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Page 45
There were not many people about town. The strollers had gone back to
town, or down the hill to their dinners. The Terrace, and the gardens
that dropped below it to the Thames, were bathed in the purplish
opalescent shades of evening. From the windows of the Roebuck streamed a
shaft of light, playing on the trunks of the great trees, and gleaming
the breadth of the graveled walk. It shone full on Nevill and his
companions, and it revealed a woman coming along the Terrace from the
direction of the Star and Garter; she was smartly dressed, and stepped
with a graceful, easy carriage.
"Look!" whispered Jimmie. "The Lass of Richmond Hill! There's something
nice for you."
"Not for me," Jack laughed.
The woman, coming opposite to the three young men, shot a bold glance at
them. She stopped with a little scream, and pressed one hand agitatedly
to her heart.
"Jack!" she cried in an eager whisper. "My Jack!"
That once familiar voice woke the chords of his memory, bridged the gulf
of years. His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He stared at the
handsome face, with its expression of mingled insolence and terror--met
the scrutiny of the large, flashing eyes. Then doubt fled. His brain
throbbed, and the world grew black.
"Diane! My God!" fell from his lips.
"Fancy _her_ turning up!" Nevill whispered to Drexell.
"It's a bad business," Jimmie replied; he, as well as Nevill, had known
Diane Merode while she was Jack's wife.
The woman came closer; she shrugged her shoulders mockingly.
"Jack--my husband," she said. "Have you no welcome for me?"
With a bitter oath he caught her arm. His face indicated intense
emotion, which he vainly tried to control.
"Yes, it is you!" he said, hoarsely. "You have come back from the grave
to wreck my life. I heard you were dead, and I believed it--"
"You read it in a Paris paper," interrupted Diane, speaking English with
a French accent. "It was a lie--a mistake. It was not I who was dragged
from the river and taken to the Morgue. It would have been better so,
perhaps. Jack, why do you glare at me? Listen, I am not as wicked as you
think. There were circumstances--I was not to blame. I can explain
all--"
"Hush, or I will kill you!" he said, fiercely. He snatched at a chain
that encircled her white throat, and as it broke in his grasp a
sparkling jewel fell to the ground. The most stinging name that a man
can call a woman hissed from his clenched teeth. She shrank back,
terrified, into the shadow, and he followed her. "Are you dead to all
shame, that you dare to make yourself known to me?" he cried. "The life
you lead is blazoned on your painted cheeks! You are no wife of mine!
Begone! Out of my sight! Merciful God, what have I done to deserve this?"
"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!" urged Jimmie. "Control yourself,
old man." He looked anxiously about, but as yet the altercation had not
been observed by the few persons in the vicinity. "Nevill, we must stop
this," he added.
"I _won't_ go away," Diane vowed, obstinately. "You are my husband,
Jack, and you know it. Let your friends, who knew us in the old days,
deny it if they can! I have a wife's claim on you."
"Take her away!" Jack begged.
Nevill drew the woman to one side, and though she made a show of
resistance at first, she quickly grew calm and listened quietly to his
whispered words. He whistled for a passing hansom, and it stopped at the
edge of the street. He helped Diane into it, and rejoined his companions.
"It's all right--she is reasonable now," he said in a low voice. "Brace
up, Jack; I'll see you through this. Jimmie, go over and pay the account,
will you? Here is the money. And say that I will send for the trap
to-morrow."
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