The Deliverer

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Title:     The Deliverer
Author: Ethel May Dell [More Titles by Dell]

The Deliverer[1]

I

A PROMISE OF MARRIAGE

The band was playing very softly, very dreamily; it might have been a lullaby. The girl who stood on the balcony of the great London house, with the moonlight pouring full upon her, stooped, and nervously, fumblingly, picked up a spray of syringa that had fallen from among the flowers on her breast.

The man beside her, dark-faced and grave, put out a perfectly steady hand.

"May I have it?" he said.

She looked up at him with the start of a trapped animal. Her face was very pale. It was in striking contrast to the absolute composure of his. Very slowly and reluctantly she put the flower into his outstretched hand.

He took it, but he took her fingers also and kept them in his own.

"When will you marry me, Nina?" he asked.

She started again and made a frightened effort to free her hand.

He smiled faintly and frustrated it.

"When will you marry me?" he repeated.

She threw back her head with a gesture of defiance; but the courage in her eyes was that of desperation.

"If I marry you," she said, "it will be purely and only for your money."

He nodded. Not a muscle of his face moved.

"Of course," he said. "I know that."

"And you want me under those conditions?"

There was a quiver in the words that might have been either of scorn or incredulity.

"I want you under any conditions," he responded quietly. "Marry my money by all means if it attracts you! But you must take me with it."

The girl shrank.

"I can't!" she whispered suddenly.

He released her hand calmly, imperturbably.

"I will ask you again to-morrow," he said.

"No!" she said sharply.

He looked at her questioningly.

"No!" she repeated, with a piteous ring of uncertainty in her voice. "Mr. Wingarde, I say No!"

"But you don't mean it," he said, with steady conviction.

"I do mean it!" she gasped. "I tell you I do!"

She dropped suddenly into a low chair and covered her face with a moan.

The man did not move. He stared absently down into the empty street as if waiting for something. There was no hint of impatience about his strong figure. Simply, with absolute confidence, he waited.

Five minutes passed and he did not alter his position. The soft strains in the room behind them had swelled into music that was passionately exultant. It seemed to fill and overflow the silence between them. Then came a triumphant crash and it ended. From within sounded the gay buzz of laughing voices.

Slowly Wingarde turned and looked at the bent, hopeless figure of the girl in the chair. He still held indifferently between his fingers the spray of white blossom for which he had made request.

He did not speak. Yet, as if in obedience to an unuttered command, the girl lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of misery and indecision. They wavered beneath his steady gaze. Slowly, still moving as if under compulsion, she rose and stood before him, white and slim as a flower. She was quivering from head to foot.

The man still waited. But after a moment he put out his hand silently.

She did not touch it, choosing rather to lean upon the balustrade of the balcony for support. Then at last she spoke, in a whisper that seemed to choke her.

"I will marry you," she said--"for your money."

"I thought you would," Wingarde said very quietly.

He stood looking down at her bent head and white shoulders. There were sparkles of light in her hair that shone as precious metal shines in ore. Her hands were both fast gripped upon the ironwork on which she leant.

He took a step forward and was close beside her, but he did not again offer her his hand.

"Will you answer my original question?" he said. "I asked--when?"

In the moonlight he could see her shivering, shivering violently. She shook her head; but he persisted.

His manner was supremely calm and unhurried.

"This week?" he said.

She shook her head again with more decision.

"Oh, no--no!" she said.

"Next?" he suggested.

"No!" she said again.

He was looking at her full and deliberately, but she would not look at him. She was quaking in every limb. There was a pause. Then Wingarde spoke again.

"Why not next week?" he asked. "Have you any particular reason?"

She glanced at him.

"It would be--so soon," she faltered.

"What difference does that make?" A very strange smile touched his grim lips. "Having made up your mind to do something disagreeable, do you find shirking till the last moment makes it any easier--any more palatable? Surely the sooner it's over--"

"It never will be over," she broke in passionately. "It is for all my life! Ah, what am I saying? Mr. Wingarde"--she turned towards him, her face quivering painfully--"be patient with me! I have given my promise."

The smile on his face deepened into something that closely resembled a sneer.

"How long do you want me to wait?" he said. "Fifty years?"

She drew back sharply. But almost instantly he went on speaking.

"I will yield a point," he said, "if it means so much to you. But, you know, the wedding-day will dawn eventually, however remote we make it. Will you say next month?"

The girl's eyes wore a hunted look, but she kept them raised with desperate resolution. She did not answer him, however. After a moment he repeated his question. His face had become stern. The lines about his mouth were grimly resolute.

"Will you say next month, Nina?" he said. "It shall be the last day of it if you wish. But--next month."

His tone was inexorable. He meant to win this point, and she knew it.

Her breath came quickly, unevenly; but in face of his mastery she made a great effort to control her agitation.

"Very well," she said, and she spoke more steadily than she had spoken at all during the interview. "I will marry you next month."

"Will you fix the day?" he asked.

She uttered a sudden, breathless laugh--the reckless laugh of the loser.

"Surely that cannot matter!" she said. "The first day or the last--as you say, what difference does it make?"

"You leave the choice tome?" he asked, without the smallest change of countenance.

"Certainly!" she said coldly.

"Then I choose the first," he rejoined.

And at the words she gave a great start as if already she repented the moment of recklessness.

The notes of a piano struck suddenly through the almost tragic silence that covered up the protest she had not dared to utter. A few quiet chords; and then a woman's voice began to sing. Slowly, with deep, hidden pathos, the words floated out into the night; and, involuntarily almost, the man and the girl stood still to listen:

Shadows and mist and night,
Darkness around the way,
Here a cloud and there a star,
Afterwards, Day!

Sorrow and grief and tears,
Eyes vainly raised above,
Here a thorn and there a rose;
Afterwards, Love!

The voice was glorious, the rendering sublime. The spell of the singer was felt in the utter silence that followed.

Wingarde's eyes never left his companion's face. But the girl had turned from him. She was listening, rapt and eager. She had forgotten his very presence at her side. As the last passionate note thrilled into silence she drew a long breath. Her eyes were full of tears.

Suddenly she came to earth--to the consciousness of his watching eyes--and her expression froze into contemptuous indifference. She turned her head and faced him, scorning the tears she could not hide.

In her look were bitter dislike, fierce resistance, outraged pride.

"Some people," she said, with a little, icy smile, "would prefer to say 'Afterwards, Death!' I am one of them."

Wingarde looked back at her with complete composure. He also seemed faintly contemptuous.

"You probably know as much of the one as of the other," he coolly responded.

 

II

A RING OF VALUE

"So Nina has made up her mind to retrieve the family fortunes," yawned Leo, the second son of the house. "Uncommonly generous of her. My only regret is that it didn't occur to her that it would be a useful thing to do some time back. Is the young man coming to discuss settlements to-night?"

"What a beast you are!" growled Burton, the eldest son.

"We're all beasts, if it comes to that," returned Leo complacently. "May as well say it as think it. She has simply sold herself to the highest bidder to get the poor old pater out of Queer Street. And we shall, I hope, get our share of the spoil. I understand that Wingarde is lavish with his worldly goods. He certainly ought to be. He's a millionaire of the first water. A thousand or so distributed among his wife's relations would mean no more to him than the throwing of the crusts to the sparrows." He stopped to laugh lazily. "And the wife's relations would flock in swarms to the feast," he added in a cynical drawl.

Burton growled again unintelligibly. He strongly resented the sacrifice, though he could not deny that there was dire need for it.

The family fortunes were at a very low ebb. His father's lands were mortgaged already beyond their worth, and he and his brother had been trained for nothing but a life of easy independence.

There were five more sons of the family, all at various stages of education--two at college, three at Eton. It behooved the only girl of the family to put her shoulder to the wheel if the machine were to be kept going on its uphill course. Lord Marchmont had speculated desperately and with disastrous results during the past five years. His wife was hopelessly extravagant. And, of late, visions of the bankruptcy court had nearly distracted the former.

It had filtered round among his daughter's admirers that money, not rank, would win the prize. But somehow no one had expected Hereford Wingarde, the financial giant, to step coolly forward and secure it for himself. He had been regarded as out of the running. Women did not like him. He was scarcely ever seen in Society. And it was freely rumoured that he hated women.

Nina Marchmont, moreover, had always treated him with marked coldness, as if to demonstrate the fact that his wealth held no attractions for her. On the rare occasions that they met she was always ready to turn aside with half-contemptuous dislike on her proud face, and amuse herself with the tamest of her worshippers rather than hold any intercourse with the fabulous monster of the money-markets.

Certainly there was a surprise in store for the world in which she moved. It was also certain that she meant to carry it through with rigid self-control.

Meeting her two brothers at lunch, she received the half-shamed congratulations of one and the sarcastic comments of the other without the smallest hint of discomfiture. She had come straight from an interview with her father whom she idolized, and his gruff: "Well, my dear, well; delighted that you have fallen in love with the right man," and the unmistakable air of relief that had accompanied the words, had warmed her heart.

