MORE DEAF THAN ADDERS
1
I felt so cramped and numb in my narrow hiding-place that I verily believe I must have fallen into a kind of trance-like Slumber.
From this I was suddenly awakened by the loud Clang of our front-door Bell, followed immediately by the Footsteps of the Serving Man upon the Landing, and then by a brief Colloquy between him and the belated Visitor.
Seriously, at the moment I had no Conception of who this might be, until I glanced at Mr. Betterton. And then I guessed. Guessed, just as he had already done. Every line of his tense and expectant Attitude betrayed the Fact that he had recognized the Voice upon the Landing, and that its sound had thrilled his very Soul and brought him back from the Land of Dreams and Nightmare, where he had been wandering this past hour.
You remember, dear Lady, the last time Mr. Betterton played in a Tragedy called "Hamlett," wherein there is a Play within a Play, and the melancholy Prince of Denmark sets a troupe of Actors to enact a Representation of the terrible Crime whereof he accuses both his Uncle and his Mother? It is a Scene which, when played by Mr. Betterton, is wont to hold the Audience enthralled. He plays his Part in it by lying full length on the Ground, his Body propped up by his Elbow and his Chin supported in his Hand. His Eyes—those wonderful, expressive Eyes of his—he keeps fixed upon the guilty Pair: his Mother and his Uncle. He watches the play of every Emotion upon their faces—Fear, Anger, and then the slowly creeping, enveloping Remorse; and his rigid, stern Features express an Intensity of Alertness and of Expectancy, which is so poignant as to be almost painful.
Just such an Expression did my dear Friend's Face wear at this Moment. He had pushed his Chair back slightly, so that I had a fuller view of him, and the flickering light of the wax Candles illumined his clear-cut Features and his Eyes, fixed tensely upon the door.
2
The next moment the serving Man threw open the door and the Lady Barbara walked in. I could not see her until she had advanced further into the middle of the Room. Then I beheld her in all her Loveliness. Nay! I'll not deny it. She was still incomparably beautiful, with, in addition, that marvellous air of Breeding and of Delicacy, which rendered her peerless amongst her kind. I hated her for the infinite wrong which she had done to my Friend, but I could not fail to admire her. Her Mantle was thrown back from her Shoulders and a dark, filmy Veil, resembling a Cloud, enveloped her fair Hair. Beneath her Mantle she wore a Dress of something grey that shimmered like Steel in the Candlelight. A few tendrils of her ardent Hair had escaped from beneath her Veil, and they made a kind of golden Halo around her Face. She was very pale, but of that transparent, delicate Pallor that betokens Emotion rather than ill-health, and her Eyes looked to me to be as dark as Sloes, even though I knew them to be blue.
For the space of one long Minute, which seemed like Eternity, these two remained absolutely still, just looking at one another. Methought that I could hear the very heart-beats within my breast. Then the Lady said, with a queer little catch in her Throat and somewhat hesitatingly:
"You are surprised to see me, Sir, no doubt ... but ..."
She was obviously at a loss how to begin. And Mr. Betterton, aroused no doubt by her Voice from his absorption, rose quickly to his Feet and made her a deep and respectful Obeisance.
"The Angels from Heaven sometimes descend to Earth," he said slowly; "yet the Earth is more worthy of their Visit than is the humble Artist of the Presence of his Muse." Then he added more artlessly: "Will You deign to sit?"
He drew a Chair forward for her, but She did not take it, continued to speak with a strange, obviously forced Gaiety and in a halting Manner.
"I thank you, Sir," she said. "That is ... no ... not yet ... I like to look about me."
She went close up to the Desk and began to finger idly the Books and Papers which lay scattered pell-mell upon it, he still gazing on her as if he had not yet realized the Actuality of her Presence. Anon she looked inquiringly about her.
"What a charming room!" she said, with a little cry of wonder. "So new to me! I have never seen an Artist's room before."
