A Duel. Marsh Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ told you that she was not the kind of woman you have ever met; she's clean beyond your understanding. Put your hand underneath my pillow-gently. You'll find a case; take it out."

      Isabel looked at him, hesitating, as if in doubt of his meaning, then she did as he had told her. He was propped up on a nicely graduated series of pillows. As she withdrew her hand, the case between her fingers, she dragged one of the pillows with it right from under the one on which his head reposed, so that, denuded of its support, his head fell back. In a second he began to choke before her eyes. His face grew bluer and bluer; the veins stood out through his skin; he fought for breath; his stertorous gasps shook him from head to foot. She raised his head to its normal position, returning the pillow to its place. As she watched him struggle back to what-to him-was life, she laughed.

      "It wouldn't take long to make an end of you."

      By degrees he regained the use of his attenuated voice.

      "I do want careful handling-that's so. Still I wouldn't murder me if I were you-it would be murder. Murder has to be paid for in full. It would be hardly worth your while to be compelled to render full payment for such a remnant as I am. Have you got the case? Open it."

      She held a square Russia leather case, in corn-flower blue. She looked for a spring or for something which would enable her to get at its interior, but found nothing.

      "Does it open? I don't see how."

      "It's a little idea of my own that spring. I didn't want any one to see what is inside but me. But it's so long since I've seen that I have grown hungry for a look, so you shall have one too. I think I should like you to have one. Hold the case between your finger and thumb, one of them exactly in the centre of each side, then press firmly."

      Obeying him, immediately one of the sides flew open in the middle, revealing, framed in the other, the miniature of a young girl. Isabel was no artist; she was incapable of appreciating the artistic value of the portrait which confronted her. What struck her instantly was that it was surrounded by what looked like three rows of precious stones-pearls, sapphires, diamonds.

      "Are they real?" she inquired.

      "Do you mean the stones in the setting? They are. The pearls are there because she is the queen of pearls; the sapphires, because they are her favourite stones; the diamonds, because I chose to have them."

      "They must be very valuable."

      "They cost a lot of money, and they'd fetch a lot. That is the girl I wanted to marry me. What do you think of her?"

      "She is pretty."

      "Pretty! She's beautiful."

      "She's too fair for me."

      "That's because you're dark. I hate dark women-always have done. Hold the case open in front of me. Let me look at her."

      She did as he asked. No change took place in his expression; none could take place. His voice remained the same; that also was incapable of modulation. Yet she knew that an alteration had taken place in him; that as he gazed the man of whom he had spoken, who was inside him somewhere, was stirred to his inmost depths.

      "Not beautiful! She's the most beautiful creature in the world. She always has been; she always will be. God bless her! though He has been hard on me." Then, after a pause, "Take the case away and shut it, and put it back beneath my pillow-gently. That glimpse will last me a long time, thank you. Though I may never look at her again, her face will be with me always to the end. Before you close the case you might look at her again more carefully. Perhaps, after you have gazed at her attentively, understanding may come to you; you may begin to perceive the beauty which was hidden from you at the first."

      She returned, the case still open in her hand, to the window in front of which she had been standing.

      CHAPTER IX

      THE SLIDING PANEL

      The silence remained unbroken for some seconds. Then he asked-

      "Well, what do you think of her now?"

      "I think she's pretty, as I said. You may think her beautiful. I daresay plenty of men would; that sort of thing's a question of taste. I tell you what I do think beautiful-that's these diamonds. The sapphires and the pearls are all very well, but the diamonds are the stones for me."

      "You would think that. You're the sort of woman who'd admire a gaudy frame, and have no eyes for the picture that was in it. If you like I'll tell you who she is and all about her. It may seem like sacrilege to talk of her to you, but I think I'll tell you all the same."

      "Tell away. I suppose it's the old, old story: she met some one she fancied more than you. Men always do think that sort of thing is wonderful. But I don't mind listening."

      "Yes, there was some one she liked better than me. That was the trouble."

      "It generally is, while it lasts; then it turns out to be a blessing. But, of course, you've never had the chance."

      "As you say, I've never had the chance. Her name-I won't tell you her name-though why shouldn't I? Her name is Margaret Wallace."

      "Scotch, is she?"

      "Her father was Scotch, her mother English. He was my dearest friend. When he died-"

      "He left his only daughter, then a mere child, and that was all."

      "That was all, and as you say she was a mere child. You seem to have had some experiences of your own."

      "One or two. I'm more than seven."

      "So I should imagine."

      "You took her to your own home, found her in food and washing, and pocket-money now and then. As she grew older her wondrous beauty and her many virtues-especially the first lot-warmed your withered heart. When she attained to womanhood you breathed to her the secret of your passion, which she had spotted about eighteen years before; but as she didn't happen to be taking any, of course the band began to play. Isn't that the sort of story you were going to tell, only I daresay you wouldn't have told it in quite that way?"

      "I certainly shouldn't have told it in quite that way."

      "You had expended on her two hundred and forty-nine pounds nineteen and sixpence ha'penny, besides any amount of fuss, so her ingratitude stung you to the marrow. Still you might have borne with her; you might not even have altered the will which you had made in her favour, and which you kept shaking in her face; only when she took up with another chap she seemed to be coming it a bit too thick. You cried in your anger, 'I'll make you smart for this, my beauty!' So you started to make her smart; but it seems to me that you've done most of the smarting up to now. Was it her cruelty which made you the pretty sight you are?"

      "Not altogether."

      "Not altogether! You don't mean to say that when you wanted her to be your wife you were anything like what you are now? A nice kind of love yours must have been!"

      "I appear to have acquired a really delightful wife."

      "If you weren't a dead log it might be that you'd find out how true that was. Any man with a touch of spice in him would give the eyes out of his head for a wife like me, and there have been plenty who were ready to do it."

      "As you yourself observed, these things are a question of taste. So you think she was justified in treating me as she did?"

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