LITMIR.BIZ

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the drawing-room, senor.”

      I at once went thither, uncertain what to say or do; for I was determined, if possible, not to make a scene. Now, the great drawing-rooms of the Manor house consist of two old-fashioned apartments, communicating with a curtained archway, where there was once a folding-door. The inner room opens on a lobby communicating with the house; the outer opens on the terrace. I approached from within, and finding the door open, entered softly. No one was visible; but I heard voices whispering in the outer room.

      After a moment’s hesitation, I sat down in an armchair, and took up a book from the table. My back was to the curtained archway, and facing me was a large mirror, in which the archway and the dimly lighted, rose-coloured chamber beyond were clearly reflected.

      The whispering continued.

      I could bear the suspense no longer, and was about to rise and make my presence known, when the voices were raised, and I heard the clergyman exclaim —

      “Ellen, for God’s sake! I can explain everything!”

      Ellen! My satyr was familiar. I crouched in my armchair, listening, as my wife replied —

      “Why should you explain to me? I have no wish to listen, Mr. Santley. Only I am shocked and indignant at what I have heard.”

      “But there is not one word of truth in it. Who is your informant? I demand to know his name.”

      I strained my ears in suspense, wondering how she would reply, for I already guessed the bearings of the conversation. To my surprise, she replied parabolically —

      “It is the common talk of the place.”

      “Then it is a simple scandal!”

      “You are not engaged to Miss Dove?”

      “Certainly not. She herself can tell you that there is nothing of the kind between us. I will admit freely that she has a great esteem for me – that, in short, she is attached to me; and that possibly, if I desired it, she would marry me.”

      There was a silence. Then I heard Ellen say, quietly and firmly —

      “Will you answer me a question?”

      “Certainly.”

      “Did you meet Miss Dove alone, last Thursday?”

      I felt that her eyes were fixed upon his face as she put the question, and I guessed how it startled and amazed him; but he was unabashed, and replied instantly —

      “Where?”

      She waited a moment, like one pausing to give the coup de grâce, before she said – “Close to the river-side, among Lord – s plantations.”

      Greatly to my astonishment, for I naturally expected a denial, the answer came at once, in a clear, decided voice. “Yes, I did meet her.”

      I could imagine, though I could not see, my wife’s start of virtuous indignation. Almost instantly, I saw her image in the mirror before me, as she rapidly crossed the room beyond; then he followed, black-suited, like the devil. In the dim distance of the mirror, I now saw their two figures reflected, floating faintly in the rose-coloured light beyond the curtains. Their backs were turned to me, their faces were looking out upon the terrace.

      “I have nothing to conceal,” he continued passionately. “Some enemy has been spying upon me; but I repeat, I have nothing to conceal. Only, I wished to spare Miss Dove. Now that you have made reserve impossible, I will admit, frankly, that she has misconstrued certain harmless attentions, and that, on the day you mention, she came upon me by accident, and reproached me for my coldness, my want of sympathy. She even went further, and asked me to marry her. I tell you this in sacred confidence, for I have no right to inform others of the young lady’s indiscretion.”

      “Was that all that passed?”

      “All, I assure you.”

      Ellen gave a peculiar laugh, the sound of which I did not like at all. There is nothing more significant than a woman’s light laugh – nothing, sometimes, more horrible.

      “She was reproachful, and you – consoled her?”

      “Consoled her?”

      “As a true lover should, – with kisses and embraces? You see, I know everything!”

      “It is a calumny,” cried the clergyman, with seeming indignation. “True, I was gentle with her, for I felt very sorry. I reasoned and remonstrated with the foolish child: after all, she is a child only. Oh, Ellen, how could you listen to such an accusation? You who know that there is but one woman in the world who has my love, my life’s devotion, and that you are that woman.”

      Did my eyes deceive me, or had he stretched out an arm to embrace her? No, I was right!

      “Take away your arm!” she cried. “I will not suffer it!”

      She did suffer it, notwithstanding.

      “Ellen! dearest Ellen!”

      He drew her towards him, and I thought she was going to yield to his embrace; but she shook herself free, and in a moment, before he knew her purpose, had opened the window and glided out upon the terrace. He followed her with a cry, and so – my mirror was empty. I rose to my feet, sick and dazed with what I had seen, and prepared to follow.

      What should I do? Should I at once avow my knowledge of what had taken place, and seize my satyr by the throat; or, smiting him in the face, fling him from my door? Should I stand by tamely, and see my hearth violated, my wife tempted, by a common snake of the parish? If I had been less angry with my wife herself, I am sure I should have taken the violent course. But I saw now, to my horror, that she was neither adamantine nor marble. She had allowed him to know his evil power upon her, and to see that the knowledge of his power over another woman, so far from shocking and repulsing her, had increased the fascination. If I denounced him openly, it would be to admit his rivalry, and, by inference, to complete her degradation.

      Fortunately, I have been accustomed, from youth upward, to control my strongest feelings, whether of tenderness or anger; and though I am capable enough of strong passion, I have generally the power to disguise it. In the present emergency, I found my habit of self-restraint stand me in good stead. I advanced into the outer room. By the time I had reached it, I was calm and cool to all outward appearances.

      Quite quietly, I approached the window, and gazed out upon the terrace. There they stood, he talking eagerly, she with face averted from him, and looking my way. She saw me in a moment, and started in agitation. I nodded grimly, and opening the folding windows, looked out. Then, all at once, I drew back apologetically.

      “Ah, there you are!” I said to my wife. “I was looking for you.”

      She stepped over to the window, looking strangely pale and scared. I had not even looked at, much less addressed, her companion; but he approached, with a ghastly smile.

      “I’m afraid I interrupt you,” I continued. “Some religious business, I suppose? Shall I retire till it is settled?” He looked at me doubtfully; but Ellen immediately replied —

      “Do not go away. Mr. Santley is just leaving.”

      Still preserving my sang froid, I sat down in one of the garden seats on the terrace, and opened the book which I had lifted at random from the drawing-room table. Curiously enough, it was a work which is rather a favourite of mine, one of Sebastiano’s “Tales in Verse.” I knew the thing, particularly the passage on which the page had opened, and which, strange to say, had a certain reference to the present situation.

      “Pray proceed with your talk,” I said. “I have something here to amuse me, till you have done.”

      So I sat reading, or pretending to read. I did not even glance up, but I felt that they were looking uneasily at one another. There was a long pause. At last I lifted my eyes.

      “I’m sure I’m in the way,” I said; and rose as if to go.

      “No, no!” cried Ellen, more and more uneasy at my manner, which I’m afraid was ominous. “We

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