She had been very anxious about her father of late. The occasional heart attacks to which he was subject had become much more frequent, and she knew that his many embarrassments and perplexities were weighing down his health. Well, that anxiety was at least lightened. She would be able to help in smoothing away his difficulties. Surely the man of millions would place her in a position to do so! He had almost undertaken to do so.

The glad thought nerved her to face the future she had chosen. She was even very faintly conscious of a mitigation of her antipathy for the man who had made himself her master. Besides, even though married to him, she surely need not see much of him. She knew that he spent the whole of his day in the City. She would still be free to spend hers as she listed.

And so, when she saw him that evening, when his momentous interview with her father was over, she was moved to graciousness for the first time. A passing glimpse of her father's face assured her that all had gone well, aye, more than well.

As for Wingarde, he waived the money question altogether when he found himself alone with his _fiancee_.

"Your father will tell you what provision I am prepared to make for you," he coldly said. "He is fully satisfied--on your behalf."

She felt the sting of the last words, and flushed furiously. But she found no word of indignation to utter, though in a moment her graciousness was a thing of the past.

"I have not deceived you," she said, speaking with an effort.

He gave her a keen look.

"I don't think you could," he rejoined quietly. "And I certainly shouldn't advise you to try."

And then to her utter surprise and consternation he took her shoulders between his hands.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

There was not a shade of emotion to be detected in either face or voice as he made the request. Yet Nina drew back from him with a shudder that she scarcely attempted to disguise.

"No!" she said vehemently.

He set her free instantly, and she thought he smiled. But the look in his eyes frightened her. She felt the mastery that would not compel.

"One more thing," he said, calmly passing on. "It is usual for a girl in your position to wear an engagement ring. I should like you to wear this in my honour."

He held out to her on the palm of his hand a little, old-fashioned ring set with rubies and pearls. Nina glanced at him in momentary surprise. It was not in the least what she would have expected as the rich man's first gift. Involuntarily she hesitated. She felt that he had offered her something more than mere precious stones set in gold.

He waited for her to take the ring in absolute silence.

"Mr. Wingarde," she said nervously, "I--I am afraid it is something you value."

"It is," he said. "It belonged to my mother. In fact, it was her engagement ring. But why should you be afraid?"

For the first time there was a note of softness in his voice.

Nina's face was burning.

"I would rather have something you do not care about," she said in a low tone.

Instantly his face grew hard.

"Give me your hand!" he said shortly. "The left, please!"

She gave it, the flush dying swiftly from her cheeks. She could not control its trembling as he deliberately fitted the ring on to the third finger.

"Understand," he said, "that I wish this ring and no other to be the token of your engagement to me. If you object to it, I am sorry. But, after all, it will only be in keeping with the rest. I must go now as I have an appointment to keep. Your father has asked me to lunch on Sunday and I have accepted. I hope you will pay me the compliment of being at home."

III

THE HONEYMOON

The first of June fell on a Saturday that year, and a good many people remained in town for it in order to be present at the wedding of Lord Marchmont's only daughter to Hereford Wingarde, the millionaire.

Comments upon Nina's choice had even yet scarcely died out, and Archie Neville, her faithful friend and admirer, was still wondering why he and his very comfortable income had been passed over for this infernal bounder whom no one knew. He had proposed to Nina twice, and on each occasion her refusal had seemed to him to be tinged with regret. To use his own expression, he was "awfully cut up" by the direction affairs had taken. But, philosophically determined to make the best of it, he attended the wedding with a smiling face, and even had the audacity to kiss the bride--a privilege that had not been his since childhood.

Hereford Wingarde, standing by his wife's side, the recipient of congratulations from crowds of people who seemed to be her intimate friends, but whom he had never seen before, noted that salute of Archie Neville's with a very slight lift of his black brows. He noted also that Nina returned it, and that her hand lingered in that of the young man longer than in those of any of her other friends. It was a small circumstance, but it stuck in his memory.

A house had been lent them for the honeymoon by one of Nina's wealthy friends in the Lake District. They arrived there hard upon midnight, having dined on board the train.

A light meal awaited them, to which they immediately sat down.

"You are tired," Wingarde said, as the lamplight fell upon his bride's flushed face and bright eyes.

His own eyes were critical. She laughed and turned aside from them.

"I am not at all tired," she said. "I am only sorry the journey is over. I miss the noise."

He made no further comment. He had a disconcerting habit of dropping into sudden silences. It took possession of him now, and they finished their refreshment with scarcely a word.

Then Nina rose, holding her head very high. He embarrassed her, and she strongly resented being embarrassed.

Wingarde at once rose also. He looked more massive than usual, almost as if braced for a particular effort.

"Going already?" he said. "Good-night!"

"Good-night!" said Nina.

She glanced at him with momentary indecision. Then she held out her hand.

He took it and kept it.

"I think you will have to kiss me on our wedding night," he said.

She turned very white. The hunted look had returned to her eyes. She answered him with the rapidity of desperation.

"You can do as you like with me now," she said. "I am not able to prevent you."

"You mean you would rather not?" he said, without the smallest hint of anger or disappointment in his tone.

She started a little at the question. There was no escaping the searching of his eyes.

"Of course I would rather not," she said.

He released her quivering hand and walked quietly to the door.

"Good-night, Nina!" he said, as he opened it.

She stood for a moment before she realized that he had yielded to her wish. Then, as he waited, she made a sudden impulsive movement towards him.

Her fingers rested for an instant on his arm.

"Good-night--Hereford!" she said.

He looked down at her hand, not offering to touch it. His lips relaxed cynically.

"Don't overwhelm me!" he said.

And in a flash she had passed him with blazing eyes and a heart that was full of fierce anger. So this was his reception of her first overture! Her cheeks burnt as she vowed to herself that she would attempt no more.

She did not see her husband again that night.

When they met in the morning, he seemed to have forgotten that they had parted in a somewhat strained atmosphere. The only peculiarity about his greeting was that it did not seem to occur to him to shake hands.

"There is plenty to do if you're feeling energetic," he said. 'Driving, riding, mountaineering, boating; which shall it be?"

"Have you no preference?" she asked, as she faced him over the coffee-urn.

He smiled slightly.

"Yes, I have," he said. "But let me hear yours first!"

"Driving," she said at once. "And now yours?"

"Mine was none of these things," he answered. "I wonder what sort of conveyance they can provide us with? Also what manner of horse? Are you going to drive or am I? Mind, you are to state your preference."

"Very well," she answered. "Then I'll drive, please, I know this country a little. I stayed near here three years ago with the Nevilles. Archie and I used to fish."

"Did you ever catch anything?" Wingarde asked, with his quiet eyes on her face.

"Of course we did," she answered. "Salmon trout--beauties. Oh, and other things. I forget what they were called. We had great fun, I remember."

Her face flushed at the remembrance. Archie had been very romantic in those days, quite foolishly so. But somehow she had enjoyed it.

Wingarde said no more. He rose directly the meal was over. It was a perfect summer morning. The view from the windows was exquisite. Beyond the green stretches of the park rose peak after peak of sunlit mountains. There were a few cloud-shadows floating here and there. In one place, gleaming like a thread of silver, he could see a waterfall tumbling down a barren hillside.

Suddenly, through the summer silence, an octave of bells pealed joyously.

Nina started

"Why, it's Sunday!" she exclaimed. "I had quite forgotten. We ought to go to church."

Wingarde turned round.

"What an inspiration!" he said dryly.

His tone offended her. She drew herself up.

"Are you coming?" she asked coldly.

He looked at her with the same cynical smile with which he had received her overture the night before.

"No," he said. "I won't bore you with my company this morning."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"As you please," she said, turning to the door.

He made no rejoinder. And as she passed out, she realized that he believed she had suggested going to church in order to escape an hour of his hated society. It was but a slight injustice and certainly not wholly unprovoked by her. But, curiously, she resented it very strongly. She almost felt as if he had insulted her.

She found him smoking in the garden when she returned from her solitary expedition, and she hoped savagely that he had found his own society as distasteful as she did; though on second thoughts this seemed scarcely possible.

She decided regretfully, yet with an inner sense of expediency, that she would spend the afternoon in his company. But her husband had other plans.

"You have had a hot walk," he said. "You had better rest this afternoon. I am going to do a little mountaineering; but I mean to be back by tea-time. Perhaps when it is cool you will come for a stroll, unless you have arranged to attend the evening service also."

He glanced at her and saw the indignant colour rise in her face. But she was too proud to protest.

"As you wish," she said coldly.

Conversation during lunch was distinctly laboured. Wingarde's silences were many and oppressive. It was an unspeakable relief to the girl when at length he took himself off. She told herself with a wry smile that he was getting on her nerves. She did not yet own that he frightened her.

The afternoon's rest did her good; and when he returned she was ready for him.

He looked at her, as she sat in the garden before the tea-table in her muslin dress and big straw hat, with a shade of approval in his eyes.

He threw himself down into a chair beside her without speaking.

"Have you been far?" she asked.

"To the top of the hill," he answered. "I had a splendid view of the sea."

"It must have been perfect," she said.

"You have been there?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she answered, "long ago; with Archie."

Wingarde turned his head and looked at her attentively. She tried to appear unconscious of his scrutiny, and failed signally. Before she could control it, the blood had rushed to her face.

"And you found it worth doing?" he asked.

The question seemed to call for no reply, and she made none.

But yet again she felt as if he had insulted her.

She was still burning with silent resentment when they started on their walk. He strolled beside her, cool and unperturbed. If he guessed her mood, he made no sign.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked presently.

"It is the road to the wishing-gate," she replied icily. "There is a good view of the lake farther on."

He made no further enquiry, and they walked on in dead silence through exquisite scenery.

They reached the wishing-gate, and the girl stopped almost involuntarily.

"Is this the fateful spot?" said Wingarde, coming suddenly out of his reverie. "What is the usual thing to do? Cut our names on the gate-post? Rather a low-down game, I always think."

She uttered a sudden, breathless laugh. "My name is here already," she said, pointing with a finger that shook slightly at some minute characters cut into the second bar of the gate.

He bent and looked at the inscription--two names cut with infinite care, two minute hearts intertwined beneath.

Nina watched him with a scornful little smile on her lips.

"Artistic, isn't it?" she said.

He straightened himself abruptly, and their eyes met. There was a curious glint in his that she had never seen before. She put her hand sharply to her throat. Quite suddenly she knew that she was afraid of this monster to whom she had given herself--horribly, unreasonably afraid.

But he did not speak, and her scare began to subside.

"Now I'm going to wish," she said mounting the lowest bar of the gate.

He spoke then, abruptly, cynically.

"Really," he said, "what can you have to wish for now?"

She looked back at him defiantly. Her eyes were on a level with his. Because he had frightened her, she went the more recklessly. It would never answer to let him suspect this power of his.

"Something that I'm afraid you will never give me," she said, a bitter ring in her voice.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Among other things, happiness," she said. "You can never give me that."

She saw him bite his lip, but he controlled himself to speak quietly.

"Surely you make a mistake," he said, "to wish for something which, since you are my wife, can never be yours!"

She laughed, still standing on the gate, and telling herself that she felt no fear.

"Very well," she said, "I will wish for a Deliverer first."

"For what?"

His naked fist banged down upon the gate-post, and she saw the blood start instantly and begin to flow. She knew in that moment that she had gone too far.

Her fear returned in an overwhelming flood. She stumbled off the gate and faced him, white to the lips.

A terrible pause followed, in which she knew herself to be fighting him with every inch of her strength. Then suddenly, without apparent reason, she gave in.

"I was joking," she said, in a low voice. "I spoke in jest."

He made her a curt bow, his face inflexibly stern.

"It is good of you to explain," he said. "With my limited knowledge of your character and motives, I am apt to make mistakes."

He turned from her abruptly with the words, and, shaking the blood from his hand, bound the wound with his handkerchief.

"Shall we go on?" he said then.

And Nina accompanied him, ashamed and afraid. She felt as if at the last moment she had asked for quarter; and, contemptuously, because she was a woman, he had given it.

IV

A GREVIOUS WOUND

After that moment of madness by the wishing-gate Nina's wanton desire to provoke to wrath the monster to whom she was chained died a sudden and unnatural death. She was scrupulously careful of his feelings from that day forward, and he treated her with a freezing courtesy, a cynical consideration, that seemed to form a barrier behind which the actual man concealed himself and watched.

That he did watch her was a fact of which she was miserably conscious. She knew with the certain knowledge of intuition that he studied her continually. She was perpetually under the microscope of his criticism, and there were times when she told herself she could not bear it. He was too much for her; too pitiless a tyrant, too stern a master. Her life was becoming insupportable.

A fortnight of their honeymoon had passed away, when one morning Wingarde looked up with a frown from a letter.

"I have had a summons to town," he said abruptly.

Nina's heart leapt at the words, and her relief showed itself for one unmanageable second in her face.

He saw it, and she knew he saw it.

"I shall be sorry," he said, with cutting sarcasm, "to curtail your enjoyment here, but the necessity for my presence is imperative. I should like to catch the two-thirty this afternoon if you can be ready by then."

Nina's face was burning. She held herself very erect.

"I can be ready before then if you wish," she said stiffly.

He rose from the breakfast-table with a curt laugh. As he passed her he flicked her cheek with the envelope he held in his hand.

"You are a dutiful wife, my dear," he said.

She winced sharply, and bent her head over her own letters.

"I do my best," she said, after a moment.

"I am sure of it," he responded dryly.

He paused at the door as if he expected her to say more. More came, somewhat breathlessly, and not upon the same subject.

Nina glanced up with sudden resolution.

"Hereford," she said, "can you let me have some money?"

She spoke with the rapidity of nervousness. She saw his hand leave the door. His face remained quite unmoved.

"For yourself?" he asked.

Considering the amount of the settlement he had made upon her, the question was absurd. Nina smiled faintly.

"No," she said, "not for myself."

He took a cheque-book from his pocket and walked to a writing-table.

"How much do you want?" he asked.

She hesitated, and he looked round at her.

"I--I only want to borrow it," she said haltingly. "It is rather a big sum."

"How much?" he repeated.

"Five thousand pounds," she answered, in a low voice.

He continued to look at her for several seconds. Finally he turned and shut up his cheque-book with a snap.

"The money will be placed to your credit to-morrow," he said. "But though a financier, I am not a money-lender. Please understand that! And let your family understand it, too."

And, rising, he walked straight from the room.

No further reference was made to the matter on either side. Nina's pride or her courage shrank from any expression of gratitude.

In the afternoon with intense thankfulness she travelled southward. Never were London smoke and dust more welcome.

They went straight to Wingarde's great house in Crofton Square. Dinner was served immediately upon their arrival.

"I must ask you to excuse me," Wingarde said, directly dessert was placed upon the table. "I have to go out--on business. In case I don't see you again, good-night!"

He was on his feet as he spoke. In her surprise Nina started up also.

"At this hour!" she exclaimed. "Why, it is nearly eleven!"

"At this hour," he grimly responded, "you will be able to dispense with my society no doubt."

His tone silenced her. Yet, as he turned to go, she looked after him with mute questioning in her eyes. She had a feeling that he was keeping something from her, and--perhaps it was merely the natural result of womanly curiosity baffled--she was vaguely hurt that he did not see fit to tell her whither his business was taking him.

A few words would have sufficed; but he had not chosen to utter them, and her pride was sufficient to suppress any display of interest in his affairs. She would not court the snub that she felt convinced he would not hesitate to administer.

So he left her without explanation, and Nina went drearily to bed. On the following morning, however, the sun shone upon her, and she went downstairs in better spirits.

The first person she encountered was her husband. He was sauntering about the morning-room in his overcoat, a cup of strong tea in his hand.

He greeted her perfunctorily, as his fashion was.

"Oh, good-morning!" he said. "I have only just got back. I was detained unavoidably. I am going upstairs for an hour's rest, and then I shall be off to the City. I don't know if you would care to drive in with me. I shall use the car, but it will then be at your service for the rest of the day."

"Have you been working all night?" Nina asked incredulously.

He nodded.

"It was unavoidable," he said again, with a touch of impatience. "You had better have a second brew of tea, this is too strong for you."

He set down his cup and rang the bell.

Nina stood and looked at him. He certainly did not look like a man who had been up all night. Alert, active, tough as wire, he walked back to the table and gathered together his letters. A faint feeling of admiration stirred in her heart. His, strength appealed to her for the first time.

"I should like to drive into the City with you," she said, after a pause.

He gave her a sharp glance.

"I thought you would be wanting to go to the bank," he remarked coolly.

She flushed and turned her back upon him. It was an unprovoked assault, and she resented it fiercely.

When they met again an hour later she was on the defensive, ready to resist his keenest thrust, and, seeing it, he laughed cynically.

"Armed to the teeth?" he asked, with a careless glance at her slim figure and delicate face.

She did not answer him by so much as a look. He handed her into the car and took his seat beside her.

"Can you manage to dine out with some of your people to-night?" he asked. "I am afraid I shall not be home till late."

"You seem to have a great deal on your hands," she remarked coldly.

"Yes," said Wingarde.

It was quite obvious that he had no intention of taking her into his confidence, and Nina was stubbornly determined to betray no interest. Then and there she resolved that since he chose to give himself up entirely to the amassing of wealth, not hesitating to slight his wife in the process, she also would live her separate life wholly independent of his movements.

