The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER XXII

  THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT

  When Colonel Harris once more arrived at the Langham he found Luke andLouisa comfortably installed in front of the fire in the privatesitting-room up stairs. She was leaning back against the cushions, herhead resting in her hand, he at the foot of the sofa, his handsencircling one knee, gazing now and then into the fire, now and theninto her face.

  Not troubled creatures these, not man and woman fighting a battleagainst life, against the world, for honour, for peace, and for love;not souls racked by painful memories of the past or grim dread of thefuture: only two very ordinary human beings, with a life behind themof serene contentment, social duties worthily performed, a smooth lakewhereon not a ripple of sorrow or disgrace ever dared to mar the shinysurface.

  And the ruling passion strong in death was stronger still in face ofthis new life to be led: the life of to-morrow, full of the unknown,the ugly, the sordid and mean, full of nameless dangers, and ofpossible disgrace. The puppets were still dancing, moved by theinvisible strings held by the hand of the implacable giant calledConvention: they danced even as though no gaping and ravenous lions,no Bulls of Bashan, were there to see. Even before each other theyhid the secret mysteries of their hearts; he his overwhelming passionfor her, she her dread for his immediate future.

  They had not forborne to talk of Philip de Mountford's death; theywould not have admitted that there was anything there that could notbe discussed with perfect indifference--she, reclining against thecushions, and he in immaculate morning coat, with hair smoothlybrushed, and speckless tie and linen, talking of things which meantlife or death for them both.

  He had told her all he knew, his visit to Philip at the Veterans'Club, his quarrel with him, the hatred which he bore to the man thatwas dead. He made no secret of the police officer's questionings, norof Doctor Newington's extraordinary attitude.

  "One would think those fellows had a suspicion that I had murderedPhilip," he said quite lightly.

  And her face never moved whilst she listened to these details,analyzing them in her mind, comparing them with those at which themorning papers had hinted, the "clues" and "startling developments,"to obtain confirmation of which her father had gone out to seek SirThomas Ryder.

  Luke de Mountford would no more have dreamed of telling Louisa of thedark suspicions which really threatened him, than he would have laidbare before her some hideous wound, if he happened to be sufferingfrom one. The police officer's insolence and the doctor's easycontempt had sounded a note of warning of what was imminent, butbeyond that he had no fear. Why should he have? And having none, whyworry Lou with plaints that might agitate her?

  Remember that he individually was quite convinced that Philip'smurderer would soon be discovered. He too had read his morning paper,and knew as well as anybody that for the moment suspicion rested uponhim. "Seek whom the crime will benefit!" was a phrase freely used inthe press this morning. But it was only a question of time; anunpleasant phase to be traversed, some mud that presently would haveto be brushed off. No use to worry Louisa with it. Fortunately shetook it lightly, too. She was far too sensible to attach importance tosuch nonsense.

  Nevertheless mud thrown in such boundless profusion was apt to hurtvery considerably. Luke had to set his teeth this morning when heperused the _Times_ and even now there was in him a sensation ofhaving been bruised all over, after his second interview with Travers,and his talk with Doctor Newington in the library. Louisa did himgood. She was calm and sensible and a woman of the world. She neverpuzzled Luke, nor had she that vague longing to be misunderstood, thepeculiar attribute of the woman of to-day. In face of her serenity healmost despised himself for the intensity of his own passion. She wasso pure, so womanly in her tenderness, a girl still, she was hardlyconscious of passion. But she knew that he was in pain--morally andmentally in pain--and that worse was yet to come; and she, thecommonplace, sensible girl, brought forth her full array of calm andof triviality, checking by a placid smile the faintest onrush ofpassion in him, for passion could but torture him now, when his verysoul was troubled and every nerve on the jar.

  And thus Colonel Harris found them.

  When he entered, Louisa was recounting to Luke the menu of lastnight's dinner.

  "And 'Homard a la Danoise' was a perfect dream," she was saying. "Isuppose it would not be etiquette to ask Her Excellency for therecipe."

  Luke rose as the colonel entered and passed his hand across the backof his smooth head, a gesture peculiarly English and peculiarly hisown. The older man was undoubtedly the most troubled of the three.

  "It's a damnable business this," he said as soon as he had shaken Lukeby the hand and thrown off hat and coat.

  "Does Sir Thomas Ryder," asked Luke lightly, "also think that I havemurdered Philip?"

  He knew where Colonel Harris had been. Louisa had not thought ofkeeping this from him.

  "Tom's a fool!" retorted the colonel involuntarily.

  It was tantamount to an avowal. Luke never flinched; he even contrivedto smile. Louisa sat up very straight, and with an instinctivemovement gave the sofa cushions a nervy shake up. But her eyes werefastened on Luke.

  "Don't worry, sir," said Luke very quietly. "I'll get out of it all ingood time."

