Part 73 (1/2)

”I don't pretend to guess. But it must be even as I say, and I am sure you will agree with me that it is best so.”

”Indeed, I am sure I shall do nothing of the sort,” he cries. ”You are only playing with me, Lilian, only doing this just to try me. You are; say you are, my darling. It is not kind of you after I have come far to find you.”

For all reply she shakes her head, sadly but firmly, and Truscott can see that every particle of faith she ever had in him is dead and buried.

”But your promise!” he cries. ”I have your promise, at all events. You cannot get out of that, nor do I intend to let you.”

”My promise!” she answers, and there is a scornful curve in the beautiful lips and a hard ring in the rich voice. ”My promise! To a man who woos in prosperity and deserts in adversity; who sees an unprotected girl thrown upon the world, lonely and unfriended; and makes no sign. Who, when she departs to live among strangers in a far-off land, suffers her to go without so much as a word of farewell and encouragement; and that, too, the girl whom in palmier days he professed to love. No, Ralph Truscott, you have cancelled my promise by your own act, and, even if no other bar existed its conditions should never be yours.”

Truscott's face is white with rage. He sees that his game is played out--that there is not a chance. He was prepared for some reproaches; in short, a good deal of unpleasantness, but not for such decision as this. His whole being quivers beneath a sense of overwhelming defeat, mortification, disappointment--nay, despair--and now, as he sees the prize slipping from his grasp, he is not sure whether he hates or loves her most.

”So the good, the pious, the saintly Lilian Strange can perjure herself in a way the most unregenerate would shrink from,” he sneers. ”The privilege of G.o.dliness, I suppose. Oh, so a 'bar' does exist, does it?

You should have told me that before.”

”It is impossible that you could not have known of it,” she replies, gently, but with quiet dignity. ”That I am plighted--to another.”

His answer is a harsh, jeering laugh.

”Oh, I have heard some nonsensical story of the kind, but I knew it couldn't be true. I thought you were only amusing yourself, in fact, knowing that anything serious was impossible, considering. So, of course, I didn't believe it.”

”What do you mean?” says Lilian, outwardly calm, but with indignation and contempt in her voice, for there is something so maliciously significant in his tone that she is disturbed in spite of herself.

”Don't deal in hints and innuendoes. Speak out--if you dare.”

”If I dare? Well, then, I will speak out,” answers Truscott, stung to madness by her scornful look. He will bring her to her knees, he thinks. ”This is what I mean,” dropping out his words deliberately. ”I knew it couldn't be true, because I knew it was impossible that Lilian Strange could be engaged to an ex-pirate, a murderer, and what, in her eyes, is probably much worse.”

”Do you know of whom you are speaking?”

”Of the man who calls himself Arthur Claverton.”

There is dead silence. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly; the crack of a waggon-whip in the High Street, and the harsh, long-drawn shout of the driver, sound plainly though distant through the still afternoon, and in the little garden the bees hum drowsily.

”You must be mad?”

Every vestige of colour has fled from Lilian's face, as she stands cold and statuesque, looking down upon her lover's traducer. But she is perfectly calm, for she does not believe one word of this, though the bare suggestion has upset her. He shall speak more plainly, though.

”Of course you don't believe me,” he says. ”I wasn't fool enough to expect you would--without proof. To begin, then. How much has this Claverton told you of his antecedents?”

”As much as I wish to know. But this is not proof.”

”Wait a bit. All in good time. He came to South Africa four years ago; quite so. Now has he by chance ever told you where he spent the two previous years--what he was doing?”

In spite of herself Lilian feels her heart sink somewhat. It happens that concerning that very portion of his career her lover has been conspicuously reticent. But she says carelessly:

”I dare say he has.”

”Indeed! You surprise me. Then it will be no news to you to learn that he was in Central Africa?”

”I believe he has been there. Go on.”

For Truscott pauses. He is watching her narrowly--playing with her in devilish malice. But he goes on in affected commiseration.