"For weeks and months," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply, "this one has been a temple, hallowed by thoughts of You. Your Presence now, has henceforth made it a Sanctuary."
She turned full, inquiring Eyes upon him and riposted with childlike Ingenuousness:
"Yet must You wonder, Sir, at my Presence here ... alone ... and at this hour."
"In my heart," he replied, "there is such an Infinity of Happiness that there is no Room for Wonder."
"An Infinity of Happiness?" she said with a quaint little sigh. "That is what we are all striving for, is it not? The Scriptures tell us that this Earth is a Vale of Tears. No wonder!" she added naïvely, "since we are so apt to allow Happiness to pass us by."
Oh! how I wished I had the Courage then and there to reveal myself to these Twain, to rush out of my Hiding-place and seize that wily Temptress who, I felt sure, was here only for the undoing of a Man whom she hated with unexampled Bitterness. Oh, why hath grudging Nature made me weak and cowardly and diffident, when my whole Soul yearns at times to be resourceful and bold? Believe me, dear Mistress, that my Mind and my Will-power were absolutely torn between two Impulses—the one prompting me to put a stop to this dangerous and purposeless Interview, this obvious Trap set to catch a great and unsuspecting Artist unawares; and the other urging me not to interfere, but rather to allow Destiny, Fate or the Will of God alone to straighten out the Web of my Friend's Life, which had been embroiled by such Passions as were foreign to his noble Nature.
And now I am thankful that I allowed this latter Counsel to prevail. The Will of God did indeed shape the Destinies of Men this night for their Betterment and ultimate Happiness. But, for the moment, the Threads of many a Life did appear to be most hopelessly tangled: the Lady Barbara Wychwoode, daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury, the fiancée of the Earl of Stour, was in the house of Tom Betterton, His Majesty's Well-Beloved Servant, and he was passionately enamoured of her and had vowed Vengeance against the Man she loved. As he gazed on her now there was no Hatred in his Glance, no evil Passion disturbed the Look of Adoration wherewith he regarded her.
"Barbara," he pleaded humbly, "be merciful to me.... For pity's sake, do not mock me with your smile! My dear, do you not see that I scarce can believe that I live ... and that you are here? ... You! ... You!" he went on, with passionate Earnestness. "My Divinity, whom I only dare approach on bended Knees, whose Garment I scarce dare touch with my trembling Lips!"
He bent the Knee and raised the long, floating End of her cloudlike Veil to his Lips. I could have sworn at that Moment that she recoiled from him and that she made a Gesture to snatch away the Veil, as if his very Touch on it had been Pollution. That Gesture and the Recoil were, however, quite momentary. The next second, even whilst he rose once more to his Feet, she had already recovered herself.
"Hush!" she said gently, and drew herself artlessly away from his Nearness. "I want to listen.... People say that Angels wait upon Mr. Betterton when he studies his Part ... and I want to hear the flutter of their Wings."
"The Air vibrates with the Echo of your sweet Name," he rejoined, and his exquisite Voice sounded mellow and vibrant as a sensitive Instrument touched by a Master's Hand. "Your name, which with mad longing I have breathed morning, noon and eve. And now ... now ... I am not dreaming ... You are near me! ... You, the perfect Lady Barbara ... my Lady Babs.... And you look—almost happy!"
She gave him a Look—the true Look of a Siren set to enchain the Will of Man.
"Happy?" she queried demurely. "Nay, Sir ... puzzled, perhaps."
"Puzzled?" he echoed. "Why?"
"Wondering," she replied, "what magic is in the air that could make a Woman's Heart ... forsake one Love ... for ... for Another."
Yes! She said this, and looked on him straight between the Eyes as she spoke. Yet I knew that she lied, could have screamed the Accusation at her, so convinced was I that she was playing some subtle and treacherous Game, designed to entrap him and to deliver him helpless and broken into her Power. But he, alas! was blinded by his Passion. He saw no Siren in her, no Falsehood in her Smile. At her Words, I saw a great Light of Happiness illumine his Face.
