and her soul was sick with the sorrow of despair. No longer could she feel any hope for the future – for his future. Worn out and utterly dejected, she threw herself on the bed in the bare little room, and cried herself to sleep.

Next morning Gerald rose late, and, it seemed, repentant. In truth, he rose from the floor which had been his bed that night. He took a cold bath, and so braced up his shattered nerves a trifle. She received him with a smile, and made no reference to what had been. He apologised, and she forgave him, and there the thing ended – for the time. She alone knew how her heart ached. It was Sunday. He went to church, and rebuked her because she said she felt unable to accompany him. From the window she watched him, smartly dressed and for all the world the most punctilious of men. His tendencies were strongly ritualistic. He would probably confess his sins and take holy vows about the future. But the future would be no better than the past for all that.

With the assistance of the "cook-general" she made the beds, and dusted the rooms, and laid the table. Then she took a book and sat down in the drawing-room to read. But her thoughts would not follow her page. They drifted back to Jabez. Where was he now she wondered? What had become of him? It was two whole years since she had seen him.

There was a ring at the bell, and the "cook-general" entered with a card held between a floury thumb and a buttery forefinger.

Miriam looked at the card.

"Mr. Maxwell." She did not know the name. She wondered who it could be. Probably some friend of Gerald's.

"Show Mr. Maxwell in, Jane."

A tall man in a frock-coat, with a flower in his button-hole, and the most shiny of silk hats in his hand, stood in the door. She stepped forward to meet him, and recoiled, pale to the lips.

"Jabez!" she gasped. "You here!"

CHAPTER II.

JABEZ REDIVIVUS

It was Jabez. The prodigal had returned, though by no means in the rags of his Biblical prototype. Rather was he like the rich man in the parable – clothed in purple and fine linen. In modern parlance there was about him the look of a man with a balance at his bank. A vastly different person from the scarecrow who had met Miriam under the wall of Lesser Thorpe church.

"Jabez," she repeated – her voice was hoarse and low – "what are you doing here?"

"Not much yet; thought I just drop in and look you up, dear," replied the man, tossing his hat and gloves on to the sofa and making himself comfortable. "You don't seem overjoyed to see me though."

"No, I am not. Can you expect me to be? I thought you had passed out of my life for ever. How did you find me out here?"

"Shorty! There you have it. I looked in at the old shop where Mother M. still hangs out, and sure enough there the rascal was."

"And how did Shorty know?"

"Ah, that's more than I can tell you. You'd better ask him if you're curious on the point. For some reason of his own – and you may bet your bottom dollar it's a good one – he seems to have been keeping his wicked eye on you and your husband ever since you joined forces. It was Shorty told me you were married." He looked round the little room with a sneer which well became his Mephistophelian countenance. "But I say, Miriam, I should have thought you might have done a bit better than this! West Kensington, and cheap at that, isn't it?"

"I must ask you if you have anything of importance to say, Jabez, to say it and go. My husband will be home directly. He must not find you here."

"And why not, pray? You can introduce me as your old friend, Harry Maxwell – that's my name now. Thank the Lord Jabez is dead and buried for ever."

"You think so?" said Miriam, with a searching look and dropping her voice. "I should not advise you to be too sure about that. There is always the possibility of his being dug up, and then all the fine clothes in the world won't disguise him."

The man drew his hand across his throat with a significant expression.

"Not much fear of that," he replied, "especially with this beard. I flatter myself it's rather a neat growth." He stroked his chin complacently.

She pointed to his high bald forehead, on which was scarred a purple cicatrice – evidently the result of some terrible blow.

"That alone is always enough to betray you," she said in a whisper. "Jabez, it was sheer madness for you to return to this country. Remember Mother Mandarin knows everything."

"Oh, the old girl's right enough. I always take jolly good care to keep her in good tune. Besides, if it comes to that, I know enough about her to make it pretty hot for her. But you don't ask me what I've been doing, Miriam – I should have thought you'd have taken a bit of interest in a chap, especially when he's done as well as I have. The Cape's treated me pretty well all round, and I've come home with a tidy sum, I can tell you."

"Honestly, Jabez?"

"Rather – led a dog's life though to get it. I went shares in a claim with a pal. We struck gold, and struck it pretty rich, in no time – in fact, my luck changed as soon as ever I turned my back on this old country. I left my pal out there to look after our little patch; he's a good sort, and I shall be off out again to join him in a couple of months. Perhaps it is a bit risky my knocking about in a free and easy way like this; but to tell you the truth, Miriam, I got such a twist on me for the old place, that I had to pack up my traps and come just for a mouch round. I'm not really afraid. That old affair of mine is pretty stale now – shouldn't wonder even if they'd forgotten all about it by this time."

"That business – perhaps, Jabez, though I don't think so. But they are after you for another now!"

The man stopped twisting his red moustache, and stared at her in genuine consternation.

"What do you mean? What other? There's no other that I know of! 'Pon my soul, Miriam, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mr. Barton was strangled in his house at Lesser Thorpe the night after I met you by the church and gave you twenty pounds!"

"Yes; I heard that. It was in the papers a few days after. But what has that to do with me?"

"Can't you guess?" cried Miriam vehemently. "They suspect you of the murder!"

He jumped from the sofa, and looked round wildly.

"Is – is my – do they know my name?" he asked harshly.