  "Of course you will! Damn it all!" ejaculated the other fervently.

  "The inquest you know is to-morrow."

  It was Luke who spoke and Colonel Harris looked up quickly.

  "Then," he said, "surely some light will be thrown on this mysteriousbusiness."

  "Let's hope so, sir," rejoined Luke dryly.

  "Has Uncle Ryder told you anything fresh, father? Anything that wedon't yet know?"

  Colonel Harris did not reply, and Louisa knew that there was somethingthat Uncle Ryder had said, something awful, which had caused herfather to wear the troubled look which had terrified her the moment hecame in.

  Something awful!--which would affect Luke!

  "Won't you tell us, father," she said, "what Uncle Ryder told you?Luke ought to know."

  "Oh," rejoined Luke, "there's no hurry I'm sure. Colonel Harris willtell me presently. Lou, you were coming to the park this morning. Isuppose we can't go to the Temple Garden Show very well."

  "Not very well, I think," she replied, "but I'll come for a walk afterlunch with pleasure. Father must tell us now what Uncle Ryder said."

  Then as Colonel Harris still seemed to hesitate, she became moreinsistent, and her voice more firm.

  "Father dear," she said, "I must know as well as Luke."

  The old man took a turn up and down the room, with hands behind hisback. He would not look either at Louisa or at Luke, for it would beeasier to tell them everything without meeting their eyes. And he hadto tell them everything. To her as well as to him. It was no longerany use trying to avoid the subject, pretending that it was trivial,unworthy of discussion.

  Facts had to be faced at last, like the dervishes at Omdurman, and aplan of campaign decided on in the event of momentary defeat.

  "Ryder," he began quite abruptly at last, "had the hall porter ofthat confounded club up to his room while I was there, and questionedhim before me."

  "He could," suggested Luke, "only repeat the story which we all knowalready. I never denied seeing Philip at the club or quarrelling withhim for a matter of that. Hang it all! I have often quarrelled withhim before."

  "Yes," rejoined the colonel, "they've ferreted out the old servants ofyour uncle's household, and heard innumerable stories of quarrels."

  "Exaggerated, I expect. But what of it?"

  "And that hall porter didn't mince matters either. Damn him."

  "Philip," remarked Luke dryly, "shouted pretty loudly. I did not."

  "The porter said that when you left the club you had 'murder in youreye.'"

  "Possibly."

  "You had overheard Philip's last remark to the porter?"

  "Yes--something about pestering beggars. I was ready to make himswallow his words, but I
loathe a scene, before people like those whofrequent the Veterans' Club."

  "I wish to goodness you had gone for him then and there."

  "Why?"

  "This accursed business would not have occurred."

  "Oh, yes it would--sooner or later."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Philip must have had an enemy."

  "Who murdered him last night, you think?"

  "An enemy," assented Luke, "who evidently laid in wait for him, andmurdered him last night. It is bound to come out at the inquest."

  "About this enemy?" queried Colonel Harris vaguely.

  "Why, yes," rejoined Luke a little impatiently, "surely the policehave made other investigations. They are not just fastening on me andon no one else."

  "Could you," asked Louisa, "help the police in that, Luke?"

  "No;" he replied, "I know absolutely nothing about Philip or about hispast life."

  "Did Lord Radclyffe?"

  "I don't know."

  "He has been questioned, has he not?"

  "He is too ill to see any one. Doctor Newington declares that he mustnot attempt to see any one. His condition is critical. Moreover, he isonly partly conscious."

  "But----"

  "There's Philip's lawyer, Davies," said Luke; "the police ought to bein communication with him. It is positively ridiculous the way theyseem to do nothing in the way of proper investigation, but only makeup their minds that I have killed my cousin. Why! they don't even seemto trouble about the weapon with which the murder was committed."

  "The weapon----?"

  The ejaculation, spoken hardly above a whisper, had come from ColonelHarris. Once more the old man felt--as he had done in hisbrother-in-law's office--that every drop of blood in him had recededback to his heart, and that he would choke if he attempted to utteranother word.

  "They say," continued Luke quietly, "that Philip was killed by thethrust of a sharp dagger or stiletto, right through the neck. Well,where is that dagger? Have they found it? Or traced it to its owner?"

  Then as Colonel Harris was still silent he reiterated once more:

  "Did Sir Thomas tell you if they had found the weapon?"

  And Colonel Harris nodded and murmured:

  "Yes."

  "Actually found the weapon?" insisted Luke.

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "Behind the railings--in Green Park--close to Hyde Park corner."

  "Was it a stiletto? Or a dagger? Or what?"

  "It was a stick with a dagger fitting into it. A snake-wood stick. Itwas covered with mud and--other stains."

