“My girl, my own darling,” he whispered hoarsely, “I know what is in your mind. But you’re wrong, Audrey, you’re wrong, my dear. I shall go through with it, and listen, it’s all up with me. We don’t know how or why, but we’re marked, and hunted down, and done for. I shall have to go to prison, and you—Oh, Audrey, that’s what breaks my heart—you, you! I’ve got to leave you, and I don’t in the least know what I’m leaving you exposed to. For since this awful thing has happened, how can we feel safe for a minute? How can I know what will happen to you, when you haven’t got me to take care of you? Oh, Audrey, Audrey, I wish we could both die to-night!”
And he broke down into violent sobs upon his wife’s breast.
As he broke down, however, she regained command of herself. The fears which possessed him, indeed, were present to her mind also. The very mystery which surrounded the crime which had been committed against Gerard filled her with dread of what might be in store. But this, after all, was but a small matter compared with that terrible parting which seemed to the young husband and wife, lovers still, like the very wrenching of body and soul asunder.
She laid her hand over his mouth to stop him.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s wicked to say that. We must go through with it, even if the worst comes.”
“The worst! Audrey, I’ll tell you what the worst is: it’s the thought of your being left alone. Will you be true to me? Will you, will you? You’re so beautiful that you will be tempted to forget me. Oh, I know! Other men will make love to you, and it will be hard, harder than you think, to stand out.”
Audrey made no indignant answer. She only pressed his curly head against her breast and just whispered, “Trust me, dear.”
The trial was a short one. Accused of forging Sir Richmond’s signature to a cheque, and of fraudulently obtaining the sum of seven hundred and sixty-five pounds, Gerard pleaded “Not guilty” in vain. No evidence of any value could be produced in support of his plea, and in spite of the eloquence of his counsel, who seemed indeed to plead rather for his youth than for his innocence, he was sentenced to a term which was looked upon in the circumstances as a light one, three years’ penal servitude.
As the sentence was pronounced a cry, not loud but piercing, rang through the court. And Gerard, recognising the voice of his wife, turned, clutching the rail in front of him, and cast one agonised look around.
He saw Audrey, and his face, which had been deadly pale, grew livid and ghastly, while his eyes seemed to start out of his head with a sudden access of suspicion and rage.