He was forced to spring on one side then, for Monica had urged her horse forward, regardless of his presence, and the flash in her eye made him recoil for a moment; but he was wild with rage, and sprang at her horse, catching him by the bridle.
“You shall hear me!” he cried. “You shall, I say! You have heard his story, now hear mine. He has brought false reports. I know him of old. He is my enemy. He has poisoned others against me before now. Lady Monica, upon my word of honour——”
“Your honour!”
That was all. Indeed, there was no more to be said. Even Conrad felt that, and his grasp upon the reins relaxed. Monica was not in the least afraid of him. She looked him steadily over as she moved quietly onward, without the least haste or flurry. Her quiet courage, her lofty scorn of him, stung him to madness.
“Very good, Lady Monica—I beg your pardon—Lady Trevlyn, I should say now. Very good. We understand each other excellently well. You have made a promise, only to break it—I will show you how a vow can be kept. I, too, have made a vow in my time. I make another now. I have vowed to ruin the happiness and prosperity of Randolph Trevlyn’s life; now I will do more. I will destroy your peace and happiness also!”
He was following Monica as he spoke, and there was a deep, steady malevolence in every tone of his voice, and in each word that he uttered, which gave something of sinister significance to threats that might well have been mere idle bravado. Monica paid not the slightest heed. She rode on as if she did not even hear; but she wished she had her husband beside her. She was not afraid for herself, only for him; and in his absence it was easy to be haunted by vague, yet terrible, fears.
But days sped by; news from Germany was good. Randolph’s task was accomplished, and he was on his way home; nay, he would be there almost as soon as the letter which announced him. He did not specify exactly how he would come, but he bid her look for him about dusk that very day.
How her heart throbbed with joy! She could not strenuously combat Mrs. Pendrill’s determination to return home at once, so that husband and wife should be alone on his return. She wanted Randolph all to herself. She hungered for him; she hardly knew how to wait for the slowly crawling hours to pass.
She drove Mrs. Pendrill to St. Maws, and on her return wandered aimlessly about the great lonely house, saying to herself, in a sort of ceaseless cadence: