With Edge Tools

by H. C. Chatfield-Taylor

It was time for Duncan to arrive. Should she feign illness and send him away? She felt that it was too late for her to turn back now, and the thought of Duncan brought back memories which, for the moment, drove fear completely from her heart, and aroused the reckless spirit which had already carried her so far. She took a hasty glance at herself in the glass, gave a final touch to her hair, and hurried down the stairway to the little French room where she had been with Duncan on the afternoon of Mrs. McSeeney's tea. No longer able to reason out excuses for her actions she abandoned herself to the contending fancies which filled her mind. She closed her eyes and fancied that she was being borne recklessly on toward a frightful precipice by some subtle force against whose power she was helpless. It seemed to her that she was being dashed down! down! Then she imagined that she saw the remains of her former self lying, bruised and shattered, at the bottom of the abyss before her. She grasped the chair-arms convulsively, then smiled at her childish fancies, yet deep down in her heart there was a feeling, growing stronger each moment, which urged her to turn back.

The door-bell rang. Marion could feel her heart beating with suppressed excitement, and it seemed an interminable time before the measured steps of François resounded on the hardwood floor. The door opened and Duncan entered. She could hear him taking off his coat in the hall, and she felt her brain whirling with the dizziness of confused emotions. The wheels of a carriage rumbled on the pavement outside and seemed to stop before the door. What did it mean? Marion trembled at the thought that it might be some one coming to the house. Duncan took a step on the hall floor and then a key rattled in the front door. Her husband had returned. She could feel her pulses stop, and her limbs grow numb with fright. Duncan in the house, the hour, the dinner for two. What excuse could she make? The door slammed, and she heard her husband's voice in the hall. "Hello, Grahame," he said, "are you here? Just going, eh? Nonsense, stop and take pot-luck with us. I know my wife will be glad to have you. She expected to be alone."

Marion was saved. She could scarcely believe her senses; yet a sincere feeling of gratefulness to her husband came into her heart, and she drew a deep, free breath which brought the color back to her cheeks, and calmed her excited nerves. All her disturbed thoughts seemed quickly to vanish, and she felt as though she could hardly restrain herself from uttering a shout of joy. An hour before she would have felt resentment toward her husband, but the specious arguments with which she had pardoned the wrong emotions of her heart seemed, somehow, to have fled, and she could realize the danger which had threatened her. Had she been left to meet Duncan alone, she might not have proved strong enough to resist his personality, but now she felt in her heart that the peril was passed.

Roswell and Duncan came into the room. "I missed my train," Roswell said, "so I thought I would come back and dine with you, my dear. I found Grahame in the hall and persuaded him to remain. I knew you would be glad to have him."

"Your husband is extremely kind, Mrs. Sanderson," said Duncan. "I expected to dine alone at the Club."

"Mr. Grahame is always welcome," smiled Marion, wondering what would be the outcome of this discordant dinner. She looked at her husband to see if his manner betrayed any excitement, but she could notice nothing unusual.

"You won't mind if I run away early, my dear, will you?" he said. "There is another train at half-past ten."

"I wish you wouldn't go to-night, dear," answered Marion.

"I must. The business is important."

Marion turned away thoughtfully, and found her eyes wandering toward Duncan. She noticed that his face wore an amused expression, as though the situation seemed laughable, and the matter were a huge joke. This carelessness provoked Marion, and she caught herself wondering why she felt unmoved in his presence. He was in evening dress, and she was amazed that her husband did not notice that, for an afternoon call, this was an anachronism.