Part 63 (1/2)
Gertrude shrank back towards the couch, as the woman slowly entered, with her eyes fixed fiercely upon her, and the door swung to.
”Who is this?” she cried, in a low angry voice.
”Take no notice of her. I will get her away,” whispered Huish, crossing to Gertrude's side. ”She is mad!”
”No, girl, I am not mad,” said the woman sternly; for her hearing seemed to have been sharpened by her illness, and she had heard every word.
”John Huish,” she said sternly, ”answer me--who is this?”
Gertrude's eyes dilated with horror. She was confused and startled.
She could not comprehend her position or why they were there; and as the recollection of the happy evening she had spent came to mingle with the chaos of fancies and surmises that bewildered her brain, it seemed to her like some strange nightmare, from which she felt that she would soon awake into peace and repose.
To make the scene more impressive, the heavy, deep booming of a clock striking midnight floated into the room with a strange jangle of other bells, some slow, some hurried, all bent on proclaiming the same fact-- that another day was dead, another being born.
As the woman repeated her question, Huish's eyes grew dark with rage, and he pointed to the door.
”Go down,” he said, ”at once, or--”
She shrank from him for a moment as she saw his look; but her jealous rage mastered her fear, and she stepped farther into the room.
Huish seemed undecided what to do; he glanced at Gertrude, then at the woman, and then back to see that the former was looking at him imploringly, as if asking him to end the scene.
”Go back to bed,” he said firmly; ”you are ill!” and he laid his hand upon the woman's arm.
”Worse in mind than in body!” she cried, starting away. ”Girl,” she continued pa.s.sionately, ”you look truthful and unspoiled; tell me who you are.”
”Oh yes!” said Gertrude quickly, as she advanced with extended hand, and a look of pity in her face. ”I am Mrs Huish.”
The woman's lower jaw dropped, and a blank, stony look came into her eyes.
”Married!” she said hoa.r.s.ely. ”Are you his wife--to-day?”
”Oh no!” said Gertrude wonderingly; ”for some time now. You are ill and delicate. Can I do anything for you?”
”No, no--no, no! Don't touch me; I could not bear it. Tell me once more.”
”Here, enough of this!” cried Huish angrily. ”Go down!”
”Don't touch her,” said Gertrude excitedly; and she interposed. ”She is ill--very ill. I am Mrs John Huish,” she repeated.
”The woman he has wronged?”
”No, no!” said Gertrude, beginning to tremble, as she thought of the scene upon the stairs; ”but you are--”
”That man's lawful wife, whom he now casts aside for some pretty baby face that takes his fancy.”
”It is not true!” cried Gertrude with spirit; ”my husband is a gentleman and the soul of honour.”
”It is true! and that man is a liar--a cheat--a scoun--O G.o.d, I cannot bear it! Let me die!”
The woman threw up her hands and reeled. In another instant she would have fallen, but Huish stepped forward, caught her in his arms, and bore her out of the room, carrying her down to the next floor, while Gertrude, as she heard his receding steps, sank into a chair, and gazed blankly before her.