But with a loud oath, the most forcible one he had ever uttered in his life, Colonel Harris had jumped to his feet and brought a heavy fist crashing down upon the table.
"And by the living God, Tom," he said, "I'll not believe it. No! not for all your witnesses, and your cross questionings, and your damnable proofs. No! I'll not believe it, and I know that my girl will not believe it either—not until we hear the word 'guilty' spoken by Luke's own lips. And we'll not leave London, we'll not go abroad, we'll not desert Luke; for I swear, by God that I don't believe that he is an assassin."
Men who have always been accounted weak often have moments of unexpected strength. Colonel Harris now seemed to tower morally and mentally over his brother-in-law. The passion of loyalty was in him, and caused his eyes to sparkle and his cheeks to glow. The oath he uttered he spoke with fervour: there would be no faltering, no wavering in his defence of Luke.
Sir Thomas waited a minute or two, allowing his old friend to recover his normal self-control as well as his breath, which was coming and going in quick gasps. Then he said quietly:
"As you will, old man. Have another cigar."
CHAPTER XXII
THEN THE MIRACLE WAS WROUGHT
When Colonel Harris once more arrived at the Langham he found Luke and Louisa comfortably installed in front of the fire in the private sitting-room up stairs. She was leaning back against the cushions, her head resting in her hand, he at the foot of the sofa, his hands encircling one knee, gazing now and then into the fire, now and then into her face.
Not troubled creatures these, not man and woman fighting a battle against life, against the world, for honour, for peace, and for love; not souls racked by painful memories of the past or grim dread of the future: only two very ordinary human beings, with a life behind them of serene contentment, social duties worthily performed, a smooth lake whereon not a ripple of sorrow or disgrace ever dared to mar the shiny surface.
And the ruling passion strong in death was stronger still in face of this 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 of possible disgrace. The puppets were still dancing, moved by the invisible strings held by the hand of the implacable giant called Convention: they danced even as though no gaping and ravenous lions, no Bulls of Bashan, were there to see. Even before each other they hid the secret mysteries of their hearts; he his overwhelming passion for her, she her dread for his immediate future.