Cornish made a quick gesture of the hand—a trick he had learnt somewhere on the Continent, more eloquent than a hundred words—which told of his sympathy and his comprehension of all that she had left unsaid. For truly she had told him her whole history in a dozen words.
“I have followed him and watched him ever since,” she went on at length, in a quiet voice; “but a woman is so helpless. I suppose if any of us were watched and followed as he has been our lives would appear a strange mixture of a little good and much bad, mixed with a mass of neutral idleness. But surely his life is worse than the rest—not that it matters. Whatever his life had been, if he had been a living saint, Tony, he would have had to pay—for what he has done to me.”
She looked steadily into the keen face that was watching hers. She was not in the least melodramatic, and what was stranger, perhaps, she was not ashamed. According to her lights, she was a good woman, who went to church regularly, and did a little conventional good with her superfluous wealth. She obeyed the unwritten laws of society, and busied herself little in her neighbours' affairs. She was kind to her servants, and did not hate her neighbours more than is necessary in a crowded world. She led a blameless, unoccupied, and apparently purposeless life. And now she quietly told Tony Cornish that her life was not purposeless, but had for its aim the desire of an eye for an eye and a life for a life.
“You remember my husband,” continued Mrs. Vansittart, after a pause. “He was always absorbed in his researches. He made a great discovery, and confided in Otto von Holzen, who thought that he could make a fortune out of it. But Von Holzen cheated and was caught. There was a great trial, and Von Holzen succeeded in incriminating my husband, who was innocent, instead of himself. The company, of course, failed, which meant ruin and dishonour. In a fit of despair my husband shot himself. And afterwards it transpired that by shooting himself at that time he saved my money. One cannot take proceedings against a dead man, it appears. So I was left a rich woman, after all, and my husband had frustrated Otto von Holzen. The world did not believe that my husband had done it on purpose; but I knew better. It is one of those beliefs that one keeps to one's self, and is indifferent whether the world believes or not. So there remain but two things for me to do—the one is to enjoy the money, and to let my husband see that I spend it as he would have wished me to spend it—upon myself; the other is to make Otto von Holzen pay—when the time comes. Who knows? the Malgamite is perhaps the time; you are perhaps the man.” She gave her disquieting little laugh again, and sat looking at him.
“I understand,” he said at length. “Before, I was puzzled. There seemed no reason why you should take any interest in the scheme.”
“My interest in the Malgamite scheme narrows down to an interest in one person,” answered Mrs. Vansittart, “which is what really happens to all human interests, my friend.”
CHAPTER XVIII. A COMPLICATION.
“La plus grande punition infligée à l'homme, c'est faire
souffrir ce qu'il aime, en voulant frapper ce qu'il hait.”