The dangerous game
the same time,” and her beautiful eyes clouded. “Your word, demand,
is, however, rather out of place.”
“Forgive me,” the man said instantly, but frowning. “Sometimes I use
your words wrongly. English is, as you know, very difficult to speak
correctly.”
He had made a demand, but tried to evade the consequences of his _faux
pas_, for he saw she was annoyed.
Edris was a girl of spirit, and the little breach soon widened that
afternoon. Since his interview at the War Office he had become
arrogant and overbearing. He told her that he possessed her, and he
openly threatened Darville, if he dared to interfere. The truth was
that he knew from the first that she had money of her own, and was
quick to realize that, as she had fallen beneath his blandishments,
like so many other women had before her, she would be an easy prey.
Now that he held a Government appointment marriage would be easier.
He hated Darville--hated his high reputation, his fame as a traveler,
and his popularity everywhere; he hated to see his books displayed,
hence he jeered at them. In his own estimation, and in the estimation
of the women he fascinated, he was a perfect Adonis, a wonderful hero.
In his own egotism he believed that his appointment had, in itself,
proved his claim to distinction. Neither he nor Edris dreamed that the
hidden hand of the man whose friendship he had betrayed was now raised
against him, and was sending him to his doom. They never dreamed that
their every movement in London was being watched, unseen, by a pair of
alert eyes, and that all their doings were being reported to the
discarded man, who, pale and anxious, was wandering aimlessly in the
grounds at Stagsden with Edris’s great Dane as companion.
Darville, tricked, mortified, and now staggered by the amazing cunning
of the lovers, spoke many times to Lord Simba of his absent mistress,
while the splendid animal, walking grandly at his side, looked up at
him mutely, as though understanding his words. In the coppice he
patted his sleek coat, and said:
“Ah, Simba! To-morrow, old boy, I shall leave you, never to see you
again!”
And with difficulty he swallowed the lump which arose in his throat.
After luncheon he was putting on his coat prior to taking Lord Simba
for another walk when the maid called him to the telephone box in the
hall, and he found that Edris was speaking.
“Seti, could you come to town this evening? I particularly want to see
you. I’m at the Carlton. Can I reserve a room for you? Please don’t
refuse me this one request. I have something particular to say to
you.”
“I thought you did not want me in London while Karl was with you,” he
replied very coldly.
“To discuss matters over the ’phone is impossible, dear. I beg you to
come and see me to-night. Will you come, Seti--for my sake? Do come!”
He hesitated, and made no reply.
“Can you hear me?” she asked in desperation. And then she repeated her
urgent, despairing appeal.
“I really don’t see what object there is in our meeting,” he replied.
“Karl is with you.”
“Yes, but he is going to Russia, not to Canada, and----”
“Well, I will not intrude upon you,” Darville answered. “You will, no
doubt, spend a pleasant evening together.”
“Surely, Seti, you, who have always indulged me in my little whims,
and my wishes, will not forsake me now. I beg of you to come up at
once and see me. I want you. Do you understand those words?”
“Hardly,” he replied with a bitter laugh.
“Do come, Seti--for the sake of our old love,” she implored. “I must
see you to-night. If you catch the 4.40, you’ll be in time for a late
dinner in the grill-room. I’ll be in my room, 246, at ten o’clock,
awaiting you. Surely you will not refuse me this last favor that I ask
of you? I fear, in the circumstances, to ask it, but I--I ask it in
all penitence,” and he heard that her voice was faltering and broken.
For a few seconds he reflected.
“Very well, Edris,” he replied; “I will be with you at ten.”
He could hear the big sigh of relief she gave when he acceded to her
appeal. Then he rang off and went to pack his suit-case.
Punctually at ten o’clock he tapped at the door of room No. 246 in the
Carlton Hotel, and next second she opened it to admit him. She noticed
how hard-faced and austere he was as she closed the door.
She was wearing a wonderful flame-colored dance-frock trimmed with
silver. Womanlike, she held out her hand to him as though nothing had
happened. But he did not take it.
She rushed to him, clasped her arms about him, and kissed him with
tears in her eyes.
“It is so good of you to come, my dear heart. I--I feared that you
would refuse. But I want you--I want to tell you everything, and then
I’ll leave you to judge me as you will.”
“Karl Weiss is my enemy. I hate him,” he said, flashing into bitter
anger, as he stood near the dressing-table.
“Yes, you have just cause to do so,” she sobbed. “I want your
forgiveness, your sympathy--your great love.”
“You cannot want my love, Edris, when you are engaged to that man,” he
said, with a hard, serious expression.
“Oh, I know too well what you must think of me--how you must despise
me as callous and worthless. I have been. I admit it all. But there
have been extenuating circumstances in the crime I have committed--the
crime of so basely deceiving you--the man who loves me, and towards
whom I have been devoted.”
“Devoted!” he echoed jeeringly. “You have shown great devotion to me,
have you not?”
“I have been fascinated, deluded, and misled by the man you believed
was your friend. I had for him a fatal infatuation. Why, I cannot
tell,” she cried, clinging again to him. “From the first moment I met
him in Interlaken I felt some strange spell over me. But I swear that
I have never ceased to love you. I----”
“How can I believe that, in face of his letters to you concerning
myself? Do not forget your deception at Wengen, and the hours you
spent in his arms.” Darville’s face was hard.
