The Bond of Black

“Except you.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “I generally managed to escape.”

She noticed the hard look in my face, as I pondered over the strange fact. That this man who was such an intimate acquaintance of Aline’s was actually shop-walker where Muriel was employed added to the mystery considerably, rather than decreasing it.

“Why need we discuss him now?” she asked. “It is all over.”

“But your acquaintance with this man who has evidently striven to win your love must still continue if you remain where you are,” I said in a tone of annoyance.

“No,” she replied. “It is already at an end.”

“But he’s your shop-walker. If you have refused to go out with him, in future he’ll undoubtedly vent his spiteful wrath upon you.”

“Oh no, he won’t,” she laughed.

“Why?”

“Because he has left.”

“Left!” I echoed. “Of course you know where he is?”

“No, I don’t,” she replied. “He annoyed me in business by speaking harshly to me before a customer, and I told him plainly that I would never again go out in his company. He apologised, but I was obdurate, and I have never seen him since. He went away that night, and has not returned. His place was filled up to-day. At first it was thought that he might have stolen something; but nothing has been missed, and now his sudden departure is believed to be due to his natural impetuousness and eccentricity.”

“Then it would seem that owing to a disagreement with you he left his employment. That’s really very remarkable!” I said.

“Yes. Everybody thinks it strange, but, of course, they don’t know that we quarrelled.”

“And you swear to me that you have never loved him, Muriel?” I asked, looking straight into her upturned face.

“I swear to you, Clifton,” she answered. “I swear that he has never once kissed me, nor has he uttered a word of affection. We were merely friends.”

“Then that makes the aspect of affairs even more puzzling,” I observed. “That he had some motive for leaving secretly there is no doubt. What, I wonder, could it have been?”

“I don’t know, and it really doesn’t trouble me,” she replied. “I was exceedingly glad when he went, and now am doubly glad that I came and sought your forgiveness.”

“And I too, dearest,” I said, holding her hand tenderly in mine. “But, truth to tell, I have no confidence in that man. There was something about him that I didn’t like, and this latest move has increased my suspicion.”

“What suspicion?”

“That his intentions were not honest ones!” I answered.

“Why, Clifton,” she cried, “what an absurd fancy! Do you think that because I broke off his acquaintance, he intends to murder me?”

“I have no definite views on the subject,” I answered, “except that he intended to do you some evil, and has up to the present been thwarted.”

“You’ll make me quite nervous if you talk like that,” she responded, laughing. “Let us forget him. You once admired that woman, Aline Cloud, but that circumstance has passed out of my mind.”

“You must leave that place and go down to Stamford,” I said decisively. “A rest in the country will do you good, and in a few months we will marry.”

“I’ll have to give a month’s notice before I leave,” she answered.

“No. Leave to-morrow,” I said. “For I cannot bear to think, dearest, that now you are to be my wife you should still bear that terrible drudgery.”

She sighed, and her countenance grew troubled, as if something oppressed her. This caused me some apprehension, for it seemed as though, even now, she was not perfectly happy.

I gave tongue to this thought, but with a light laugh she assured me of her perfect contentment, and that her regret was only of the past.

Then we sat together, chatting in ecstatic enthusiasm, as I suppose all lovers do, planning a future, wherein our bliss was to be unalloyed and our love undying. And as we talked I saw how at last she became composed in that haven of contentment which is so perfect after the troubled sea of regret and despair, while I, too, felt that at last I wanted nothing, for the great desire of my life had been fulfilled.

Suddenly, however, thoughts of Aline, the mysterious woman who had come between us so strangely, the friend of this man Hibbert and the secret acquaintance of poor Roddy, crossed my mind, and I resolved to gain from her what knowledge she possessed. Therefore, with care and skill I led our conversation up to her, and then point-blank asked her what she knew regarding this woman whose face was that of an angel, and whose heart was that of Satan.

I saw how she started at mention of Aline’s name; how the colour fled from her cheeks, and how sudden was her resolve to fence with me; for at once she asserted her ignorance, and suggested that we might mutually agree to bury the past.

“But she is a mystery, Muriel,” I said; “a mystery which I have been trying in vain to solve through all these months. Tell me all you know of her, dearest.”

“I know nothing,” she declared, in a nervous tone. “Absolutely nothing.”

“But are you aware that this man, Hibbert, the man with whom you associated, was her friend – her lover?”

“What!” she cried, her face in an instant undergoing a strange transformation. “He – her lover?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Did you not know they were friends?”

“I can’t believe it,” she answered, pale-faced and bewildered. Whatever was the revelation I had made to her it had evidently caused within her a strong revulsion of feeling. I had, indeed, strong suspicion that these words of mine had supplied some missing link in a chain of facts which had long perplexed and puzzled her.

“What causes you to allege this?” she asked quickly, looking sharply into my eyes.

“Because I have seen them together,” I answered. “I have overheard their conversation.”

“It can’t be true that they are close acquaintances,” she said in a low, mechanical voice, as though speaking to herself. “It’s impossible.”

“Why impossible?” I inquired.

“Because there are facts which have conclusively shown that there could have been no love between them.”

“Are those facts so remarkable, Muriel, that you are compelled to conceal them from me?” I asked seriously in earnest.

“At present they are,” she faltered. “What you have told me has increased the mystery tenfold. I had never expected that they were friends.”

“And if they were, what then?” I inquired in eagerness.

“Then the truth must be stranger than I had ever dreamed,” she answered in a voice which betrayed her blank bewilderment.

The striking of the clock warned her that it was time she was going, and caused me to recollect that a man would call in a few minutes to repay a loan I had given him. He was an officer – a very decent fellow whom I had known for years, and who for a few weeks had been in rather low water. But he was again in funds, and having met me at the club that afternoon he promised to run over at ten o’clock, smoke a cigar, and repay me.

I regretted this engagement, because it prevented me seeing Muriel home; but when I referred to it she declared that she would take a cab from the rank outside, as she had done so many times in the old days of our friendship, and she would get back quite comfortably.

She buttoned her gloves, and after kissing me fondly re-adjusted her veil. Then, when we had repeated our vows of undying affection and she had promised me to return and lunch with me next morning, as it was Sunday, she went out and down the stairs.