It was then close on midnight.
He was playing a desperate game in venturing thus into the lion’s den, but it was the last chance left him.
If he could silence Egerton he might purchase a respite from Heckett even now. Heckett was evidently dying, and had no longer fear or trouble for himself. He had escaped from the Serpentine that night, and had made Egerton the instrument of his vengeance. But the blow had not actually fallen, and he might yet stay the uplifted hand. If he could, there might be some peace in store for him. He did not care for himself. He was sick and tired of it all. His punishment was heavier than he could bear; but for Ruth’s sake he would strive and struggle yet to fight against fate. Let the shame be spared to her of being a felon’s wife.
‘Poor Ruth! Noble Ruth!’ he thought. ‘She knows me now in all my hideous impurity, and yet she forgives me. Oh, how different things might have been!’
Ah, me! that ‘might have been!’ It is the anthem of the lost soul, the despairing cry of the sinner caught in the toils of his sin.
It was a little past midnight when Marston rang the doctor’s bell, but the lights were still burning in the house.
‘I want to see Mr. Egerton, if he is in, on important business.’
‘He is not in yet, sir,’ said the servant. ‘He and the doctor are at the theatre, and have not returned yet.’
‘I will wait,’ said Marston, brushing past the man into the hall. ‘My business with him is of the utmost importance.’
‘Will you step into the library, sir?’ said the servant, overawed by the manner of this imperious visitor.