“I know I have lied to you,” she went on, “but I have lied in
defense.”
“In defense of what?”
“In defense of him.”
He gazed with tragic fascination at the girl he had loved, worked for,
hoped for, and lost.
“Because you loved him,” he said quietly.
“No, it was not that--I swear it was not. I have never loved him. I
loved only you, Seti. He attracted me by some extraordinary evil power
of fascination he possesses. He fascinated and infatuated me, until I
was as clay in his hands. Whatever caused me to do what I have done, I
cannot tell. When I wrote those cruel letters I could not have been in
my senses. But now I have seen him here in my own country I have
become disillusioned, and I have realized that it is all a tragedy
which I brought upon you--that my infatuation for him is at an end. I
love only you, and, as far as he is concerned, he has now passed out
of my life for ever. Will you believe me?” she added in frantic
appeal. True to her pride and principles, she stood awaiting his
reply, prepared to abide by his decision. She was beaten, and knew it.
She looked up and met his eyes. They were kind, dark, still, and
clear. It was the crucial moment of both their lives.
“Then you have discarded him?” he asked with a sigh. He laughed a
little, with an impatient note.
Edris flushed, and then grew white; her eyes closed for a moment, and
then opened and looked at him. He never forgot them, nor their
expression. The old love-light was returning. It was that which
softened him.
He placed his hand lightly upon her dark, shingled head.
“Yes,” she said, with a catch in her voice, “I have discarded him,
Seti, and I have returned to you, if--if I dare face you again.”
And, again in tears, she fell upon her knees, and, clutching his
strong hand, covered it with hot, passionate kisses.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CONCLUSION
When they met next morning they stood in silence, but she dare not
raise her eyes, and something puzzled him.
“Are you not pleased to see me?” asked Darville, astonished and
dismayed. “You know, darling, that I have forgiven you on condition
that you never see that man again.”
“I know, Seti, dearest!” she cried, raising her ready lips to his.
“But----” and she hesitated. Then, taking a letter in a pale blue
envelope from her bag, she handed it to him unopened. “This came from
him this morning, and, though it may pain you, dearest, it is but
right that you should have it. You may wish to read it. I do not want
to see it. Read it and destroy it.”
He held the letter in his hand for a moment, sorely tempted to see
what his false friend had written, and thus ascertain for himself upon
what terms they had actually parted. His brow clouded for a second,
for he was tortured by undying memories.
“No,” he said, with sudden impulse. “You have left him. That is
all-sufficient. We will destroy it”; and he tore it into small
fragments and cast it into the waste-paper basket. “If he writes
again, give me his letters; I will destroy them unread,” he said.
“My dear, generous darling,” she cried, throwing her arms about his
neck. “You cannot know how perfectly happy I am now that you have
taken me back again to your heart. If I had loved that man I should
have left you. But I never really had any affection for him--only a
mad, foolish infatuation. He seemed to hold me in some uncanny
fascination, but I never forgot my love for you, and when he spoke
disparagingly of you, I always protested. I never ceased to tell him
that I was yours.”
“I believe you, Carina,” Darville said at last, stroking her hair
tenderly. “You will not be troubled by him much longer,” he said, with
a meaning she did not grasp. “He is going to Russia, you say?”
“Yes, he has a Government appointment--quite a lucrative one, I
believe.”
“Well, do not let us discuss him again, dear heart. Let us return to
Stagsden, and to that complete happiness and bliss that was ours
before we went to Switzerland. I have a business appointment at
half-past ten, and we will leave by the 12.30.”
He returned to his room, and stood for a few minutes at the window
deep in thought. His great grief had now given place to serious
reflection. His brows were knit, and his hands were clenched. A fierce
struggle was going on within himself. He recalled all his enemy’s
wiles and trickery, and how very nearly his life had been wrecked by a
man who was a deceiver of women. His blood boiled within him, and when
he reviewed the past, he gritted his teeth and laughed a harsh, unreal
laugh when he thought of the swift vengeance that he would mete out to
his treacherous friend.
Suddenly he paused and bit his lip. He paced the room once or twice
slowly. Then, with sudden impulse, he clasped his hands and threw them
up to heaven, crying in a tense voice of distress:
“May God help me!”
His eyes were fixed above, his lips moved, but not a sound came from
them. He was praying for his own soul.
Presently he grew calmer, and, taking his hat and coat, went out to
his secret office in the hub of the world.
That same afternoon, while Edris and Darville were in the train
returning to Stagsden, Karl Weiss received a letter, delivered by
messenger, informing him with regret that the matter referred to at
his interview had been satisfactorily cleared up, and, such being the
circumstances, his proposed mission was canceled, his services not
being required.
In his ignorance he never dreamed of the influence of Seton Darville,
or of the narrow escape he had had at his hidden but all-powerful
hand. Darville had relented and spared his life.
Indeed, on the morning following Darville received a most cruel and
insulting letter from him, a letter in which the fellow revealed
himself in his true colors. Baffled by Edris’s firm determination to