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twg_000000051500 | door locked on the inside, would tend to make Henshaw's death a mystery with a strong probability in favour of suicide, which would be altogether the happiest conclusion to arrive at. In fact my hastily formed calculation was, as we know, subsequently borne out and the suicide theory would probably have been quietly accepted had it not been for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051501 | intervention of Gervase Henshaw with his smartness and incredulity. "That is practically the end of my story, Miss Morriston. I laid the chisel by the body, went to the window, pulled in the rope, carefully got the centre, adjusted it through the stanchion, and with a last look at the dead man, got out of the window, a rather nerve-trying | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051502 | business, and began to lower myself. I had calculated that the double rope was long enough to take me to within a few feet of the ground, and this proved to be the case. When I came to the end I let go of one side and pulled the other with me as I dropped. Then I drew the rope | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051503 | down, the latter half when released falling with a great thud. Hastily I set off for the lake, dragging the rope after me. At the landing-stage by the boat-house I coiled it up as best I could and threw it in. As I had anticipated it was thick and heavy enough to sink without being weighted. Then with a last | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051504 | glance at the tower I made my way as quickly as possible to the hotel in a state of nerves which you may imagine, little thinking that my descent from the tower had been witnessed. My first intention was to abandon all idea of going to the dance, but on reflection I came to the conclusion that I had better | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051505 | at least put in an appearance there. "Accordingly I changed and came on late to the ball, as you know. Naturally a great curiosity possessed me to find out the girl who had played the third part in the drama which had been enacted in the tower. But I had not seen her face, nor heard her voice sufficiently to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051506 | be able to recognize it. There were several tall girls in the room, yourself among the number, but naturally it never occurred to me--" He stopped awkwardly, just as by inadvertence he was about to say that which all along he had studiously refrained from suggesting. "To suspect me," Edith Morriston completed his sentence with a smile. "No," he continued | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051507 | frankly. "You would have been the last person to enter my head in that connexion. And then Kelson came out of the passage from the tower with Miss Tredworth, to whom he had just proposed. He introduced me in a way which suggested their new relationship, and we had just began to chat when to my horror I noticed what | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051508 | to my mind went to prove that she was the person for whom I was looking. There were dark red stains on the white roses she wore on her dress. It was an unpleasant shock to me, placing me, as it seemed, in a terribly difficult position. For, at the first blush of my discovery, it all seemed to fit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051509 | in. Clement Henshaw had been, I imagined, in love with Miss Tredworth before Kelson appeared on the scene. She had thrown him over for my friend, and Henshaw, taking his rejection in bad part, had threatened to expose some questionable incident in her past. Now that is all happily explained away, and I won't retrace the steps by which my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051510 | imagination led me on; but you see how painfully I was situated with respect to my friend. "That is my story, Miss Morriston. Had I known what I know now I should not have kept it to myself so long; but up to a certain point, until the last few days, there seemed no reason for making the dangerous secret | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051511 | known to any one. Now, when it appears necessary to protect you from this man, Henshaw, the account of the part I played in the tragedy must be told in your interest." Edith Morriston drew in a deep breath as Gifford ceased speaking. "It is very kind and chivalrous of you, Mr. Gifford," she said in a low voice, "to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051512 | run this risk for me, although your telling me the story shall never involve you in danger." "I am ready for your sake to face any danger the telling of my secret may hold for me," he responded firmly. "I am sure of that, as I am sure of you," she replied. Then added with a change of tone, "You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051513 | were certain for a while that Muriel Tredworth had not only been guilty of something discreditable in her past but had stabbed to death in your presence the man who knew her secret." "I'm afraid there seemed to me no alternative but to believe it," he acknowledged. "When you found out that you were mistaken in her identity and that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051514 | she had nothing whatever to do with the tragedy you would naturally transfer the opinion you had held of her to--to the other woman--the one who was actually there?" The question was put searchingly and was not to be evaded. "That would be a natural consequence," Gifford admitted frankly. "But there was in my mind always a growing doubt whether | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051515 | the wound had not been given accidentally. And that doubt became almost certainty when the real identity of Henshaw's victim became apparent." Edith Morriston looked at him steadily. "You know it--for certain?" she asked almost coldly. "Naturally I cannot fail to know it now," he answered sympathetically. She gave a rather bitter laugh. "I shall not deny it to you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051516 | Mr. Gifford, even if I thought it could be of any use. But, knowing so much, you owe it to me to hear my