"Barbara!" he pleaded. "Have pity on me, for my Reason wanders. I dare not call it back, lest this magic hour should prove to be a Dream."
He tried to take her in his Arms, but she evaded him, ran to the other side of the Desk, laughing merrily like a Child. Once again her delicate Fingers started to toy with the Papers scattered there.
"Oh, ho!" she exclaimed, with well-feigned astonishment. "Your desk! Why, this," she said, placing her Hand upon the neat pile before her, "must be that very Thunderbolt wherewith to-morrow you mean to crush an arrogant Enemy!"
"Barbara!" he rejoined with ever growing passion, and strove to take her Hand. "Will you not let me tell You——"
"Yes, yes!" she replied archly, and quietly withdrew her Hand from his grasp. "You shall speak to me anon some of those Speeches of our great Poets, which your Genius hath helped to immortalize. To hear Mr. Betterton recite will be an inestimable Privilege ... which your many Admirers, Sir, will envy me."
"The whole world would envy me to-night," he retorted, and gazed on her with such Ardour that she was forced to lower her Eyes and to hide their Expression behind the delicate Curtain of her Lashes.
I, who was the dumb Spectator of this cruel Game, saw that the Lady Barbara was feeling her way towards her Goal. There was so much Excitement in her, such palpitating Vitality, that her very Heart-beats seemed to find their Echo in my breast. Of course, I did not know yet what Game it was that she was playing. All that I knew was that it was both deadly and treacherous. Even now, when Mr. Betterton once more tried to approach her and she as instinctively as before recoiled before him, she contrived to put strange softness into her Voice, and a subtle, insidious Promise which helped to confuse his Brain.
"No—no!" she said. "Not just yet ... I pray you have pity on my Blushes. I—I still am affianced to my Lord Stour ... although..."
"You are right, my beloved," he rejoined simply. "I will be patient, even though I am standing on the Threshold of Paradise. But will You not be merciful? I cannot see you well. Will you not take off that Veil? ... It casts a dark shadow over your Brow."
This time she allowed him to come near her, and, quite slowly, she unwound the Veil from round her Head. He took it from her as if it were some hallowed Relic, too sacred to be polluted by earthly Touch. And, as her back was turned towards him, he crushed the Gossamer between his Hands and pressed its Fragrance to his Lips.
"There!" she said coolly. "'Tis done. Your magic, Sir Actor, has conquered again."
It seemed to me that she was more self-possessed now than she had been when first she entered the Room. Indeed, her Serenity appeared to grow as his waned perceptibly. She still was a little restless, wandering aimlessly about the Room, fingering the Books, the Papers, the Works of Art that lay everywhere about; but it seemed like the restlessness of Curiosity rather than of Excitement. In her own Mind she felt that she held the Winning Hand—of this I was convinced—and that she could afford to toy with and to befool the Man who had dared to measure his Power against hers.
After awhile, she sat down in her Chair which he had brought forward for her, and which stood close to the Desk.
"And now, Sir," she said with cool composure, "'tis You who must humour me. I have a fancy ... now, at this moment ... and my Desire is to be thoroughly spoiled."
"Every Whim of yours," he rejoined, "is a Command to your humble Slave."
"Truly?" she queried.
"Truly."
"Then will You let me see you ... sitting at your Desk ... Pen in hand ... writing something just for me?"
"All my work of late," he replied, "has been done because of You ... but I am no Poet. What I speak may have some Merit. What I write hath none."
"Oh!" she protested with well-simulated Coquetry, "what I desire You to write for me, Sir Actor, will have boundless Merit. It is just a couple of Lines designed to ... to ... prove your Love for me—Oh!" she added quickly, "I scarce dare believe in it, Sir ... I scare understood ... You remember, this morning in the Park, I was so excited, yet you asked me—to be—your Wife!"