She pretended to herself that she would make the most of it. But deep in her heart she hated him for thus setting her aside. His action pierced straight through her pride to something that sheltered behind it, and inflicted a grevious wound.

V

A STRUGGLE FOR MASTERY

"Jove! Here's a crush!" laughed Archie Neville. "Delighted to meet you again, Mrs. Wingarde! How did you find the Lakes?"

His good-looking, boyish face was full of pleasure. He had not expected to meet her. Nina's welcoming smile was radiant.

"Oh, here you are, Archie!" she exclaimed, as they shook hands. "Someone said you were out of town, but I couldn't believe anything so tragic."

"Quite right," said Archie. "Never believe the worst till there is positively no alternative. I'm not out of town, and I'm not going to be. It's awfully nice to see you again, you know! I thought the sun had set for the rest of the season."

Nina uttered a gay little laugh.

"Oh, dear, no! We certainly intended to stay longer, but Hereford was summoned back on business, and I really wasn't sorry on the whole. I did rather regret missing all the fun."

Archie laughed.

"Hereford must be doing dark deeds then," he said, "of which he keeps the rest of the world in complete ignorance. The markets are dead flat just now--nothing doing whatever. It's enough to make you tear your hair."

"Really!" said Nina. "He gave me to understant that it was something urgent."

And then she became suddenly silent, meeting Archie's eyes, and aware of the surprise he was too much of a gentleman to express. With a cold feeling of dissatisfaction she turned from the subject.

"It's very nice to be back again among my friends," she said. "Can't you come and dine to-morrow and go to the theatre afterwards?"

Archie considered a moment, and she knew that when he answered he was cancelling other engagements.

"Thanks, I shall be delighted!" he said, "if I shan't be _de trop_."

There was a touch of mockery in Nina's smile.

"We shall probably be alone," she said. "My husband's business keeps him late in the City. We have been home a week, and he has only managed to dine with me once."

"Isn't he here to-night?" asked Archie.

She shook her head.

"What an infernal shame!" he exclaimed impulsively. "Oh, I beg your pardon! That was a slip."

But Nina laid her hand on his sleeve.

"You needn't apologize," she said, in a low voice. "One can't have everything. If you marry--an outsider--for his money, you have to pay the penalty."

Archie looked at her with further indiscretion upon the tip of his tongue. But he thought twice and kept it back.

"I say, you know," he said awkwardly, "I--I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she said gently. "Well, you will come to-morrow?"

"Of course," he said. "What theatre shall we go to? I'll bring the tickets with me."

The conversation drifted away into indifferent topics and presently they parted. Nina was almost gay of heart as she drove homeward that night. She had begun to feel her loneliness very keenly, and Archie's society promised to be of value.

Her husband was waiting for her when she returned. As she entered her own sitting-room, he started up abruptly from an arm-chair as if her entrance had suddenly roused him from sleep. She was considerably surprised to see him there, for he had never before intruded without her permission.

He glanced at the clock, but made no comment upon the lateness of the hour.

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself," he said somewhat formally.

The words were as unexpected as was his presence there. Nina stood for a moment, waiting for something further.

Then, as he did not speak, she shrugged her shoulders and threw back her cloak.

"It was a tremendous crush," she said indifferently. "No, I didn't enjoy it particularly. But it was something to do."

"I am sorry you are feeling bored," he said gravely.

Nina sat down in silence. She did not in the least understand what had brought him there.

"It is getting rather late," she remarked, after a pause. "I am just going to have a cup of tea and then go to bed."

A little tea-tray stood on the table at her elbow. A brass kettle was fizzing cheerily above a spirit stove.

"Do you want a cup?" she asked, with a careless glance upwards.

He had remained standing, looking down at her with an expression that puzzled her slightly. His eyes were heavy, as if they wanted sleep.

"Thank you," he said.

Nina threw off her wraps and sat up to brew the tea. The light from a rose-shaded lamp poured full upon her. She looked superb and she knew it. The knowledge deprived her for once of that secret sense of fear that so brooded at the back of her intercourse with this man. He stood in total silence behind her. She began to wonder what was coming.

Having made tea, she leant back again with her hands behind her head.

"I suppose we must give it two minutes to draw," she remarked, with a smothered yawn. "Isn't it frightfully hot to-night? I believe there is thunder about."

He made no response, and she turned her eyes slowly upon him. She knew he was watching her, but a curious sense of independence possessed her that night. He did not disconcert her.

Their eyes met. Hers were faintly insolent. His were inscrutable.

At last he spoke.

"I am sorry you have not enjoyed yourself," he said, speaking rather stiffly. "Will you--by way of a change--come out with me to-morrow night? I think I may anyhow promise you"--he paused slightly--"that you shall not be bored."

There was a short silence. Nina turned and moved the cups on the little tray. She did not, however, seem embarrassed.

"I happen to be engaged to-morrow evening," she said coldly at length.

"Is it important?" he asked. "Can't you cancel the engagement?"

She uttered a little, flippant laugh. She had not hoped for such an opportunity as this.

"I'm afraid I really can't," she said. "You should have asked me earlier."

"What are you going to do?"

There was a new note in his voice--a hint of mastery. She resented it instantly.

"That is my affair," she said calmly, beginning to pour out the tea.

He looked at her as if he scarcely believed his ears. He was silent for some seconds, and very quietly she turned to him and handed him a cup.

He took it from her and instantly set it aside.

"Be good enough to answer my question!" he said.

She heard the gathering sternness in his tone, and, tea-cup in hand, she laughed. A curious recklessness possessed her that night. She felt as if she had the strength to fling off the bands of tyranny. But her heart had begun to beat very fast. She realized that this was no mere skirmish.

"Why should I answer you?" she asked, helping herself to some more cream with a hand that was slightly unsteady in spite of her effort to control it. "I do not see the necessity."

"I think you do," he rejoined.

Nina said no more. She swallowed her tea, nibbled at a wafer with a species of deliberate trifling calculated to proclaim aloud her utter fearlessness, and at length rose to go.

In that moment her husband stepped forward and took her by the shoulders.

"Before you leave this room, please," he said quietly.

She drew back from him in a blaze of indignant rebellion.

"I will not!" she said. "Let me go instantly!"

His hold tightened. His face was more grim than she had ever seen it. His eyes seemed to beat hers down. Yet when he spoke he did not raise his voice.

"I have borne a good deal from you, Nina," he said. "But there is a limit to every man's endurance."

"You married me against my will," she panted. "Do you think I have not had anything to endure, too?"

"That accusation is false," he said. "You married me of your own accord. Without my money, you would have passed me by with scorn. You know it."

She began to tremble violently.

"Do you deny that?" he insisted pitilessly.

"At least you pressed me hard," she said.

"I did," he replied. "I saw you meant to sell yourself. And I did not mean you to go to any scoundrel."

"So you bought me for yourself?" she said, with a wild laugh.

"I did." Wingarde's voice trembled a little. "I paid your price," he said, "and I have taken very little for it. You have offered me still less. Now, Nina, understand! This is not going on for ever. I simply will not bear it. You are my wife, sworn to obey me--and obey me you shall."

He held her fast in front of him. She could feel the nervous strength of his hands. It thrilled her through and through. She felt like a trapped animal in his grasp. Her resistance began to waver.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I am going to conquer you," he said grimly.

"You won't do it by violence," she returned quickly.

Her words seemed to pierce through a weak place in the iron armour in which he had clad himself. Abruptly he set her free.

The suddenness of his action so surprised her that she tottered a little. He made a swift move towards her; but in a second she had recovered herself, and he drew back. She saw that his face was very pale.

"Are you quite sure of that?" he asked.

She did not answer him. Shaking from head to foot, she stood facing him. But words would not come.

After a desperate moment the tension was relaxed. He turned on his heel.

"Well, I have warned you," he said, and strode heavily away.

The moment she ceased to hear his footsteps, Nina sank down into a chair and burst into tears.

VI

AN OFFER OF HELP

On the following morning Nina did not descend the stairs till she had heard the car leave the house. The strain of the previous night's interview had told upon her. She felt that she had not the resolution to face such another.

The heat was intense. She remembered with regret that she had promised to attend a charitable bazaar in the City that afternoon. Somehow she could summon no relish either for that or the prospect of the theatre with Archie at night. She wondered whither her husband had proposed to take her, half wishing she had yielded a point to go.

She went to the bazaar, fully prepared to be bored. The first person she saw, however, was Archie, and at once the atmosphere seemed to lighten.

He attached himself to her without a moment's delay.

"I say," he said, "send your car back! I'll take you home. I've got my hansom here. It's much more exciting than a motor. We'll go and have tea somewhere presently."

Nina hesitated for barely a second, then did as he required.

Archie's eyes were frankly tender. But, after all, why not? They had known each other all their lives. She laughed at the momentary scruple as they strolled through the bazaar together.

Archie bought her an immense fan--"to keep off the flies," as he elegantly expressed it; and she made a few purchases herself as in duty bound, and conversed with several acquaintances.