  There was silence in the room now for the space of a few briefseconds. A silence solemn and full of meaning. All through this rapidsuccession of questions and answers between Colonel Harris and Luke,Louisa had kept her eyes fixed upon the younger man's face, had seenlight indifference at possible danger alternating with impatience atthe singular obstinacy of his accusers. Throughout this time the faceshe knew so well, mirrored that perfect calm which she understood andadmired, since it was the reflex of a calm, untroubled soul.

  But now there came a change in the face: or rather not in the face butin the soul behind it. The change came at Colonel Harris's last words;a change so subtle, so undetermined, that she was quite sure herfather had not perceived it. But movement there was none; one mere,almost imperceptible, quiver of the eyelids--nothing more. The mouthbeneath the slight fair moustache had not trembled, the brow remainedsmooth, the breath came and went as evenly as before.

  But the change was there, nevertheless! The gray tint just round theeyes, the stony look in the pupils themselves a tiny speck of moistureround the wing of each nostril. Colonel Harris had not looked at Lukewhilst he spoke of the stick. He was staring straight in front of him,hardly conscious of the silence which had cast a strange and mysticspell on these three people standing here in the banal atmosphere of aLondon hotel.

  It was Luke who broke the silence. He said quite quietly asking thequestion as if it related to a most trivial, most indifferent matter:

  "Did Sir Thomas show you the stick?"

  The colonel nodded in acquiescence.

  "It was my stick, I suppose?"

  The query was so sudden, so unexpected that Colonel Harrisinstinctively uttered an exclamation of amazement.

  "Luke! By God, man! Are you mad?"

  Louisa said nothing. She was trying to understand theun-understandable. Luke almost smiled at the other man's bewilderment.

  "No, sir," he said, "not mad I think. I only want to know how Istand."

  "How you stand, man?" ejaculated Colonel Harris with uncontrolledvehemence. "Great Heavens, don't you realize that here is some damnedconspiracy as mysterious as it is damnable, and that you will have tolook this seriously in the face, if you don't wish to find yourself inthe dock before the next four and twenty hours?"

  "I am," replied Luke simply, "looking the matter squarely in the face,sir, but I don't quite see how I can avoid standing in the dock as yousay, before the next four and twenty hours. You see I had quarrelledwith Philip, and my stick--which contained a dagger--was found in thepark, covered with mud, as you say, and other stains."

  "But, hang it all, man! you did not murder your cousin!"

  This was not a query but an assertion. Colonel Harris's loyalty hadnot wavered, but he could not contrive to keep the note of anxiety outof his voice: nor did he reiterate the assertion when Luke made noanswer to it.

  Once more the latter passed his hand over the back of his head. Youknow that gesture. It is so English! and always denotes a certainmeasure of perturbation. Then he said with seeming irrelevance:

  "I suppose I had better go now."

  His eyes sought Louisa's, trying to read what she thought and felt.Imagine the awful moment! For he loved her, as you know, with thatintensity of passion of which a nature like his--almost cramped byperpetual self-containment--is alone capable. Then to have to standbefore her wondering what the next second would reveal, hardly daringto exchange fear for certitude, because of what that certitude mightbe.

  He sought her eyes and had no difficulty in finding them. They hadnever wandered away from his face. To him--the ardentworshipper--those eyes of hers had never seemed so exquisitelyluminous. He read her soul then and there as he would a book. A soulfull of trust and brimming over with compassion and with love.Colonel Harris was loyal to the core; he clung to his loyalty, to hisbelief in Luke as he would to a rock, fearful lest he should flounderin a maze of wonderment, of surmises, of suspicions. God help him! Butin Louisa even loyalty was submerged in a sea of love. She carednothing about suspicions, about facts, about surmises. She had no roomin her heart for staunchness: it was all submerged in love.

  There was no question, no wonderment, no puzzle in the eyes which metthose of Luke. You see she was just a very ordinary kind of woman.

  All she knew was that she loved Luke: and all that she conveyed to himby that look, was just love.

  Only love.

  And love--omnipotent, strange, and capricious love--wrought a curiousmiracle then! For Colonel Harris was present in the room, mind you, athird--if not an altogether indifferent--party, there where at thismoment these two should have been alone.

  It was Colonel Harris's presence in the room that transformed the nextinstant into a wonderful miracle: for Luke was down on his kneesbefore his simple-souled Lou. She had yielded her hand to him and hehad pressed an aching forehead against the delicately perfumed palm.

  In face of that love which she had given him, he could only worship:and would have been equally ready to worship before the whole world.And therein lay the miracle. Do you not agree, you who know Englishmenof that class and stamp? Can you conceive one of them falling on hisknees save at the bidding of omnipotent Love, and by the miracle whichmakes a man forget the whole world, defy the whole world, give up thewhole world, driven to defiance, to forgetfulness, to self-sacrifice,for the sake of the torturing, exquisite moments of transcendentalhappines
s?