"My Wife!" he cried, his Voice ringing with triumphant Passion. "And you would consent?——"
"And so I came," she riposted, evading a direct Answer, "to see if I had been dreaming ... if, indeed, the great and illustrious Mr. Betterton had stooped to love a Woman ... and for the sake of that Love would do a little Thing for Her."
Lies! Lies! I knew that every Word which she spoke was nothing but a Lie. My God! if only I could have unriddled her Purpose! If only I could have guessed what went on behind those marvellous Eyes of hers, deep and unfathomable as the Sea! All I knew—and this I did in the very Innermost of my Soul—was that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode had come here to-night in order to trick Mr. Betterton, and to turn his Love for her to Advantage for my Lord Stour. How carefully she had thought out the Part which she meant to play; how completely she meant to have him at her Mercy, only in order to mock and deride him in the End, I had yet to learn.
Even now she completed his Undoing, the Addling of his noble Mind, by casting Looks of shy Coquetry upon him. What Man is there who could have resisted them? What Man, who was himself so deeply infatuated as was Mr. Betterton, could believe that there was Trickery in those Glances? He sat down at his Desk, as she had desired him to do, and drew Pen, Ink and Paper closer to his Hand.
"An you asked my Life," he said simply, "I would gladly give it to prove my Love for You." Then, as she remained silent and meditative, he added: "What is your Ladyship's wish?"
"Oh!" she replied, "'tis a small matter ... It concerns the Earl of Stour ... We were Friends ... once ... Playmates when we were Children ... That Friendship ripened into a—a—Semblance of Love. No! No!" she went on rapidly, seeing that at her Words he had made a swift Movement, leaning towards her. "I pray you, listen. That Semblance of Love may have gone ... but Friendship still abides. My Lord Stour, the Playmate of my Childhood, is in sore trouble ... I, his Friend, would wish to help him, and cannot do this without your Aid. Will You—will You grant me this Aid, Sir," she queried shyly, "if I beg it of You?"
"Your Ladyship has but to command," he answered vaguely, for, in truth, his whole Mind was absorbed in the contemplation of her Loveliness.
"'Twas You," she asserted boldly, "who begged for his Lordship's pardon from the Countess of Castlemaine ... 'Twas not he who betrayed his Friends. That is a Fact, is it not?"
"A Fact. Yes," he replied.
"Then I pray you, Sir, write that down," she pleaded, with an ingenuous, childish Gesture, "and sign it with your Name ... just to please me."
She looked like a lovely Child begging for a Toy. To think of Guile in connection with those Eyes, with that Smile, seemed almost a Sacrilege. And my poor Friend was so desperately infatuated just then! Has any Man ever realized that Woman is fooling him, when she really sets her Wiles to entrap him? Surely not a Man of Mr. Betterton's keen, artistic and hot-blooded Temperament. I saw it all now, yet I dared not move. For one thing, the time had gone by when I might have done it with good Effect. Now it was too late. Any interference on my part would only have led to Ignominy for myself and the severance of a Friendship that I valued more than Life itself. Betwixt a Friend's warning and a Woman's Cajolery, what Man would hesitate? What could I, in any event, have done now, save to hold up the inevitable Catastrophe for a few Moments—a few Seconds, perhaps? Truly, my hour was past. I could but wait now in Silence and Misery until the End.
There she sat, pleading, speaking that eternal Phrase, which since the beginning of primeval times hath been used by wily Woman for the undoing of a generous-minded Man.
"Will You do this, Sir—just to please me?"
"I swear to You that it shall be done," he rejoined with passionate fervour. "But will you not let me tell you first——"
"No!—No!" she said quickly, clasping her delicate hands. "I pray You—not just yet. I—I so long to see You write ... there ... at this Desk, where lie piled letters from every illustrious Person and every crowned Head in Europe. And now You will write," she entreated, in the tone of an indulged and wayward Child. "You will? Just one little Document for me, because ... because You say You love me, and ... because ... I..."
"Barbara!" he cried in an Ecstasy of Happiness. "My Beloved!"
He was on the point of falling on his Knees, but once more a demure Gesture, a drawing back of her whole Figure, restrained him.
