CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE HANDS OF A VILLAIN.
It will be remembered that Andrew Barkswell was startled to find that
Rose Alstine had been listening to the confab between himself and wife.
This was after the infamous plotter had consigned Detective Keene to a
horrible doom at the bottom of the old well under Billy Bowlegs' saloon.
Now that the man-tracker was off the trail, Barkswell felt better. He had concocted a tremendous plot that his theft of the diamonds came near despoiling. It was not his wish to have Rose know of the existence of his wife. If necessary, the villain had resolved to put that wife out of the way forever.
There never was a plotter less scrupulous than this man, whose smooth tongue and jaunty exterior had stood him so well during almost a lifetime of villainy.
Now, at one fell stroke, his villainy lay exposed.
He regarded Rose for some moments with painful silence.
"I have found you out at last," cried the maiden, her cheeks flaming, a lofty scorn in her great dark eyes.
"Rose, don't misjudge me."
"Misjudge you?"
"Yes; I repeat it, you misjudge me, Rose Alstine."
For some moments she did not speak. Then, of a sudden, she made a movement as if to enter the place where this man's wife sat bowed and weeping.
He put out his hand.
"Do not go in there."
"Stand aside, sir."
She pushed her way forward in spite of his interference, and stood confronting the woman in the summer-house.
A white face, marked with the most intense suffering, was uplifted to the gaze of the young girl.
"Are you August Bordine's wife?"
Rose put the question hotly, so full of indignation as scarcely to contain herself in calmness.
"His wife?"
"Yes."
"I am Andrew Barkswell's wife, I do not know the parson you mention."
"Indeed! So he has more than one name, the infamous wretch!"
Then, with a great sobbing cry, Rose Alstine turned and fled from the place, dropping her veil to hide the haggard woe that reveled on her countenance. Slowly Barkswell come back into the presence of his wife.
"And it is thus you would betray me," he said in an angry tone. "Iris, I am sorry that you are determined to ruin me."
"Ruin you?"
"That is the word."
"How can you talk that way, Andrew, you who have made my life a hell since the hour I first met and loved you. It was that mad and hopeless love that has led me to do things that, if they were known, would shock the minds of men.
"You know how I have suffered to please you, Barkswell. I almost feel that it would be a relief to end all in death."
"I wish you might," he uttered in a heartless tone. "You have been my evil genius always, Iris Jounce. It was a sorry day that I married you. You deceived me by leading me to believe that you had money."
"I know now that it was for money alone that you married me. I did have money, and you spent it, and would now kick me aside, if I would only permit it, but I will not, I mean to continue pleading until you consent to quit your evil ways and settle down to a quiet home life—"
"Bah!"
"Andrew Barkswell, who was that beautiful girl? One you have deceived, no doubt."
"You seem capable of answering your own question," he said, with a sneer.
"Have I answered it correctly?"
"Possibly."
He plucked at his mustache and looked into vacancy. He was deeply angered, both with himself and with the woman before him. It was an unfortunate thing to have Rose Alstine come upon them as she did.
At that moment the schemer felt like strangling this woman, whose love for him, through good and evil report, passed understanding.
"You have not answered my question, Andrew," persisted the wife.
"The lady was Miss Alstine, I think."
"You think?"
"Well, I suppose I know that she is. A very eccentric girl, and somewhat flighty in the upper story."
"Crazed?"
"That's about it, Iris."
"And you have been the cause of it?"
There was a look in the woman's eyes at that moment not pleasant to see.
In fact, even he recoiled from it in evident annoyance and alarm.
This woman had long been his simple tool, doing many things that at one time she would have shrunk from in horror and loathing. Andrew Barkswell had dragged her down to his own level, and was even now meditating her complete destruction. He had never scorned her, or told the truth, that she was no longer loved. He understood her nature too well. He pretended the most extravagant affection at times, and it was thus that he held her confidence, in spite of the facts that bade her hate and despise him.
"No, Iris; you are mistaken," said the man, in answer to the last words of his wife. "I have never harmed the girl, nor do I wish to do so. I hope you won't borrow any trouble over her."
"I ought not to, I suppose."
And then followed a bitter laugh.
"If you had done as I wished, and remained in Rochester, it would have been much better."
"Do you think so?"
"Certainly I do."
"You wish me to return?"
"I do."
"That you may make love to this girl you have the cheek to tell me is crazy? Bah! I tell you there's method in her madness. I believe you have pretended to be a single man, and that, as you ruined and murdered Victoria Vane, you would ruin and slay this beautiful girl. I will not permit you to do it!"
"What! You will step in and destroy my plans? By Heaven you shall not! I will strangle you first!"
She uttered a terrified scream as he sprang at her, and clutched her throat furiously.