Then, her companion becoming importunate for departure, she declined tea in the hall and went away with him.

Archie was enjoying himself hugely.

"Now, where would you like to go for tea?" he asked as they drove away.

"I don't care in the least," she said, "only I'm nearly dead. Let it be somewhere close at hand."

Archie promptly decided in favour of a tea-shop in St. Paul's Churchyard.

"I suppose you have read the morning papers?" he said, as they sat down. "I thought your husband had something up his sleeve."

"What do you mean?" queried Nina quickly. "No, I know nothing."

Archie laughed.

"Don't you really? Well, he has made a few thousands sit up, I can tell you. You've heard of the Crawley gold fields? Heaven knows where they are, but that doesn't matter--somewhere in Australia of course. No one knew anything about them till recently. Well, they were boomed tremendously a little while ago. Your husband was the prime mover. He went in for them largely. Everyone went for them. They held for a bit, then your husband began to sell as fast as he could. And then, of course, the shares went down to zero. People waited a bit, then sold--for what they could get. No one knew who did the buying till yesterday. My dear Nina, your husband has bought the lot. He has got the whole concern into his hands for next to nothing. The gold fields have turned up trumps. They stand three times as high as they ever did before. He was behind the scenes. He merely sold to create a slump. If he chose to sell again he could command almost any price he cared to ask. Well, one man's loss is another man's gain. But he's as rich as Croesus. They say there are a good many who would like to be at his throat."

Nina listened with disgust undisguised on her face.

"How I loathe money!" she said abruptly.

"Oh, I say!" protested Archie. "You're not such an extremist as that. Think of the host of good things that can't be done without it."

"What good things does he do?" she demanded contemptuously. "He simply lives to heap up wealth."

"You can't say for certain that he doesn't do a few decent things when no one's looking," suggested Archie, who liked to be fair, even to those for whom he felt no liking. "People--rich men like that--do, you know. Why, only last night I heard of a man--he's a West End physician--who runs a sort of private hospital somewhere in the back slums, and actually goes and practises there when his consulting hours are over. Pure philanthropy that, you know. And no one but the slummers any the wiser. They say he's simply adored among them. They go to him in all their troubles, physical or otherwise. That's only an instance. I don't say your husband does that sort of thing. But he may."

Nina uttered her bitter little laugh.

"You always were romantic, Archie," she said. "But I'm afraid I'm past the romantic age. Anyhow I'm an unbeliever."

Archie gave her a keen look.

"I say--" he said, and stopped.

"Well?" Nina looked back at him questioningly.

"I beg your pardon," he said, colouring boyishly. "You won't like what I was going to say. I think I won't say it."

"You needn't consider my feelings," she returned, "I assure you I am not used to it."

"Oh, well," he said. "I was going to say that you talk as if he were a beast to you. Is he?"

Nina raised her dark eyebrows and did not instantly reply. Archie looked away from her. He felt uncomfortably that he had gone too far.

Then slowly she made answer:

"No, he is not. I think he has begun to realize that the battle is not always to the strong."

Struck by something in her tone, Archie glanced at her again.

"Jove!" he suddenly said. "How you hate him!"

The words were out almost before he knew it. Nina's face changed instantly. But Archie's contrition was as swift.

"Oh, I say, forgive me!" he broke in, with a persuasive hand on her arm. "Do, if you can! I know it was unpardonable of me. I'm so awfully sorry. You see, I--"

She interrupted hastily.

"It doesn't matter--it doesn't matter. I understand. It was quite an excusable mistake. Please don't look so distressed! It hasn't hurt me much. I think it would have hurt me more if it had been literally true."

The sentences ran out rapidly. She was as agitated as he. They had the little recess to themselves, and their voices scarcely rose above a whisper.

"Then it wasn't true?" Archie said, with a look of relief.

Nina drew back. She was not prepared to go as far as that. All her life she had sought to be honest in her dealings.

"It hasn't come actually to that yet," she said under her breath. "But it may--it may."

Somehow it relieved the burden that pressed upon her to be able to speak thus openly to her life-long comrade. But Archie looked grieved, almost shocked.

"What will you do if it does?" he asked.

"I shall leave him," she said, her face growing hard. "I think he understands that."

There was a heavy silence between them. Then impulsively, with pure generosity, Archie spoke.

"Nina," he said, "if you should need--help--of any sort, you know--will you count on me?"

Nina hesitated for a moment.

"Please!" said Archie gently.

She bent her head.

"Thank you," she said. "I will."

VII

THE DELIVERER

Half-an-hour later they went out again into the blazing sunshine.

"What do you think of my hack?" Archie asked, as they drove away westwards. "I got him at Tattersall's the other day. I haven't driven him before to-day. He's a bit jumpy. But I like an animal that can jump, don't you know."

"I know you do," laughed Nina. "I believe that is purely why you haven't started a motor yet. They can do everything that is vicious and extraordinary except jump. But do you really like a horse to shy at everything he passes? Look at him now! He doesn't like that hand-cart with red paint."

"He's an artist," grinned Archie. "It offends his eye; and no wonder. Don't be alarmed, though! He won't do anything outrageous. My man knows how to manage him."

Nina leant back. She was not, as a rule, nervous, but, as Archie's new purchase was forced protesting past the object of his fright, she was conscious of a very decided feeling of uneasiness. The animal looked to her vicious as well as alarmed.

They got safely past the hand-cart, and a brief interval of tranquillity followed as they trotted briskly down Ludgate Hill.

"He won't have time to look at anything now," said Archie cheerfully.

The words had scarcely left his lips when the tire of a stationary car they were passing exploded with a report like a rifle shot. In a second Archie's animal leapt into the air, struck the ground with all four hoofs together--and bolted.

"My man's got him," said Archie. "Sit still! Nothing's going to happen."

He put his arm in front of Nina and gripped the farther side of the hansom.

But Nina had not the smallest intention of losing her head. During the first few moments her sensations were more of breathless interest than fear. Certainly she was very far from panic.

She saw the roadway before them clear as if by magic before their galloping advance. She heard shouts, warning cries, yells of excitement. She also heard, very close to her, Archie's voice, swearing so evenly and deliberately that she was possessed by an insane desire to laugh at him. Above everything else, she heard the furious, frantic rhythm of the flying hoofs before them. And yet somehow inexplicably she did not at first feel afraid.

They tore with a speed that seemed to increase momentarily straight down the thoroughfare that a few seconds before had seemed choked with traffic. They shaved by vans, omnibuses, hand-barrows. Houses and shops seemed to whirl past them, like a revolving nightmare--ever the same, yet somehow ever different. A train was thundering over the bridge as they galloped beneath it. The maddened horse heard and stretched himself to his utmost speed.

And then came tragedy--- the tragedy that Nina always felt that she had known from the beginning of that wild gallop must come.

As they raced on to Ludgate Circus she had a momentary glimpse of a boy on a bicycle traversing the street before them at right angles. Archie ceased suddenly to swear. The reins that till then had been taut sagged down abruptly. He made a clutch at them and failed to catch them. They slipped away sideways and dragged on the ground.

There came a shock, a piercing cry. Nina started forward for the first time, but Archie flung his arms round her, holding her fast. Then they were free of the obstacle and dashing on again.

"Let me see!" she gasped. "Let me see!"

They bumped against a curb and nearly overturned. Then one of their wheels caught another vehicle. The hansom was whizzed half round, but the pitiless hoofs still tore on and almost miraculously the worst was still averted.

Archie's hold was close and nearly suffocated her; but over his shoulder Nina still managed to look ahead.

And thus looking she saw the most wonderful, and the most terrifying, episode of the whole adventure.

She saw a man in faultless City attire leap suddenly from the footway to the road in front of them. For a breathless instant she saw him poised to spring, and in her heart there ran a sudden, choking sense of anguished recognition. She shut her eyes and cowered in Archie's arms. Deliverance was coming. She felt it in every nerve. But how? And by whom?

There came a jerk and a plunge, a furious, straining effort. The fierce galloping ceased, yet they made still for a few yards a halting, difficult progress.

Then they stopped altogether, and she felt the shock of hoofs upon the splashboard.

Another moment and that, too, ceased. They stood still, and Archie's arms relaxed.

Nina lifted her head and saw her husband hatless in the road, his face set and grim, his hands gripping the reins with a strength that evidently impressed upon the runaway the futility of opposition. In his eyes was a look that made her tremble.

VIII

AFTER THE ACCIDENT

"You had better go home in the car," Wingarde said. "It is waiting for me in Fenwick Street. Mr. Neville, perhaps you will be good enough to accompany my wife. Your animal is tame enough now. Your man will have no difficulty with it, if he is to be found."

"Ah! Exactly!" Archie said.

He looked round vaguely. Nina was leaning on his arm. His man was nowhere to be seen, having some minutes since abandoned a situation which he had discovered to be beyond his powers to deal with.

