unalloyed andour love undying. And as we talked I saw how at last she becamecomposed in that haven of contentment which is so perfect after thetroubled sea of regret and despair, while I, too, felt that at last Iwanted nothing, for the great desire of my life had been fulfilled.
Suddenly, however, thoughts of Aline, the mysterious woman who had comebetween us so strangely, the friend of this man Hibbert and the secretacquaintance of poor Roddy, crossed my mind, and I resolved to gain fromher what knowledge she possessed. Therefore, with care and skill I ledour conversation up to her, and then point-blank asked her what she knewregarding this woman whose face was that of an angel, and whose heartwas that of Satan.
I saw how she started at mention of Aline's name; how the colour fledfrom her cheeks, and how sudden was her resolve to fence with me; for atonce she asserted her ignorance, and suggested that we might mutuallyagree to bury the past.
"But she is a mystery, Muriel," I said; "a mystery which I have beentrying in vain to solve through all these months. Tell me all you knowof her, dearest."
"I know nothing," she declared, in a nervous tone. "Absolutelynothing."
"But are you aware that this man, Hibbert, the man with whom youassociated, was her friend--her lover?"
"What!" she cried, her face in an instant undergoing a strangetransformation. "He--her lover?"
"Yes," I answered. "Did you not know they were friends?"
"I can't believe it," she answered, pale-faced and bewildered. Whateverwas the revelation I had made to her it had evidently caused within hera strong revulsion of feeling. I had, indeed, strong suspicion thatthese words of mine had supplied some missing link in a chain of factswhich had long perplexed and puzzled her.
"What causes you to allege this?" she asked quickly, looking sharplyinto my eyes.
"Because I have seen them together," I answered. "I have overheardtheir conversation."
"It can't be true that they are close acquaintances," she said in a low,mechanical voice, as though speaking to herself. "It's impossible."
"Why impossible?" I inquired.
"Because there are facts which have conclusively shown that there couldhave been no love between them."
"Are those facts so remarkable, Muriel, that you are compelled toconceal them from me?" I asked seriously in earnest.
"At present they are," she faltered. "What you have told me hasincreased the mystery tenfold. I had never expected that they werefriends."
"And if they were, what then?" I inquired in eagerness.
"Then the truth must be stranger than I had ever dreamed," she answeredin a voice which betrayed her blank bewilderment.
The striking of the clock warned her that it was time she was going, andcaused me to recollect that a man would call in a few minutes to repay aloan I had given him. He was an officer--a very decent fellow whom Ihad known for years, and who for a few weeks had been in rather lowwater. But he was again in funds, and having met me at the club thatafternoon he promised to run over at ten o'clock, smoke a cigar, andrepay me.
I regretted this engagement, because it prevented me seeing Muriel home;but when I referred to it she declared that she would take a cab fromthe rank outside, as she had done so many times in the old days of ourfriendship, and she would get back quite comfortably.
She buttoned her gloves, and after kissing me fondly re-adjusted herveil. Then, when we had repeated our vows of undying affection and shehad promised me to return and lunch with me next morning, as it wasSunday, she went out and down the stairs.
I was a trifle annoyed that, at the club earlier in the day, I had madethe appointment with Bryant, but the sum I had lent was sixty pounds,and, knowing what a careless fellow he was, I felt that it was best toobtain repayment now, when he offered it; hence I was prevented fromaccompanying Muriel. But as it could not be avoided, and as she hadexpressed herself perfectly content to return alone, I cast myself againin my chair, mixed a whiskey and soda, lit a cigarette, and gave myselfup to reflection.
Muriel loved me. I cared for nought else in all the world. She wouldbe my wife, and after travelling on the Continent for a while we wouldlive somewhere in the country quietly, where we could enjoy ourselvesamid that rural peace which to the London-worn is so restful, sorefreshing, and so soothing.
After perhaps a quarter of an hour I heard Simes go to the door, andBryant's voice exclaim hurriedly--"Is your master in?"
"Come in, my dear fellow! Come in!" I shouted, without rising from mychair.
Next instant he dashed into the room, his face white and scared,exclaiming--
"There's something wrong down at the bottom of your stairs! Come withme and see, old chap. There's a girl lying there--a pretty girl dressedin grey--and I believe she's dead."
"Dead!" I gasped, petrified, for the description he had given was thatof Muriel.
"Yes," he cried, excitedly. "I believe she's been murdered!"
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
SILENCE.
"Murdered!" I gasped, springing to my feet. "Impossible!"
"I've just discovered her lying on the stairs, and rushed up to you. Ididn't stop to make an examination."
Without further word we dashed down the three flights of stone stepswhich led to the great entrance-hall of the mansions, but I noticed tomy dismay that although the electric lamps on all the landings werealight those on the ground floor had been extinguished, and there, inthe semi-darkness lay Muriel, huddled up in a heap on a small landingapproached from the entrance-hall by half a dozen steps. The hall ofCharing Cross Mansions is a kind of long arcade, having an entrance atone end in Charing Cross Road, and at the other in St Martin's Lane;while to it descend the flights of steps leading to the various wings ofthe colossal building. At the further end from the stairs by which mychambers could be reached was the porter's box, but placed in such aposition that it was impossible for him to see any person upon thestairs.
I sprang down to the side of my helpless love, and tried to lift her,but her weight was so great that I failed. Next instant, however, a cryof horror escaped me, for on my hand I felt something warm and sticky.It was blood. We shouted for the hall-porter, but he was not in hisbox, and there was no response. He was, as was his habit each evening,across the way gossiping with the fireman who lounged outside thestage-door of the Alhambra.
"Blood!" I cried, when the terrible truth became plain, and I saw thatit had issued from a wound beneath her arm, and that her injury had notbeen caused by a fall.
"Yes," exclaimed Bryant, "she's evidently been stabbed. Do you knowher?"
"Know her!" I cried. "She's my intended wife!"
"Your betrothed!" he gasped. "My dear fellow, this is terrible. What afrightful shock for you!" And he dropped upon his knees, and tenderlyraised her head. Both of us felt her heart, but could discern nomovement. In the mean time, however, Simes, more practical than eitherof us, had sped away to call a doctor who had a dispensary for the poorat the top of St Martin's Lane.
Both of us agreed that her heart had ceased its beating, yet, a momentlater, we rejoiced to see, as she lay with her head resting uponBryant's arm, a slight rising and falling of the breast.
Respiration had returned.
I bent, fondly kissing her chilly lips, and striving vainly to staunchthe ugly wound, until suddenly it struck me that the best course topursue would be to at once remove her to my room; therefore we carefullyraised her, and with difficulty succeeded in carrying her upstairs, andlaying her upon my bed.
My feeling in these moments I cannot analyse. For months, weary months,during which all desire for life had passed from me, I had sought her togain her love, and now, just as I had done so, she was to be snatchedfrom me by the foul, dastardly deed of some unknown assassin. The factthat while the electric lights were shedding their glow in every part ofthe building they were extinguished upon that small landing was initself suspicious. Bryant referred to it, and I expressed a belief thatthe glass of the two little Swan lamps ha
d been purposely broken by theassassin.
At last after a long time the doctor came, a grey-haired old gentlemanwho bent across the bed, first looking into her face and then pushingback her hair, placed his hand upon her brow, and then upon her breast.
Without replying to our eager questions, he calmly took out his pocketknife, and turning her upon her side, cut the cord of her corsets, andslit her bodice so that the tightness at the throat was relieved.
Then, calling for a lamp and some water, he made a long and very carefulexamination of the wound.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, apparently satisfied at last. "The attempt was adesperate one. The knife was aimed for her heart."
"But will she