"No! No!" she reiterated firmly. "When you have written, I will listen——"—another Glance, and he was vanquished. Then she completed her Phrase—"to all you have to say."
He drew back with a sigh, and took up his Pen.
"As you command," he said simply, and made ready to write.
3
Even now, whene'er I close mine Eyes, I can see those twain as a vivid Picture before me. The Massive Desk, littered with papers, the Candles flickering in their Sconces, illumining with their elusive Light the Figure of the great Actor, sitting with shoulders slightly bent forward, one Arm resting upon the Desk, half buried in the filmy folds of her Ladyship's Veil, his Face upturned towards the Enchantress, who held him at this Hour an absolute Slave to her Will. She had risen from her Chair and stood immediately behind him; her Face I could not see, for her back was towards me, but the light caught the loose Tendrils of her fair Hair, and from where I stood watching, this looked just like a golden Aureole around her small Head, bent slightly towards him. She too was leaning forward, over him, with her Hand extended, giving him Directions as to what he should write.
"Oh, I pray You," she said with an impatient little Sigh, "do not delay! I will watch You as You write. I pray You write it as a Message addressed to the Court of White Hall. Not in Poetry," she added, with a nervous little Laugh; "but in Prose, so that all may understand."
He bent to his task and began to write, and she straightened out her elegant Figure and murmured, as if oppressed: "How hot this room is!"
Slowly, as if in Absence of Mind, She wandered towards the Window.
"I have heard it said," she remarked, "that Mr. Betterton's worst enemy is the cold. But a fire! ... on such a glorious Evening. The first Kiss of awakening Spring."
She had reached the Window now, and stood for awhile in the Bay, leaning against the Mullion; and I could not help but admire her Duplicity and her Pluck. For, indeed, She had risked Everything that Woman holds most dear, for the sake of the Man she loved. And She could not help but know that She herself and her fair Name would anon be at the mercy of a Man whom her Cajoleries and her Trickery would have rendered desperate.
Anon, as if quite overcome by the Heat, she threw open the Casement, and then leaned out, peering into the Darkness beyond. Ensconced in my Corner at some distance from the Window, I was conscious of the Movement and subdued Noise which came up from the still crowded Park. A number of People appeared to be moving out there, and even as I strained my Ears to listen, I caught the sweet sound of the selfsame Song of awhile ago, wafted hither on the cool night Air:
"You are my Life! You ask me why?
Because my Hope is in Your Love."
I caught myself marvelling if the Ladies and Gallants of the Court had strolled out into the Park at this hour, drawn thither by the amorous Melodies sung by the unknown Minstrel; or by the balmy Air of Spring; or merely by the passing Whim of some new Fashion or Fancy. I even strained my Ears so that I might recognise the sound of Voices that were familiar to me. I heard my Lord of Rochester's characteristic Laugh, Sir William Davenant's dictatorial tones and the high-pitched Cackle of Mr. Killigrew.
So doth our Mind oft dwell on trivial Thoughts at times of gravest Stress. Her Ladyship had sat down on a low Stool beside the Window. I could only see the vague outline of her—the Expression of her Face, the very Poise of her Head, were wrapt in the surrounding Gloom.
For awhile there was perfect Silence in the Room, save for the monotonous ticking of the old Clock and the scratching of Mr. Betterton's Pen as he wrote with a rapid and unhesitating Hand.