A crowd surrounded them, and a man at his elbow informed him that his driver had thrown down the reins and jumped off before they were clear of the railway bridge. Archie swallowed the comment upon this discreet behaviour, that rose to his lips.

A moment later Wingarde, who had seemed on the point of departure, pushed his way hastily-back to him.

"Never mind the hansom!" he said. "I believe your man has been hurt. I will see to it. Just take my wife out of this, will you? I want to see if that boy is alive or dead."

He had turned again with the words, forcing his way through the crowd. Nina pressed after him. She was as white as the dress she wore. There was no holding her back. Archie could only accompany her.

It was difficult to get through the gathering throng. When finally they succeeded in doing so, they found Wingarde stooping over the unconscious victim of the accident. He had satisfied himself that the boy lived, and was feeling rapidly for broken bones.

Becoming aware of Nina's presence, he looked up with a frown. Then, seeing her piteous face, he refrained from uttering the curt rebuke that had risen to his lips.

"I want you to go home," he said. "I will do all that is necessary here. Neville, take my wife home! The car is close at hand in Fenwick Street."

"He isn't dead?" faltered Nina shakily.

"No--certainly not." Wingarde's voice was confident.

He turned from her to speak to a policeman; and Nina yielded to Archie's hand on her arm. She was more upset than she had realized.

Neither of them spoke during the drive westwards. Archie scowled a good deal, but he gave no vent to his feelings.

Arrived in Crofton Square, he would have taken his leave of her. But Nina would not hear of this.

"Please stay till Hereford comes!" she entreated. "You will want to know what he has done. Besides, I want you."

Archie yielded to pressure. No word was spoken by either in praise or admiration of the man who had risked his life to save theirs. Somehow it was a difficult subject between them.

Nearly two hours later Wingarde arrived on foot. He reported Archie's man only slightly the worse for his adventure.

"It ought to have killed him," he said briefly. "But men of that sort never are killed. I told him to drive back to stables. The horse was as quiet as a lamb."

"And the boy?" Nina asked eagerly.

"Oh, the boy!" Wingarde said. "His case is more serious. He was taken to the Wade Home. I went with him. I happen to know Wade."

"That's the West End physician," said Archie. "He calls himself Wade, I know, when he wants to be _incog_."

"That's the man," said Wingarde. "But I am not acquainted with him as the West End physician. He is purely a City acquaintance. Oh, are you going, Neville? We shall see you again, I suppose?"

It was not cordially spoken. Archie coloured and glanced at Nina.

"You are coming to dinner, aren't you?" she said at once. "Please do! We shall be alone. And you promised, didn't you?"

Archie hesitated for a moment. Wingarde was looking at him piercingly.

"I hope you won't allow my presence to interfere with any plans you may have made for to-night's amusement," he remarked. "I shall be obliged to go out myself after dinner."

Archie drew himself up. Wingarde's tone stung.

"You are very good," he said stiffly. "What do you say, Nina? Do you feel up to the theatre?"

Nina's colour also was very high. But her eyes looked softer than usual. She turned to her husband.

"Couldn't you come, too, for once, Hereford?" she asked. "We were thinking of the theatre. It--it would be nice if you came too."

The falter in the last sentence betrayed the fact that she was nervous.

Wingarde smiled faintly, contemptuously, as he made reply.

"Really, that's very kind of you," he said. "But I am compelled to plead a prior engagement. You will be home by midnight, I suppose?"

Archie made an abrupt movement. For a second he hovered on the verge of an indignant outburst. The man's manner, rather than his words, was insufferable. But in that second he met Wingarde's eyes, and something he saw there checked him. He pulled himself together and somewhat awkwardly took his leave.

Wingarde saw him off, with the scoffing smile upon his lips. When he returned to the drawing-room Nina was on her feet, waiting for him. She was still unusually pale, and her eyes were very bright. She wore a restless, startled look, as though her nerves were on the stretch.

Wingarde glanced at her.

"You had better go and lie down till dinner," he said.

Nina looked back at him. Her lips quivered a little, but when she spoke her voice was absolutely steady. She held her head resolutely high.

"I think Archie must have forgotten to thank you," she said, "for what you did. But I have not. Will you accept my gratitude?"

There was proud humility in her voice. But Wingarde only shrugged his shoulders with a sneer.

"Your gratitude would have been more genuine if you had been saved a widow instead of a wife," he said brutally.

She recoiled from him. Her eyes flashed furious indignation. She felt as if he had struck her in the face. She spoke instantly and vehemently. Her voice shook.

"That is a poison of your own mixing," she said. "You know it!"

"What! It isn't true?" he asked.

He drew suddenly close to her. His eyes gleamed also with the gleam of a smouldering fire. She saw that he was moved. She believed him to be angry. Trembling, yet scornful, she held her peace.

He gripped her wrists suddenly, bending his dark face close to hers.

"If it isn't true--" he said, and stopped.

She drew back from him with a startled movement. For an instant her eyes challenged his. Then abruptly their fierce resistance failed. She turned her face aside and burst into tears.

In a moment she was free. Her husband stood regarding her with a very curious look in his eyes. He watched her as she moved slowly away from him, fighting fiercely, desperately, to regain her self-control. He saw her sit down, leaving almost the length of the room between them, and lean her head upon her hand.

Then the man's arrested brutality suddenly reasserted itself, and he strode to the door.

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed as he went. "Don't I know that you pray for a deliverer every night of your life? And what deliverer would you have if not death--the surest of all--in your case positively the only one within the bounds of possibility?"

He was gone with the words, but she would not have attempted to answer them had he stayed. Her head was bowed almost to her knees, and she sat quite motionless, as if he had stabbed her to the heart.

Later she dined alone with Archie in her husband's unexplained absence, and later still, at the theatre, her face was as gay, her laugh as frequent, as any there.

IX

THE END OF A MYSTERY

On the following afternoon Nina went to the Wade Home to see the victim of the accident. She was received by the matron, a middle-aged, kindly woman, who was openly pleased with the concern her visitor exhibited.

"Oh, he's better," she said, "much better. But I'm afraid I can't let you see him now, as he is asleep. Dr. Wade examined him himself yesterday. And he was here again this morning. His opinion is that the spine has been only bruised. While unconsciousness lasted, it was, of course, difficult to tell. But the patient became conscious this morning, and Dr. Wade said he was very well pleased with him on the whole. He thinks we shall not have him very long. He's a bright little chap and thoroughly likes his quarters. His father is a dock labourer. Everyone knows the Wade Home, and all the patients consider themselves very lucky to be here. You see, the doctor is such a favourite wherever he goes."

"I have never met Dr. Wade," Nina said. "I suppose he is a great man?"

The matron's jolly face glowed with enthusiasm.

"He is indeed," she said--"a splendid man. You probably know him by another name. They say he is a leading physician in the West End. But we City people know him and love him by his assumed name only. Why, only lately he cut short his holiday on purpose to be near one of his patients who was dying. If you could manage to come to-morrow afternoon after four o'clock, no doubt you would see him. It is visiting-day, and he is always here on Sunday afternoons between three and six in case the visitors like to see him. I should be delighted to give you some tea. And you could then see the little boy."

"Thank you," Nina said. "I will."

That evening she chanced to meet Archie Neville at a friend's dinner-table and imparted to him her purpose.

"Jove!" he said. "Good idea! I'll come with you, shall I?"

"Please not in the hansom!" she said.

"Not a bit of it," returned Archie. "But you needn't be nervous. I've sacked that man. No matter! We'll go in a wheelbarrow if you think that'll be safer."

Nina laughed and agreed to accept his escort. Archie's society was a very welcome distraction just then.

To her husband she made no mention of her intention. She had established the custom of going her own way at all times. It did not even cross her mind to introduce the subject. He was treating her with that sarcastic courtesy of his which was so infinitely hard to bear. It hurt her horribly, and because of the pain she avoided him as much as she dared.

She did not know how he spent his time on Sundays. Except for his presence at luncheon she found she was left as completely to her own devices as on other days.

She had agreed to drive Archie to the Wade Home in her husband's landaulette.

Wingarde left the house before three and she was alone when Archie arrived.

The latter looked at her critically.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," she returned instantly. "Why?"

"You're looking off colour," he said.

Nina turned from him impatiently.

"There is nothing the matter with me," she said. "Shall we start?"

Archie said no more. But he glanced at her curiously from time to time. He wondered privately if her husband's society were driving her to that extreme which she had told him she might reach eventually.

Visitors were being admitted to the Wade Home when they arrived. They were directed to the ward where lay the boy in whom they were interested. Nina presented him with flowers and a book, and sat for some time talking with him. The little fellow was hugely flattered by her attentions, though too embarrassed to express his pleasure in words. Archie amused himself by making pennies appear and disappear in the palms of his hands for the benefit of a sad-faced urchin in the next bed who had no visitors.

