The Under-Secretary

“But your secret concerns her,” Muriel declared. “Many times you have confided in her and asked her help at the various crises in your career. Why not now? Her very life is yours.”

“Am I to understand that you wish to pay me compliments, Miss Mortimer?”

“No. This is hardly the time for paying compliments. I speak the truth, Mr Chisholm. She loves you.”

“Then if that is really so, it seems an additional misfortune has overtaken me,” he replied hoarsely, unable as yet to grasp her motive.

“All the world knows that she is madly in love with you, and would be ready to become your wife to-morrow. Under all the circumstances I must say that your indifference strikes me as almost unbelievable.”

She was pleading for Claudia, a fact which made the mystery surrounding her all the more perplexing. He did not notice that she was calmly watching the effect of her words upon him.

“You hold a brief for Lady Richard, but I fail to see the reason why. We are friends, very old friends, but nothing else. Our future concerns no one but ourselves,” he said.

“Exactly. The future of each of you concerns the other,” she answered triumphantly. “She loves you, and because of this all her thoughts are centred in you.”

“I must really confess, Miss Mortimer, that I do not see the drift of your argument,” he said. “Lady Richard has no connection whatever with the present matter, which is my private affair alone.”

“But since she loves you as devotedly as she does, it concerns her deeply.”

“I repeat that we are friends, not lovers,” he replied with some asperity.

“And I repeat, just as emphatically, that she loves you, and that it is your duty to confide in her,” answered Muriel, determined not to haul down her flag.

“Love!” he cried bitterly, beginning to pace the room, for as soon as he thought of Claudia his attempt to remain calm was less and less effective; “what is love to me? There is no love for such as I.”

“No, Mr Chisholm,” she said earnestly, stretching forth her hand. “Pardon me, I pray, for speaking thus, but to every man and woman both love and happiness are given, if only they will accept it.”

He was thinking of Claudia, and of the fact that she had first seen Cator and had contrived to keep him aloof from the guests. She could surely suspect nothing, otherwise she would have waited to see him after the visitor’s departure. Yes, he knew that everything said by this fair-haired girl was quite true. That was the unfortunate factor in the affair. She loved him.

“Tell me, then,” he demanded at last, “what do you advise? You know that I have a secret; that I intend deliberately to take my life and to trouble no one any further. As you have prevented me from doing so, it is to you I look for help and good counsel.”

“I am ready and eager to give both,” she exclaimed, “only I very much fear that you do not trust me, Mr Chisholm! Well, after all, that is not very remarkable when the short period of our acquaintanceship is borne in mind. Nevertheless, I am Claudia’s friend, and consequently yours. You must really not do anything foolish. Think of your own position, and of the harsh judgment you will naturally provoke by your insane action!”

“I know! I know!” he replied. “But to me the opinion of the world counts for absolutely nothing. I have sinned, and, like other men, must bear the penalty. For me there is no pardon on this side of the grave.”

“There is always pardon for the man who is loved.”

“A love that must turn to hate when the truth is discovered,” he added bitterly, with a short, dry laugh. “No, I much prefer the alternative of death. I do not fear the end, I assure you. Indeed, I really welcome it,” and he laughed again nervously, as though suicide were one of the humours of life.

“No,” she cried in earnestness, laying her hand gently on his arm. “Listen to reason, Mr Chisholm. I know I have no right to speak to you like this – only the right of a fellow-creature who would prevent you from taking the rash step you contemplate. But I want you fully to realise your responsibility towards the woman who so dearly loves you.”

“Our love is ended,” he blurted out, with a quick, furtive look at the glass upon the writing-table. “I have no further responsibility.”

“Has it really ended?” she asked anxiously. “Can you honestly and truthfully say before your Maker that you entertain no love for Lady Richard – that she is never in your thoughts?”

Her question nonplussed him. A lie arose to his lips, but remained there unuttered.

“You are thinking of that former love,” she went on; “of that wild, impetuous affection of long ago, that madness which has resulted so disastrously, eh? Yes, I know. You still love Lady Richard, while she, for her part, entertains a loving thought for no other man but you. And yet there is a sad, sweet memory within you which you can neither stifle nor forget.” There was a tone of distinct melancholy in her voice.

“You have guessed aright,” he answered in a strained tone. “The tragedy of it all is before me day and night, and it is that alone which holds me at a distance from Claudia.”

“Why not make full confession to her?” she suggested, after a short pause.

Surely it was very strange, he thought, that she, who was little more than a mere girl, should venture to debate with him his private affairs. To him it appeared suspiciously as though she had already discussed the situation with the woman who had introduced her beneath his roof. Had they arranged all this between them? But if his madness had not blinded him, he would have detected the contemptuous curl of the lip when she uttered Claudia’s name.

“I have neither the wish nor the intention to confess anything,” he answered. “You alone know my secret, Miss Mortimer, and I rely upon your honesty as a woman to divulge nothing.”

For answer she walked quickly to the table, took up the glass, and flung its contents upon the broad, old-fashioned hearthstone.

“I solemnly promise you,” she said, as she replaced the empty tumbler and confronted him again. “I promise you that as long as you hold back from this suicidal madness the world shall know nothing. Live, be brave, grapple with those who seek your downfall, and reciprocate the love of the woman who is both eager and ready to assist and defend you.”

It struck him that in the last words of this sentence she referred to herself. If so, hers was, indeed, a strange lovemaking.

“No,” replied the despondent man. “My position is hopeless – utterly hopeless.”

As his head was turned away, he did not notice the strange glint in her eyes. For a single instant the fierce fire of hatred burned there, but in a moment it had vanished, and she was once more the same calm, persuasive woman as throughout the conversation she had been.

“But your position is really not so serious as you imagine,” she declared. “If you will only place confidence in me I can help you ever so much. Indeed, I anticipate that, if I so wish, I can rescue you from the exposure and ruin that threatens you.”

“You?” he cried incredulously. “How can you hope to rescue me?” he demanded sharply, taking a step toward her in his eagerness to know what the answer to his question would be.

“By means known only to myself,” she said, watching him with panther-like intensity. She had changed her tactics.

“From your words it would appear that my future is to be controlled in most respects by you, Miss Mortimer,” he observed with a slight touch of sarcasm in his hard voice.

“You have spoken correctly. It is.”

“And for what reason, pray?” he inquired, frowning in his perplexity.

“Because I alone know the truth, Mr Chisholm,” she said distinctly. “I am aware of the secret of your sin. All of these hideous facts are in my possession.”

He started violently, glaring at her open-mouthed, as though she were some superhuman monstrosity.

“You believe that I am lying to you, but I declare that I am not. I am in full possession of the secret of your sin, even to its smallest detail. If you wish, I will defend you, and show you a means by which you can defy those who are seeking to expose you. Shall I give you proof that I am cognisant of the truth?”

He nodded in the affirmative, still too dumbfounded to articulate.

Moving suddenly she stepped forward to the table, took up a pen, and wrote two words upon a piece of paper, which she handed to him in silence.

He grasped it with trembling fingers. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it than a horrible change swept over his countenance.

“My God! Yes!” he gasped, his face blanched to the lips. “It was that name. Then you really know my terrible guilt. You – a comparative stranger!”

“Yes,” she answered. “I know everything, and can yet save you, if you will place your trust in me – even though I am little more than a stranger.”

“And if I did – if I allowed you to strive on my behalf? What then?”

She looked straight at him. The deep silence of the night was again broken by the musical chimes high up in the ancient turret.