The Minutes sped on, and anon he had completed his Task. I saw him lay down his Pen, then raise the Paper and read through very carefully all that he had written, and finally strew Sand upon the momentous Document. For awhile after that he remained perfectly still, and I observed his clear-cut Face, with Eyes fixed as it were inwards into his own Soul, and sensitive Lips pressed tightly one against the other. The Hand which held the Document was perfectly steady, an obedient slave to his Will. And yet that Sign-manual, as directed by her Ladyship, was a direct Avowal of a dastardly Deed, of the gratuitous Slandering of an innocent Man's Honour, without Provocation or Justification, seeing that no mention was made in the Confession of the abominable Outrage which had brought about this grim Retaliation, or of the Refusal on the part of his Lordship to grant the Satisfaction that is customary between Gentlemen. It was, in fact, his own Integrity and his own Honour that the eminent Actor was even now bartering for a Woman's Love. This will prove to You, dear Mistress, that Mr. Betterton's Love for the Lady Barbara Wychwoode did not at any time resemble true Affection, which, of all the Passions to which the human Heart is apt to become Slave, is the one that leads the Mind to the highest and noblest Thoughts; whereas an Infatuation can only be compared to a Fever. Man hath no more control over the one than he hath over the other, and cannot curb its Violence or the Duration of its Attack.
4
The next thing that I remember most clearly is seeing Mr. Betterton put the fateful Paper down again, take up her Ladyship's Veil and bury his Face in its cloudy Folds. I heard him murmur faintly, after awhile:
"Now, if I dared, I would believe myself almost happy!"
Then he rose, picked up the Paper, and with it went up to the Lady Barbara.
"'Tis done, as you did command," he said quite quietly, and placed the Document in her Hand. She took it from him and rose to her Feet.
"A Light, I pray You," she said coldly.
He brought one of the Candles across and stood beside her, holding it aloft. She read the Paper through with great Deliberation, nodding Approval from time to time as she did so. Then she folded it into a very small Compass, while she thanked him coldly and guardedly. He then went back to the Desk with the Candle and put it down. During these few Seconds, whilst his back was turned to her, I noticed that the Lady Barbara took a heavy, jewelled Brooch from her Gown and fastened it by its pin to the Document. Her movements were methodical but very quick, and my own Mind worked too slowly to guess at her Intention.
The next moment, Mr. Betterton was once more by her side. Eager, alert, and with the glow of Triumph in his Eyes, he flung himself at her Feet. She was his now!—his by Right of Conquest! He had won her by measureless Self-Sacrifice, and now he meant to hold the Guerdon for which he had paid so heavy a Price.
"Because you deigned to cross this humble Threshold," he said, and his arms encircled her Waist with the masterful and passionate Gesture of a Victor, "the poor Actor places his Name and Fame, his Pride and baffled Revenge, at your feet."
"At the World's Feet, Sir Mountebank!" she cried exultantly, and with a swift movement she flung the weighted Paper far out through the Window. Then, leaning out into the Darkness, she called at the top of her Voice: "To me, Adela! Here is the Message from Mr. Betterton. Take it to my Lord Sidbury at once!"
But Mr. Betterton was no longer in a mental State to care what happened after this; I doubt if he realized just what was impending. He was still on his Knees, holding on to her with both Arms.
"Nay!" he said wildly. "That is as You please. Let the whole World think me base and abject. What care I for Honour, Fame or Integrity now that You are here, and that You will be my Wife?"
Ah! the poor, deluded Fool! How could he be so blind? Already the Lady Barbara had turned on him with flashing Eyes, and a loud, hysterical Laugh of measureless Contempt broke from her Lips.
"Your Wife!" she exclaimed, and that harsh laugh echoed through the Silence of the House. "So, Mr. Actor, you thought to entrap the Daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury into becoming your Wife! ... Nay! you miserable Fool! 'Twas I entrapped and cheated you.... Your Wife! Ye Saints in Heaven, hear him! His Wife! The Wife of Thomas Betterton, the Mountebank!! I!!!"
Her Words, her Laughter, the Bitterness of her Contempt, stung him like a Whip-lash. In an instant, he was on his Feet, staggered back till he came in contact with the Desk, to which he clung with both hands, while he faced her, his Cheeks pale as Ashes, his Eyes glowing with a Light that appeared almost maniacal.
"You cheated me?" he murmured inarticulately. "You lied to me? ... You ... I'll not believe it ... I'll not believe it...."