In the midst of this the matron bustled in to beg Nina and her companion to take a cup of tea in her room.

"Dr. Wade is here and sure to come in," she said. "I should like you to meet him."

Nina accordingly took leave of her _protege_, and, followed by Archie, repaired to the matron's room.

The windows were thrown wide open, for the afternoon was hot. They sat down, feeling that tea was a welcome sight.

"I have a separate brew for Dr. Wade," said the matron cheerily. "He likes it so very strong. He almost always takes a cup. There! I hear him coming now."

There sounded a step in the passage and a man's quiet laugh. Nina started slightly.

A moment later a voice in the doorway said:

"Ah! Here you are, Mrs. Ritchie! I have just been prescribing a piece of sugar for this patient of ours. Her mother is waiting to take her away."

Nina was on her feet in an instant. All the blood seemed to rush to her heart. Its throbs felt thick and heavy. On the threshold her husband stood, looking full at her. In his arms was a little child.

"Dr. Wade!" smiled the matron. "You do spoil your patients, sir. There! Let me take her! Please come in! Your tea is just ready. I was just talking about you to Mrs. Wingarde, who came to see the boy who was knocked down by a hansom last week. Madam, this is Dr. Wade."

She went forward to lift the child out of Wingarde's arms. There followed a silence, a brief, hard-strung silence. Nina stood quite still. Her hands were unconsciously clasped together. She was white to the lips. But she kept her eyes raised to Wingarde's face. He seemed to be looking through her, and in his eyes was that look with which he had regarded her when he had saved her life and Archie's two days before.

He spoke almost before the matron had begun to notice anything unusual in the atmosphere.

"Ah!" he said, with a slight bow. "You know me under different circumstances--you and Mr. Neville. You did not expect to meet me here?"

Archie glanced at Nina and saw her agitation. He came coolly forward and placed himself in the breach.

"We certainly didn't," he said. "It's good sometimes to know that people are not all they seem. I congratulate you, er--Dr. Wade."

Wingarde turned his attention to his wife's companion. His face was very dark.

"Take the child to her mother, please, Mrs. Ritchie!" he said curtly, over his shoulder.

The matron departed discreetly, but at the door the child in her arms began to cry.

Wingarde turned swiftly, took the little one's face between his hands, spoke a soft word, and kissed it.

Then, as the matron moved away, he walked back into the room, closing the door behind him. All the tenderness with which he had comforted the wailing baby had vanished from his face.

"Mr. Neville," he said shortly, "my wife will return in the car with me. I will relieve you of your attendance upon her."

Archie turned crimson, but he managed to control himself--more for the sake of the girl who stood in total silence by his side than from any idea of expediency.

"Certainly," he said, "if Mrs. Wingarde also prefers that arrangement."

Nina glanced at him. He saw that her lip was quivering painfully. She did not attempt to speak.

Archie turned to go. But almost instantly Wingarde's voice arrested him.

"I can give you a seat in the car if you wish," he said. He spoke with less sternness, but his face had not altered.

Archie stopped. Again for Nina's sake he choked back his wrath and accepted the churlishly proffered amendment.

Wingarde drank his tea, strolling about the room. He did not again address his wife directly.

As for Nina, though she answered Archie when he spoke to her, it was with very obvious effort. She glanced from time to time at her husband as if in some uncertainty. Finally, when they took leave of the matron and went down to the car she seemed to hail the move with relief.

Throughout the drive westwards scarcely a word was spoken. At the end of the journey Archie turned deliberately and addressed Wingarde. His face was white and dogged.

"I should like a word with you in private," he said.

Wingarde looked at him for a moment as if he meant to refuse. Then abruptly he gave way.

"I am at your service," he said formally.

And Archie marched into the house in Nina's wake.

In the hall Wingarde touched his shoulder.

"Come into the smoking-room!" he said quietly.

X

TAKEN TO TASK

"I want to know what you mean," said Archie.

He stood up very straight, with the summer sunlight full in his face, and confronted Nina's husband without a hint of dismay in his bearing.

Wingarde looked at him with a very faint smile on his grim lips.

"You wish to take me to task?" he asked.

"I do," said Archie decidedly.

"For what in particular? The innocent deception practised upon an equally innocent public? Or for something more serious than that?"

There was an unmistakable ring of sternness behind Wingarde's deliberately scoffing tone.

Archie answered him instantly, with the quickness of a man who fights for his honour.

"For something more serious," he said. "It's nothing to me what fool trick you may choose to play for your own amusement. But I am not going to swallow an insult from you or any man. I want an explanation for that."

Wingarde stood with his back to the light and looked at him.

"In what way have I insulted you?" he said.

"You implied that I was not a suitable escort for your wife," Archie said, forcing himself to speak without vehemence.

Wingarde raised his eyebrows.

"I apologize if I was too emphatic," he said, after a moment. "But, considering the circumstances, I am forced to tell you that I do not consider you a suitable escort for my wife."

"What circumstances?" said Archie. He clenched his hands abruptly, and Wingarde saw it.

"Please understand," he said curtly, "that I will listen to you only so long as you keep your temper! I believe that you know what I mean--what circumstances I refer to. If you wish me to put them into plain language I will do so. But I don't think you will like it."

Archie pounced upon the words.

"You would probably put me to the trouble of calling you a liar if you did," he said, in a shaking voice. "I have no more intention than you have of mincing matters. As to listening to me, you shall do that in any case. I am going to tell you the truth, and I mean that you shall hear it."

He strode to the door as he spoke, and locked it, pocketing the key.

Wingarde did not stir to prevent him. He waited with a sneer on his lips while Archie returned and took up his stand facing him.

"You seem very sure of yourself," he said in a quiet tone.

"I am," Archie said doggedly. "Absolutely sure. You think I am in love with your wife, don't you?"

Wingarde frowned heavily.

"Are you going to throw dust in my eyes?" he asked contemptuously.

Archie locked his hands behind him.

"I am going to tell you the truth," he said again, and, though his voice still shook perceptibly there was dignity in his bearing. "Three years ago I was in love with her."

"Calf love?" suggested Wingarde carelessly.

"You may call it what you like," Archie rejoined. "That is to say, anything honourable. I was hard hit three years ago, and it lasted off and on till her marriage to you. But she never cared for me in the same way. That I know now. I proposed to her twice, and she refused me."

"You weren't made of money, you see," sneered Wingarde.

Archie's fingers gripped each other. He had never before longed so fiercely to hurl a blow in a man's face.

"If I had been," he said, "I am not sure that I should have made the running with you in the field. That brings me to what I have to say to you. I wondered for a long time how she brought herself to marry you. When you came back from your honeymoon I began to understand. She married you for your money; but if you had chosen, she would have married you for love."

He blurted out the words hastily, as though he could not trust himself to pause lest he should not say them.

Wingarde stood up suddenly to his full height. For once he was taken totally by surprise and showed it. He did not speak, however, and Archie blundered on:

"I am not your friend. I don't say this in any way for your sake. But--I am her's--- her friend, mind you. I don't say I haven't ever flirted with her. I have. But I have never said to her a single word that I should be ashamed to repeat to you--not one word. You've got to believe that whether you want to or not."

He paused momentarily. The frown had died away from Wingarde's face, but his eyes were stern. He waited silently for more. Archie proceeded with more steadiness, more self-assurance, less self-restraint.

"You've treated her abominably," he said, going straight to the point. "I don't care what you think of me for saying so. It's the truth. You've deceived her, neglected her, bullied her. Deny it if you can! Oh, no, this isn't what she has told me. It has been as plain as daylight. I couldn't have avoided knowing it. You made her your wife, Heaven knows why. You probably cared for her in your own brutal fashion. But you have never taken the trouble to make her care for you. You never go out with her. You never consider her in any way. You see her wretched, ill almost, under your eyes; and instead of putting it down to your own confounded churlishness, you turn round and insult me for behaving decently to her. There! I have done. You can kick me out of the house as soon as you like. But you won't find it so easy to forget what I've said. You know in your heart that it's the truth."

Archie ended his vigorous speech with the full expectation of being made to pay the penalty by means of a damaged skin.

Wingarde's face was uncompromising. It told nothing of his mood during the heavy silence that followed. It was, therefore, a considerable shock when he abruptly surrendered the citadel without striking a single blow.

"I am much obliged to you, Neville," he said very quietly. "And I beg to apologize for a most unworthy suspicion. Will you shake hands?"

Archie tumbled off his high horse with more speed than elegance. He thrust out his hand with an inarticulate murmur of assent. Perhaps after all the fellow had been no worse than an unmannerly bear. The next minute he was discussing politics with the monster he had dared to beard in his own den.