explanation of matters which look so black against me, and above all to accept my absolute assurance that so far as I am concerned Clement Henshaw's wound was quite accidental. Indeed I never dreamt that he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051517 | had been hurt until his body was found." Gifford seized her hand by an irresistible impulse. "Miss Morriston, if you only knew how glad and relieved I am to hear you say that!" he exclaimed. "When you hear my story," she said, composedly but with an underlying bitterness which was hardly to be concealed, "the story of a long martyrdom | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051518 | of persecution--for it has been nothing less--you will acquit me of being guilty of anything disreputable. What I did was innocent enough and it moreover was forced upon me." "Tell me," he urged tenderly. "I must tell you," she returned, "if only to set myself right in your eyes who have been witness of the terrible sequel to it all. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051519 | But not to-night; it is too late, and the story is long: it must be told at length. Dick will be home by this and I must go. I would ask you to come in, but there would be no opportunity for private talk there. Will you meet me to-morrow morning at half-past ten by the summer-house near the wood | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051520 | that runs up to James' farm? You know it?" "Well. I will be there." "It is rather a long way for you to come," she said, "but there are reasons for avoiding the big wood with the rides." "I know," he replied. "Henshaw might be on the look-out there for you." Then he added in answer to her quick look | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051521 | of curiosity, "I happened once by accident to see him there with you." "Ah, yes," she admitted with a shudder, "I will tell you about that." "I think I can guess," he said quietly. "Now in the meantime you will take no notice of this man if he writes or tries to see you. He will probably be exasperated by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051522 | your not keeping the appointment this evening and may determine to put the screw on." "Yes," she agreed with a lingering fear in her voice. "Leave him to me to deal with," Gifford said reassuringly. "And do make up your mind that all will be well." "I will, thanks to you, my friend in need." And so, with a warm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051523 | pressure of the hands, they parted. EDITH MORRISTON'S STORY Next morning Gifford was in good time at the rendezvous, a sequestered corner of the park, and Edith Morriston soon joined him. "Let us come into the summer-house," she suggested; "it will be more convenient for my long story." "First of all, tell me," Gifford said, "has anything happened since last | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051524 | night? Has Henshaw made any move?" She took out a note and handed it to him. "Only that," she said with an uneasy laugh. "There must have been some misunderstanding last evening," Gifford read. "I cannot think that your not keeping the appointment was intentional. Anyhow I can wait till to-night, then I shall be at the lane just beyond | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051525 | the church at .. That you may not repent I hope you have not repented." That was all. "A thinly veiled threat," Gifford observed. "The man in his way seems as great a bully as his brother. May I keep this? I am going to see Mr. Henshaw presently, and have a serious talk with him. After which I shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051526 | hope to be able to convince you that your troubles are at an end." "If you can do that--" she said. "The knowledge that I have been of service to you will be my great reward. I hope I am sufficiently a gentleman not to ask or expect any other." She made no reply. They had entered the little rustic | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051527 | summer-house, and sat down. "Dick has driven into Branchester," Edith Morriston said, perhaps to end an embarrassing pause. "He will not be back till luncheon, so we are not likely to be interrupted." "That's well," Gifford answered. "Now please begin what I am most anxious to hear." "The story I have to tell you, Mr. Gifford," Edith Morriston began, "is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051528 | not a pleasant one and is as humiliating to me to relate as was the experience, the terrible experience, I had to go through. But to be fair to myself I must be quite frank with you, and am sure you will never give me cause to repent speaking unreservedly." "You can rely upon my honour to respect your confidence," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051529 | Gifford responded warmly. "I know I may," the girl answered. "Well, then, you must know first of all, that my father married a second time, and he unfortunately chose a woman well connected enough, but heartless and an utter snob. I suppose men are often blind to these hateful qualities before marriage; doubtless a clever, unscrupulous woman is able to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051530 | hide her faults when she has the main chance in view. My stepmother was a good deal younger than my father, and I dare say on the whole made him, socially at any rate, a fairly good wife. Her one idea was social aggrandizement at any cost, and I unhappily was to fall a victim to it. "I suppose we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051531 | ought not to blame her for determining that I ought to marry well; she wanted to do the best for the family and was constitutionally incapable of making allowance for or considering any one's private feelings. To make a long story short, my stepmother, in pursuance of her policy, determined that I should marry a certain peer whose name I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051532 | need not mention. He was altogether a bad lot, and I soon came to know it. I received certain warnings, but without them I could see that the man was all wrong, and I told my stepmother what I thought of him. "She scoffed at the idea that he was any worse than the average man. All I had to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051533 | concern myself with was the fact that he was a peer of ancient lineage, of large property, and there wasn't another girl in the kingdom who wouldn't jump at him. I might well chance his making me unhappy since he could make me a countess, and to refuse him would be absolute madness; Mrs. Morriston's face grew black at the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051534 | very thought of it. She soon got my father on to her side, and between them I had a hateful time of it. It's the old story, which will be told as long as there are worldly, selfish women on the earth, but it was none the less fresh and poignant to me who had to live through the experience. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051535 | "Things got so bad through my continued refusal to fall in with my stepmother's wishes that I was reduced to a state bordering on despair. My father, whom I loved, was turned against me; his mind was so prejudiced in favour of the man whom I was being gradually forced to take as a husband that he could see no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051536 | good reason, only sheer obstinacy, in my refusal. Altogether my life was becoming a perfect hell. Dick, who might have stood by me, and made things less unbearable, was away on a two years' tour for big game shooting; I had no one to confide in, no one to help me. "Just as things were at their worst and I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051537 | was getting quite desperate, I met at a dance a man named Archie Jolliffe. He had been a sailor, but having come into money had given up the Service and settled down to enjoy himself. He and I got on very well together from the first; he was a breezy, genial, young fellow, fond of fun and adventure and a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051538 | pleasant contrast in every way to the man who was threatening to ruin my life. I don't know that in happier circumstances I should have cared for Jolliffe; there wasn't much in him beyond his capacity for fun; he was inclined to be fast in a foolish sort of way; a man's man rather than one for whom a woman | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051539 | could feel much respect. Still he was not vicious like the other, for whom my dislike increased every time I saw him. "Well, Archie Jolliffe fell in love with me and in his impetuous way made no secret of it. I need not say it did not take long for my step-mother to become aware of it, and with the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051540 | idea that I was encouraging him she became furious. Except that poor Archie was a welcome change from the atmosphere of my home and the hateful attentions of the man who was always being left alone with me, I did not really care for him, and but for Mrs. Morriston's attitude I should have told him it was no use | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051541 | his thinking of me. Considering the sequel, I wish I had done so; but it is too late now for regrets. His love-making gave me a chance of defying my stepmother, and I rather enjoyed baulking her plans to keep Archie and me apart. If I did not encourage him--indeed, I refused him every time he proposed--I did not dismiss | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051542 | him as I ought to have done, and he evidently had an idea that perseverance would win the day. And so, after a fashion, it did. "Matters reached such a pitch at last that it became plain that I must either consent to marry the man I loathed or leave my home for good. Goaded on by my apparent encouragement | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051543 | of Archie Jolliffe, my stepmother resolved to bring matters to a crisis. She started a terrific row with me one day, my father was brought into it, and I stood up against them both. The upshot was that when the interview was over I went out of the house boiling with indignation and for the time utterly reckless. Chance caught | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051544 | the psychological moment and threw me in the way of Archie Jolliffe. He saw something was wrong and pressed me to tell him what had happened. He was so chivalrous and sympathetic that I was led in my turbulent state of mind to become confidential, the more so when he told me he had known for some time how I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051545 | was being treated. "'You must not marry that man,' he said 'It is an outrage for your people to suggest such a thing. He is a big swell and all that, with heaps of money, but any man in town who knows anything will tell you he is quite impossible,' "I had heard that, and had told my stepmother, but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051546 | of course it did not suit her to heed me. She cared for nothing beyond the fact that I should be a countess, and said so. "Archie and I talked together for a long time and with the result that in my longing for protection from the powers against me and my indignation at the way I was being treated | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051547 | I had promised when we parted to marry him, and we had planned to elope together that very night. "At that time we were living at Haynthorpe Hall--you know it?--about ten miles from here. That evening I slipped out of the house after dinner and met Archie, who was waiting for me at a quiet spot outside the village. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051548 | plan was to drive across country to Branchester Junction, where it was not likely we should be noticed or recognized, catch the night train up to town and be married there next morning. You may imagine the state of desperation--utter desperation and recklessness--I was in to have consented to such a thing, but I could see no help for it, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051549 | and of two evils I seemed to be choosing the least. The future looked hideously vague and dark; still Jolliffe was capable of being transformed into a decent husband, while the other man assuredly was not. "Archie seemed overjoyed, poor fellow, as I mounted into the dog-cart; he had hardly expected that I should not repent. Once we were fairly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051550 | off and bowling along the dark road, a sense of relief came to me, and whatever qualms I may have felt soon vanished. However wrong my conduct was I had been driven to it and my father, for whom I was sorry, by taking part against me, deserved to lose me. "My companion had the tact not to talk much, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051551 | and I was glad to think he could realize the seriousness of the step he had persuaded me to take. But the little he did say was affectionately sympathetic and, now that the die was cast, it comforted me to indulge hopes of him. "All went well till we were about three miles from Branchester; then an awful thing happened. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051552 | Our horse was a fast trotter, and Archie let him have his head, knowing that it would never do for us to miss the train. As we turned a blind corner we came into collision with another dog-cart which we had neither seen nor heard. The force of the impact was so great that our off-wheel was smashed; the cart | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051553 | went over, we were both flung out, and as I fell I realized horribly that my desperate expedient was a failure. "I was not much hurt, for my fall was broken, and I soon scrambled to my feet. But Archie lay there motionless. The man who was the only occupant of the other dog-cart had pulled into the hedge and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051554 | alighted. He came up to offer his help, and to express his sorrow at the accident, which he said, doubtless with truth, was not his fault. I dare say you will have guessed that the man was Clement Henshaw. Between us we raised Archie and carried him to the side of the road. He was quite insensible, and breathing heavily. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051555 | "'I am afraid he is rather seriously hurt,' the man said sympathetically. 'We ought to get him to Branchester Hospital as soon as possible.' "I was so overwhelmed by the sudden and terrible end to our adventure that I could think of nothing. By a great piece of luck a belated dray came along on its way to Branchester. Into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051556 | this, with the driver's help, we lifted poor Archie; and then Henshaw and I drove on in his trap to prepare the hospital authorities for the patient's arrival. The doctor after a cursory examination gave very little hope, and I left the hospital in a most wretched state of mind, feeling more than indirectly responsible for the end of that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051557 | bright young life. Henshaw arranged for the horse and smashed dogcart to be fetched from the scene of the accident, and then he asked where in the town he should escort me. "I thanked him and said, a good deal to his surprise, that I was not going to stop in Branchester, but would hire a fly and drive to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051558 | my destination. I stood, of course, in a hideously false position, and that he very soon began to divine; he would not hear of my getting a fly at that hour of the night, but insisted on driving me in his trap to wherever I wished to go. "Unhappily I had no idea of the man's character, or I should | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051559 | never have dreamt of accepting his offer; but I was then in no state of mind to judge his nature or question his motives; he had proved himself infinitely kind and resourceful, so in my lonely and agitated condition I consented, little imagining what the dire result to me would be. "On the drive back to my home I was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051560 | naturally in a horribly distressed state of mind, and hardly dared think of the future. My companion tactfully refrained from much talking, although I had an idea that his curiosity was greatly excited to learn the explanation of the affair; he put occasionally a leading question which I always evaded, when he took the hint and did not press his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051561 | inquiries. So far as every one else was concerned there had been no idea of connecting me with poor Archie Jolliffe. The hospital people believed that he had been driving alone, and that I had been in the trap with Henshaw. I dare say they took me for his sister or his wife. "At last, after one of the most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051562 | wretched hours I ever spent--and I have had more than my fair share of trouble--we reached Haynthorpe, and on the outskirts of the village I asked Henshaw to set me down. He stopped and looked at me curiously. "'Can't you trust me to drive you to your home?'" he said insinuatingly. "I replied that I preferred to get down where | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051563 | we were, and thanked him as warmly as I was able for all his services. "'You haven't even told me your name,' he protested, 'Mine is Clement Henshaw; I am staying at Flinton for hunting.' "My answer was that he must not think me ungrateful, but that I would rather not tell him my name. It could be of no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051564 | consequence to him. "'I should like at least,' he urged, 'to be allowed to drive over and report how your--friend--or was it your brother?