Her Majesty's Minister

Turning to her, I grasped her hand, and, looking straight into those eyes which I had once believed to be so full of truth, honesty, and affection, I answered earnestly:

“I love no woman on earth except yourself, Edith. But to forgive is quite impossible.”

“No!” she cried wildly – “no! you cannot be cold and callous if you really love me. See! here at your feet I beseech of you to allow me to prove my innocence and show my love for you!”

“I once believed implicitly in you, Edith,” I said very gravely, still holding her hand; “but the discovery that you met your lover clandestinely beneath the very window of my room has so shaken my confidence that it is utterly impossible for you ever to re-establish it.”

“But he is not my lover!” she protested, her blanched face upturned to mine. “I swear he is not; nor has he ever been.”

“I have no proof of your declaration,” I answered, shaking my head dubiously.

“Except my oath,” she gasped in desperation. “Cannot you accept that? I swear by all I hold most sacred,” she cried, lifting her head and raising her face to Heaven – “I swear that I entertain no spark of affection for that man, and that he has never been my lover!”

“Then who is he?” I demanded. “What is his name?”

Chapter Twenty Eight

On the Crooked Way

She held her breath. Her hand trembled within my grasp. Then, after a moment, she faltered:

“He is not my lover. Is not my declaration sufficient?”

“No, it is not,” I responded harshly. “If he is nothing to you, as you allege, then why did you meet him secretly at night, and make an appointment to meet again after I had left Ryburgh?”

“Because I was forced to – because – ”

“Because you have allowed that shabby adventurer to love you!” I interrupted. “Because you have played me false!”

“I deny it!” she protested, a gleam of defiance flashing for an instant in her eyes. “I have never played you false, Gerald. The charge against me is utterly false and unfounded.”

“Then perhaps you will explain this wandering visitor’s business with you.”

“I would tell you all – all that has passed between us, but I dare not. My every action is watched, and if I breathed a single word to you he would know; and then – ”

“And what would happen then, pray?” I asked with some surprise, for I now saw that she entertained a deadly fear of her midnight visitor; it was evident that he held some mysterious power over her.

“The result would be disastrous,” she replied in a mechanical tone of voice.

“In what way?”

“Not only would it upset all the plans I have formed, but would in all probability be the cause of my own ruin – perhaps even of my suicide,” she added.

“I don’t understand you, Edith,” I said, turning again to her, in the hope that she would confide in me. “How would it cause your ruin? If you hesitate to tell me the truth, then it is certain that you fear some exposure.”

“You are quite right,” she answered, meeting my gaze unflinchingly; “I do fear exposure.”

“Then you admit your guilt? You admit that what I have alleged is the actual truth?”

“I do not, for a single instant. The charge is false, and without the slightest foundation,” she asserted. “You saw me speaking with him, you may have overheard our conversation, and you no doubt believe that he is my lover. But I tell you he is not.”

“His movements were mysterious,” I said dubiously. “I followed him.”

“You followed him!” she gasped, all colour leaving her face in an instant. “You actually followed him! Where did he go?”

She spoke as though she feared that I had discovered the truth as to his identity and calling.

“To a village some little distance away,” I replied ambiguously; “and I there discovered one or two things which increased my interest in him.”

“What did you discover? Tell me,” she urged, grasping my hand anxiously.

“What I discovered only led me still further to the belief that he held you within his power.”

“I have already admitted that,” she exclaimed. “I am perfectly frank in that respect.”

“And you will not tell me the reason? If you refuse to be open and straightforward with me, there surely can be no love between us. Confidence is the first step towards the union of man with woman.”

“I will tell you the reason,” she replied in a strange voice, almost as though she were speaking to herself. “It is because a secret exists between us.”

“Ah!” I cried, “I thought so. The secret of a love-affair – eh?”

“It concerns a love-affair, it is true, but not our own.”

“Oh, now this is interesting!” I cried with bitter sarcasm. “You are bound to each other because of your common knowledge of the love-affair of a third person. That is curious, to say the least of it. No,” I added, “I’m afraid, Edith, I cannot accept such a remarkable explanation, notwithstanding the ingenuity displayed in its construction.”

“In other words, you insinuate that I am lying to you!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with indignation.

“I do not use the term ‘lying,’” I said with a smile; “the word ‘prevarication’ is more applicable. A woman never lies.”

“You are not treating me seriously,” she complained quickly. “I have come here to tell you all that I can, and – ”

“And you have told me practically nothing,” I interposed.

“I have told you all that I dare at present,” she answered. “Some day, ere long, I hope to be in a position to make full confession to you, and then you will fully understand my action and appreciate the extreme difficulty and deadly peril in which I find myself at this moment.”

“You admit that you have a confession to make?”

“Of course I admit it. I wronged you when I met that man on the very night you were a guest beneath our roof. It is but just that you should know the whole of the ghastly truth.”

“That is what I am endeavouring to obtain from you,” I said. “I want to know who that shabby fellow was, and why he took such pains to keep his presence in Great Ryburgh a secret.”

“He had some good reason, I presume,” she replied.

“Do you declare that you know absolutely nothing of his movements?” I inquired.

“I know but little of them.”

“How long have you been acquainted?”