When Nina saw her husband again he treated her with a courtesy so scrupulous that she felt the miserable scourge of her uncertainty at work again. She would have given much to have possessed the key to his real feelings. With regard to his establishment of the Wade Home, he gave her the briefest explanation. He had been originally intended for a doctor, he said, had passed his medical examinations, and been qualified to practise. Then, at the last minute, a chance opening had presented itself, and he had gone into finance instead.

"After that," he somewhat sarcastically said, "I gave myself up to the all absorbing business of money-making. And doctoring became merely my fad, my amusement, my recreation--whatever you please to call it."

"I wish you had told me," Nina said, in a low voice.

At which remark he merely shrugged his shoulders, making no rejoinder.

She felt hurt by his manner and said no more. Only later there came to her the memory of the man she feared, standing in the doorway of the matron's room with a little child in his arms. Somehow that picture was very vividly impressed upon her mind.

XI

MONEY'S NOT EVERYTHING

"What! You are coming too?"

Nina stopped short on her way to the car and gazed at her husband in amazement.

He had returned early from the City, and she now met him dressed to attend a garden-party whither she herself was going.

He bent his head in answer to her surprised question.

"I shall give myself the pleasure of accompanying you," he said, with much formality.

She coloured and bit her lip. Swift as evil came the thought that he resented her intimacy with Archie and was determined to frustrate any attempt on their part to secure a _tete-a-tete_.

"You take great care of me," she said, with a bitter little smile.

Wingarde made no response; his face was quite inscrutable.

They scarcely spoke during the drive, and she kept her face averted. Only when he held out his hand to assist her to alight she met his eye for an instant and wondered vaguely at the look he gave her.

The party was a large one; the lawns were crowded. Nina took the first opportunity that offered to slip away from him, for she felt hopelessly ill at ease in his company. The sensation of being watched that had oppressed her during her brief honeymoon had reawakened.

Archie presently joined her.

"Did I see the hero of the Crawley gold field just now?" he asked. "Or was it hallucination?"

Nina looked at him with a very bored expression.

"Oh, yes, my husband is here," she said. "I suppose you had better not stay with me or he will come up and be rude to you."

Archie chuckled.

"Not he! We understand one another," he said lightly. "But, I say, what an impostor the fellow is! Everyone knows about Dr. Wade, but no one connects him in the smallest degree with Hereford Wingarde. It shouldn't be allowed to go on. You ought to tell the town-crier."

Nina tried to laugh, but it was a somewhat dismal effort.

"Come along!" said Archie cheerily. "There's my mother over there; she has been wondering where you were."

Nina went with him with a nervous wonder if Hereford were still watching her, but she saw nothing of him.

The afternoon wore away in music and gaiety. A great many of her acquaintances were present, and to Nina the time passed quickly.

She was sitting in a big marquee drinking the tea that Archie had brought her when she next saw her husband. By chance she discovered him talking with a man she did not know, not ten yards from her. The tent was fairly full, and the buzz of conversation was continuous.

Nina glanced at him from time to time with a curious sense of uneasiness, and an unaccountable desire to detach him from his acquaintance grew gradually upon her.

The latter was a heavy-browed man with queer, furtive eyes. As Nina stealthily watched them she saw that this man was restless and agitated. Her husband's face was turned from her, but his attitude was one of careless ease, into which his big limbs dropped when he was at leisure.

Later she never knew by what impulse she acted. It was as if a voice suddenly cried aloud in her heart that Wingarde was in deadly danger. She gave Archie her cup and rose.

"Just a moment!" she said hurriedly. "I see Hereford over there."

She moved swiftly in the direction of the two men. There was disaster in the air. She seemed to breathe it as she drew near. Her husband straightened himself before she reached him, and half turned with his contemptuous laugh. The next instant Nina saw his companion's hand whip something from behind him. She shrieked aloud and sprang forward like a terrified animal. The man's eyes maddened her more than the deadly little weapon that flashed into view in his right hand.

There followed prompt upon her cry the sharp explosion of a revolver-shot, and then the din of a panic-stricken crowd.

But Nina did not share the panic. She had flung herself in front of her husband, had flung her whole weight upon the upraised arm that had pointed the revolver and borne it downwards with all her strength. Those who saw her action compared it later with the furious attack of a tigress defending her young.

It was all over in a few brief seconds. Men crowded round and overpowered her adversary. Someone took the frenzied girl by the shoulders and forced her to relinquish her clutch.

She turned and looked straight into Wingarde's face, and at the sight her nerves gave way and she broke into hysterical sobbing, though she knew that he was safe.

He put his arm around her and led her from the stifling tent. People made way for them. Only their hostess and Archie Neville followed.

Outside on the lawn, away from the buzzing multitude, Nina began to recover herself. Archie brought a chair, and she dropped into it, but she held fast to Wingarde's arm, beseeching him over and over again not to leave her.

Wingarde stooped over her, supporting her; but he found nothing to say to her. He briefly ordered Archie to fetch some water, and made request to his hostess, almost equally brief, that their car might be called in readiness for departure. But his manner was wholly free from agitation.

"My wife will recover better at home," he said, and the lady of the house went away with a good deal of tact to give the order herself.

Left alone with him, Nina still clung to her husband; but she grew rapidly calmer in his quiet hold. After a moment he spoke to her.

"I wonder how you knew," he said.

Nina leant her head against him like an exhausted child.

"I saw it coming," she said. "It was in his eyes--mad hatred. I knew he was going to--to kill you if he could."

She did not want to meet his eyes, but he gently compelled her.

"And so you saved my life," he said in a quiet tone.

"I had to," she said faintly.

Archie here reappeared with a glass of water.

"The fellow is in a fit," he reported. "They are taking him away. Jove, Wingarde! You ought to be a dead man. If Nina hadn't spoilt that shot--"

Nina was shuddering, and he broke off.

"You'd better give up cornering gold fields," he said lightly. "It seems he was nearly ruined over your last _coup_. You may do that sort of thing once too often, don't you know. I shouldn't chance another throw."

Nina stood up shakily and looked at her husband.

"If you only would give it up!" she said, with trembling vehemence. "I--I hate money!"

Wingarde made no response; but Archie instantly took her up.

"You only hate money for what it can't buy," he said. "You probably expect too much from it. Don't blame money for that."

Nina uttered a tremulous laugh that sounded strangely passionate.

"You're quite right," she said. "Money's not everything. I have weighed it in the balance and found it wanting."

"Yes," Wingarde said in a peculiar tone. "And so have I."

XII

AFTERWARDS--LOVE

An overwhelming shyness possessed Nina that night. She dined alone with her husband, and found his silences even more oppressive than usual. Yet, when she rose from the table, an urgent desire to keep him within call impelled her to pause.

"Shall you be late to-night?" she asked him, stopping nervously before him, as he stood by the open door.

"I am not going out to-night," he responded gravely."

"Oh!" Nina hesitated still. She was trembling slightly. "Then--I shall see you again?" she said.

He bent his head.

"I shall be with you in ten minutes," he replied.

And she passed out quickly.

The night was still and hot. She went into her own little sitting-room and straight to the open window. Her heart was beating very fast as she stood and looked across the quiet square. The roar of London hummed busily from afar. She heard it as one hears the rushing of unseen water among the hills.

There was no one moving in the square. The trees in the garden looked dim and dreamlike against a red-gold sky.

Suddenly in the next house, from a room with an open window, there rose the sound of a woman's voice, tender as the night. It reached the girl who stood waiting in the silence. The melody was familiar to her, and she leant forward breathlessly to catch the words:

Shadows and mist and night,
Darkness around the way;
Here a cloud and there a star;
Afterwards, Day!

There came a pause and the soft notes of a piano. Nina stood with clasped hands, waiting for the second verse. Her cheeks were wet.

It came, slow and exquisitely pure, as if an angel had drawn near to the turbulent earth with a message of healing:

Sorrow and grief and tears,
Eyes vainly raised above;
Here a thorn and there a rose;
Afterwards, Love!

Nina turned from the open window. She was groping, for her eyes were full of tears. From the doorway a man moved quietly to meet her.

"Hereford!" she said in a broken whisper, and went straight into his arms.

He held her fast, so fast that she felt his heart beating against her bowed head. But it was many seconds before he spoke.

"Do you remember the wishing-gate, Nina?" he said, speaking softly. "And how you asked for a Deliverer?"

She stretched up her arms to clasp his neck without lifting her head. She was crying and could not answer him.

He put his hand upon her hair and she felt it tremble.

"Has the Deliverer come to you, dear?" he asked her very tenderly.

He felt for her face in the darkness, and turned it slowly upwards. She did not resist him though she knew well what was coming. Rather she yielded to his touch with a sudden, passionate willingness. And so their lips met in the first kiss that had ever passed between them.

Thus there came a Deliverer more potent than death into the heart of the girl who had married for money, and made its surrender sweet.

 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: I desire to acknowledge my indebtedness to the Author--I regret to say unknown to me--of the little poem which I have quoted in this story.]

[The end]
Ethel May Dell's short story: The Deliverer

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