--is getting on.' "I thanked him, made the best excuse I could for refusing, got down from the trap and hurried off through the dark village street, thankful to get away from those awkward questions. "But if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051565 | I thought I had finally got rid of Mr. Clement Henshaw I was, in my ignorance of the man, woefully mistaken." HOW THE STORY ENDED "When I reached the house luck unexpectedly favoured me. My maid, whom I had been obliged to take, up to a certain point, into my confidence, and who, after the manner of her class, had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051566 | acquired more than a sympathetic inkling of the way my people had been treating me, was waiting up on the look-out for my return, and quietly let me in. She told me that no one but herself had any idea that I was out of the house; she had led them to believe that I had gone to bed early | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051567 | with a headache, which considering the stress of the past two days was plausible enough. So I got back safely to my room which it had not seemed likely. I should ever enter again, and next morning I could see that my over-night's adventure was quite unsuspected. "Naturally I anticipated a continuation of my stepmother's attempts to force me into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051568 | the marriage she had in view, and it rather puzzled me to understand why they seemed to be dropped. The prospective bridegroom did not come to the house, and, stranger still, his name was not mentioned. The explanation was soon forthcoming. I did not see the newspapers just then, in fact I have an idea they were purposely kept away | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051569 | from me; but some people who were calling mentioned a big society-scandal coming on in the Law Courts in which this precious peer was desperately involved. The relief with which I heard the news was unbounded considering all it meant for me, but my joy was turned to bitter grief by the news that Archie Jolliffe after lying unconscious for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051570 | nearly a week had died of his injury. I had contrived, during the days he lingered, to make secret inquiries as to his condition, and so knew that what would have seemed my heartless absence from his bedside had made no difference to him." "Poor fellow," Gifford commented. "It was unspeakably sad," Edith Morriston continued, "but it seemed like fate, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051571 | seeing how things rearranged themselves afterwards. Certainly if I was to blame for his piteous end, I was to pay the penalty. For no sooner was I out of one trouble than another was ready for me. "After this long preface, I come to the most unpleasant episode of Henshaw and his persecution. "On the day I heard of poor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051572 | Archie's death I had gone out for a walk possessed by a great longing to be alone in my grief. On my way home by a woodland path leading to the Hall grounds, I, to my great annoyance, came upon Clement Henshaw. I can't say I was altogether surprised, for I had caught a glimpse of some one very like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051573 | him in the village a day or two before. Of that I had thought little, merely taking care that the man did not see me. But now there was no avoiding him, and I had more than a suspicion that he had been lying in wait for me. At the risk of appearing horribly ungrateful I made up my mind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051574 | on the instant to try to pass him with a bow, but need not say that was utterly futile. He stood directly in my path, and raised his hat. "'I am sorry to be the bearer of sad news, Miss Morriston,' he said. "So he had found out my name, assuredly not by accident, and the fact angered me, perhaps | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051575 | unreasonably. "'I have heard of Mr. Jolliffe's death,' I replied coldly, 'if that is what you have to tell me.' "'I thought,' he rejoined, with assurance, 'it quite possible you might not have heard so soon.' "From his manner I began to see that the man was likely to become an annoyance if he were not snubbed, but soon discovered | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051576 | that it was not so easily done. I thanked him coldly enough, and tried to dismiss him, but he insisted on walking with me. What could I do? He seemed determined to force his company upon me and I could not run away. He tried to get out of me how I had come to be driving with Archie that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051577 | night, and although I evaded his questions it was plain that he had a shrewd inkling of the reason. Not to weary you with a long account of this disagreeable and humiliating affair, I will only say that from that day forward I became subject to a determined system of persecution from Clement Henshaw. He waylaid me on every possible | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051578 | occasion, holding over me a covert threat of the exposure of my escapade, till at last I was absolutely afraid to go outside the house for fear of meeting him." "He wanted to marry you?" Gifford suggested. Edith Morriston gave a little shudder. "I suppose so. He was always making love to me, and was quite impervious to snubbing. When, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051579 | in consequence of my keeping within bounds of the house and garden, he could not see me, he took to writing, and kept me in terror lest one of his letters should fall into my stepmother's hands. I wished afterwards that I had taken a bold line, confessed what had happened, and defied the consequences. I think it was the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051580 | fear of being disgraced in my brother's eyes on his return which kept me from doing so. "In the midst of my worry my father fell into a state of bad health and we took him down to the Devonshire coast for change of air. Needless to say Henshaw soon found out our retreat, and to my dismay appeared there. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051581 | His persecution went on with renewed vigour and I, having less chance there of escaping it, was nearly at my wits' end, when fate curiously enough again intervened. We were caught in a storm on a long country excursion, my stepmother got a severe chill and within a week was dead. We returned to Haynthorpe, my father being now in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051582 | a very precarious state of health, Henshaw followed us with a pertinacity that was almost devilish. But I now ventured to defy his threats of exposing me; he strenuously denied any such intention and declared himself madly in love with me. I had now taken courage enough to reject him uncompromisingly; I forbade him ever to speak to me again, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051583 | and, as after that he disappeared from the village, began to flatter myself that I had got rid of him. "My father grew worse now from day to day; he lingered through the summer and with the chill days of autumn the end came. Dick hurried home and arrived just in time to see him alive. He left a much | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051584 | larger fortune than we had supposed him to possess, and Dick, always fond of sport, was soon in negotiation for this place which had come into the market. "No sooner had we settled in here than, to my horror, Clement Henshaw began to renew his persecution. He had evidently heard that I had inherited a good share of my father's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051585 | fortune, and was worth making another effort for. He recommenced to write to me, he came down secretly and waylaid me, and when everything else failed he resorted to threats, not veiled as before, but open and unmistakable. He vowed that if I persisted in refusing to marry him he would take good care that I should never marry any | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051586 | one else. He held, he said, my reputation in his hand; he hoped he should never have to use his power, but I ought to consider the state of his feelings towards me and not goad him to desperate measures. In short he took all the joy out of my life, for I had come from mere dislike simply to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051587 | loathe the man who could show himself such a dastardly cad. And the worst of it was that I saw no way out of it. Dick is a good fellow and very fond of me, but, although you might not think it, he is almost absurdly proud of the family name and its unsmirched record. And if I had confided | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051588 | in him, and he had horsewhipped Henshaw, what good could that have done? It would simply have infuriated the man, who would have at once made public my escapade, and few people would have given me the credit of its being innocent. Dick had just sunk a large part of his fortune in this place, he had taken over the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051589 | hounds and was certain of becoming popular. All that would be nullified and upset if this man, Henshaw, chose to let loose his tongue. For how could I even pretend to deny his story? At the very least the truth would mean a hateful reflection on my dead father, and the whole thing would have led to an intolerable scandal. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051590 | Yet it seemed as though this could be avoided in no other way but by marrying my persecutor, a man whom I had reason to hate and who had shown himself to be such an unchivalrous bully. About this time--that is shortly before the Hunt Ball--rumours had got about the neighbourhood that I was going to marry Lord Painswick. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051591 | was certainly paying me a good deal of attention, and I fancy Dick would have liked the match, but I could not bring myself to care for Painswick, and indeed his courtship only added to my other worries. "But Clement Henshaw heard the rumour and it had naturally the effect of rousing his wretched pursuit of me to greater activity. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051592 | He vowed with brutal vehemence that I should not marry Painswick, and declared that when our engagement was announced he would tell him the story he had against me. That in itself did not trouble me much since I had no intention of marrying Painswick; still the man's relentless persecution was getting more than I could bear. "I now come | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051593 | to the night of the Hunt Ball. For some days previously I had seen or heard nothing of Henshaw, and had even begun to hope that something might have happened to make the man abandon his line of conduct. I might have known him better. To my intense annoyance and dismay I saw him come into the ballroom with all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051594 | the hateful assurance that was so familiar to me. I could not well escape, seeing that I was acting as hostess. For a while he, beyond a formal greeting, let me alone. But I felt what was surely coming, and it was almost a relief when he took an opportunity of asking for a dance. "He must have seen the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051595 | hate in my eyes as in my hesitation they met his, for he said with a forced laugh, 'You need not do violence to your feelings by dancing with me, Miss Morriston, if you don't care to, but there is something I must say to you. Let us come out of the crowd to where we shall not be overheard.' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051596 | "I had never felt so madly furious with the man as at that moment; and it was with a reckless desire to tell him in strong language my opinion of his tactics, to insult him, if that were possible, to declare that I would die rather than yield to him, that I led the way to the tower. My desire | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051597 | to get out of the crowd was even greater than his, for a mad hope possessed me that in some desperate way I might bring our relations to a final issue. "We went into the sitting-out room. 'Some one will be coming in here,' he objected. 'Is there a room upstairs where we can talk?' "'There is a room up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051598 | there,' I answered, as steadily as my indignation would let me, and unheeding the idea of compromising myself I went up the dark staircase in front of him. Naturally the idea that our stormy interview was to have a witness would have been the last thing to enter my mind; it never occurred to me to make sure no one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000051599 | was already in the room when we entered it. "You know what happened, Mr. Gifford, so I need not go through that. The man showed himself the cowardly bully that he was. Somehow up there alone with him, as at least I thought, in the dark, my courage gave way, and it was only when the man sought in his | 60 | gutenberg |
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