Part 74 (1/2)
she replies. ”But in the former event, it all happened years ago, and the bare word of these people would go for nothing here. The idea is absurd.”
”Ha, ha, ha! Really I shall have to retract what I said just now about your having a judicial mind,” sneers Truscott. ”The bare word of these people would go for just this much here. It would make out a strong _prima facie_ case for the committal of this precious scoundrel--bail refused, of course--pending the making of inquiries and the procuring of more witnesses at Zanzibar, when he would be put upon his trial for piracy--piracy in its worst phase, mind--and murder. What do you think of that, Lilian Strange? In either case a conviction is certain, and in either case with the same result--the rope. So that is the fate in store for our gallows-bird before six months are over--a dance on nothing--and I shall get a pa.s.s to go into the gaol-yard and witness the fun.”
He has risen and is standing before her, his features working with a livid rage that is absolutely devilish. Suddenly the full, awful force of the situation sweeps across Lilian's mind, and with a low cry, like that of a stricken animal, and a shrinking motion, she drops her face into her hands.
”Ah, good G.o.d! Spare him!” she moans. ”Why will you harm him? _He_ never injured you!”
Heaven help her! She has let down her guard, and the enemy is prompt to rush in over it. From that moment she is completely at his mercy.
”Never injured me? What is she dreaming of? Good heavens! hasn't he robbed me of you--of you? Isn't that enough?” is the harsh, pitiless reply. ”Ha, ha! Six months about will do it. It'll be winter then-- June or July. The mornings are cold then. Perhaps, as a last kind act, I'll give the poor wretch a 'nip' out of my flask, before he's swung off, just to keep his spirits up, you know.”
”Demon,” whispers Lilian, hoa.r.s.ely, gazing at him in set, stony despair.
”I am just what you and he have made me. It is your own doing. You know I was never one of your G.o.dly lot. If a man does me an ill turn I repay it with interest, that is, if I am in a position to do so, which, in this case, fortunately I am. Five o'clock”--glancing at his watch--”I shall just have time to beat up my informant and take him round to the Public Offices before the magistrate goes away, or the Clerk of the Peace will do as well; and by making his deposition this evening we can get a warrant out and save the whole night by it. So you will soon see our friend again, Lilian, sooner than you expected, eh?
Now good-bye for the present. I am sorry you have driven me to this, but--” and he moves towards the door. Before he can reach it, she throws herself in front of him. He cannot leave the room without actual violence.
”Stop! Have you no mercy? No pity--for me--for me whom you once professed to love?” and the clear accents of her voice are wrung with despair--with a sense of her utter helplessness.
”None for _him_. None. Less than none. I _hate_ the man who has robbed me of you. He shall die, and I will go and witness his last struggles.”
”No. Spare him, Ralph, spare him! In killing him you will be killing me. Ah, G.o.d! Why was I ever sent into this world? I am the destruction of all whom I would gladly die for!” and she presses her hands tightly upon her temples, and a tremor of hopeless agony shakes the tall, beautiful figure.
Even the heart of that fiend in human shape smites him as he witnesses her awful grief, listens to her wild, despairing accents. But she is playing into his hands now--perfectly. At one time he almost thought the game a lost one, and was about to throw it up, when lo! one false move, and it is entirely his own.
”All whom you would gladly die for,” he repeats, echoing her words.
”Would you, then, die for this fellow?”
”G.o.d knows I would--a hundred times over,” she wails.
”Well then, listen. I will not require you to do that. What I require you to do is to live for him.”
She looks up quickly--her face transformed in wonderment, which is on the point of breaking out into joy. He is relenting.
”I mean, to live for him by living without him. That is the only way in which you can save his life.”
Her head droops again, and a shudder runs through her frame at this alternative, and Truscott, watching her, gloats over her anguish, remembering how she defied him at first.
”The conditions are not so hard as they might be,” he continues. ”I only stipulate that you shall never see him again, never hold another word of communication with him, either orally, on paper, or through a third person, henceforth from this moment. On those conditions I spare his life--otherwise--well, you know the alternative.”
”May I not even write him one line of farewell?” she asks, with a look in her dry, tearless eyes that would melt a stone. Her tormentor sees it, and turns his glance away, fearing for his resolution. One word of communication might undo the whole plot. At all costs he must separate them now and for ever. So again he invokes the demon of jealousy to his aid, and goads and lashes himself to his fiend-like work.
”No. I will spare his life, but nothing else. Those are my conditions.
Accept them or not. In three minutes it will be too late,” and he stands holding his watch in his hand.
Lilian is beside herself. An awful numbing sense of fatalism creeps over her. Is it to be? Ah, well, she will give her life for his, for this will kill her.
”Well? In another moment it may be too late.”
”I give in,” she says, in the same dreamy, hopeless tone.