It Happened in Japan

by Baroness Albert d' Anethan

Once before, in this same room, when he had watched her weeping on that same sofa, he had partially divined what suffering this woman, whom he loved, and for whom at that moment he would gladly have given his life, was undergoing. But it was only now, seeing her before him almost senseless with grief and shame, that the full magnitude of the torture she was enduring flashed upon him. He watched her there, breathing hard, without a trace of colour in her cheeks, and with her hands pressed against her heart, and his whole being went out in pity to her. And, mingled with the pity, was a feeling of admiration--almost of veneration. He realised to the full that the hesitation, the faltering weakness had reached a climax, that her better self had conquered, and though crushed for the moment, he saw her rising triumphant from the struggle, a nobler and a stronger woman.

How long he stood there, watching that shrinking form--troubled, turbulent thoughts following each other in quick rapidity through his brain--Martinworth never knew. He did not feel the girl's antagonistic yet enquiring eyes upon him, indeed, he was indifferent to, almost unconscious of her presence. He knew that he was bidding adieu, an eternal adieu, to this the only love of his life. He felt none of the bitterness, or unreasonable anger that had assailed him when Pearl, with such determination, left him three years before, for, judging now by his own sentiments, he knew that what she had then written was indeed the truth--that in her renunciation of him she had sacrificed herself and her love for his sake. But he would show her that he also could be prompt in this spirit of self-sacrifice. He would prove his love by leaving her, and she would thus learn and appreciate that, erring man though he was, he also could renounce, he also could be strong.

Yes! he would bid adieu to her now. The love, the passion of years would, he knew well, remain with him till the grave, but--he swore to himself--never again, by word or by action, would he raise that look of agony and of shame upon Pearl Nugent's face.

He took a step towards her, and, kneeling beside her sofa, he lifted the hand hanging listlessly down, and pressed it between his own.

"Good-bye," he said, "I am leaving you, dear. You have conquered once again, Pearl. You have always conquered. The struggle has been very great, harder than ever this time, but once more you have chosen the right. You would always do right in the end. So loving you as much as I venerate you, Pearl, I leave you, dear. From me you have nothing more to fear. I ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have caused you," and raising to his lips the hand which he still held, he kissed it once--twice, and waiting for no reply, looking neither to the right nor to the left, Lord Martinworth walked towards the door.

Pearl Nugent half rose on her sofa. She watched with wide-open, miserable eyes. Then let him go without a word.

The hall door closed. For a long time neither of the women spoke. Amy glanced once more at the clock, and noticed that it wanted ten minutes to ten. Lord Martinworth had been in the room seven or eight minutes, and during that time Pearl had not once opened her lips.

It was, nevertheless, Mrs. Nugent who, arousing herself, broke the silence.

"You know now, Amy, why I wanted you," she said in a low, weak voice. "I thank God that you came, for you have saved me. You must not hate me, dear. I have been a very foolish, a very wicked woman. Perhaps I ought not to have sent for you, a girl, and yet--and yet--you have saved me, Amy."

"My dear Pearl," replied Amy, smiling through her tears, "don't get tragic, for goodness sake. We surely have had enough of that kind of thing. And it's nonsense about my having saved you, whatever you may mean by that. Of one thing I am certain, that my presence in your house this evening in no wise affected Lord Martinworth's conduct. He would have acted in precisely the same manner if I had not been here. The man is a gentleman. Anyone can see that. Don't make any confidences, dear," she added, as Pearl was about to speak. "You are just in the mood to tell me all your secrets, and, believe me, you will only regret it later. So I will be magnanimous, and will refrain from asking you questions. Besides, you know, I am not a fool. I can guess a good deal, so my magnanimity is not so very tremendous after all. Now, dear, don't let us talk any more, but I will sing you something while you lie back and shut your eyes."