She appeared not to heed him, was gazing out of the Window, shouting directions to some one—her waiting-maid, no doubt, or other Confidante—who was searching for the Paper down below.
"There, Adela!" she called out eagerly. "Dost see ... just by those bushes ... something white ... my brooch.... Dost see?"
Suddenly she gave a Cry of Triumph, and then turned back exultantly to her baffled Foe.
"My maid," she said, somewhat wildly, and panting as if she were exhausted with fast running. "We had planned it all ... She is devoted to me ... She has been on the Watch ... She has the paper now ... There!" she added, and with outstretched arm pointed out into the Gloom beyond. "There; Do you see?"
Can You wonder that her Trickery, her Contempt had made him mad? Indeed, even I felt that at that moment I could have held her slender throat between my two Hands and crushed the Life out of her. To a Man of Mr. Betterton's temperament, the Provocation was obviously beyond his Powers of Endurance. Even in the dim Light, I could see a positive Fury of Passion akin to Hate literally distorting his Face. The next second he was once more by her side, and whilst she still cried wildly: "Do you see? Do you see? Run, Adela, run!" he seized her in his arms and retorted roughly:
"I see nothing now but your Beauty, and that has made me mad."
"Run, Adela! Run!" she cried again. "That message from Mr. Betterton is for the whole World to see!"
But he held her tightly round the Shoulders now, and she, probably realizing her Danger for the first time, strove to struggle against his Embrace.
"Let me go!" she commanded. "Let me go! or I swear by God in Heaven that I will find the Strength to kill myself and You."
"I love You," was his only reply to her Threat. "Nay!" he added, speaking in rapid, jerky Phrases, the while she continued to struggle with ever growing loss of Power. "You shall kill me later if You will, but not till I have lived. My Dear, my Love, my Saint! Have I not worshipped you for days and months? Have I not held You in Dream in my Arms? You are my Muse, my Divinity, my Hope! Mine! Mine! Exquisite, adorable Lady Barbara! No! No! You cannot escape, struggle how You might. This is my hour! 'Tis you who gave it me, and I defy Heaven itself to rob me of a single instant!"
My God! what could I do? More and more did I curse the Folly and Cowardice which had kept me riveted to this Spot all this while. Now there was nothing for it but to reveal my Presence, to draw upon my foolish Head the Contempt and Anger of a Man for whom I would gladly have laid down my Life. My Brain became confused. I ceased to see clearly. A ruddy Mist was gathering before my Eyes. I was on the Verge of losing Consciousness and was struggling pitifully to retain Command over my Senses. Through this fast approaching Swoon I could hear, as through an intervening Veil, the hoarse and broken Accents of the Voice that I loved so well:
"You are here alone with me. The last shred of my Reason is scattered to the Winds. England, Fame, the World, are empty Words to me. Do you not see that now I am ready to die an hundred Deaths, for at last I shall have lived ... I shall have held You in my Arms."
And one great and pitiful Appeal from her Lips: "Oh, God! If there is Justice in Heaven—defend me now——"
And, even half conscious as I was, I saw her—yes, saw her quite distinctly give a sudden wrench which freed her right Arm. She plunged her Hand into the bosom of her Gown, and the next instant the flickering light of the Candle flashed a vivid gleam upon the narrow steel blade of a dagger which she held. This, with the swiftness of lightning, brought me back to the Consciousness of the present, grim Reality. With a loud and sudden Cry, I darted out of my Hiding Place and stood there before them both, pale no doubt with a well-nigh unearthly Pallor, which must have given me the Appearance of a Ghost.
It was now the Lady Barbara who was nigh to Swooning. But, with that coolness which comes at times to the Helpless and the Weak, I had already snatched her Veil from the Desk, and whilst she tottered and almost fell into my Arms, I wrapped it around her Head.
"Quick! The Door!" I said. "You are quite safe!"
I dared not look at Mr. Betterton. Indeed, I could not even now tell You in what Attitude or with what Expression of Face he watched me whilst I seemed thus to take