"He is dead, then," said Christabel, coming over to the hearth where her husband was standing. "He has been killed."
"He has had the bad luck to kill himself, as many a better sportsman than he has done before now," answered Leonard, roughly.
"If I could be sure of that, Leonard, if I could be sure that his death was the work of accident—I should hardly grieve for him—knowing that he was reconciled to the idea of death—and that if God had spared him this sudden end, the close of his life must have been full of pain and weariness."
Tears were streaming down her cheeks—tears which she made no effort to restrain—such tears as friendship and affection give to the dead—tears that had no taint of guilt. But Leonard's jealous soul was stung to fury by those innocent tears.
"Why do you stand there snivelling about him," he exclaimed; "do you want to remind me how fond you were of him—and how little you ever cared for me. Do you suppose I am stone blind—do you suppose I don't know you to the core of your heart?"
"If you know my heart you must know that it is as guiltless of sin against you, and as true to my duty as a wife, as you, my husband, can desire. But you must know that, or you would not have brought Angus Hamleigh to this house."
"Perhaps I wanted to try you—to watch you and him together—to see if the old fire was quite burnt out."
"You could not be so base—so contemptible."
"There is no knowing what a man may be when he is used as I have been by you—looked down upon from the height of a superior intellect, a loftier nature—told to keep his distance, as a piece of vulgar clay—hardly fit to exist beside that fine porcelain vase, his wife. Do you think it was a pleasant spectacle for me to see you and Angus Hamleigh sympathizing and twaddling about Browning's last poem—or sighing over a sonata of Beethoven's—I who was outside all that kind of thing?—a boor—a dolt—to whom your fine sentiments and your flummery were an unknown language. But I was only putting a case, just now. I liked Hamleigh well enough—in his way—and I asked him here because I thought it was giving a chance to the Vandeleur girls. That was my motive—and my only motive."
"And he came—and he is dead," answered Christabel, in icy tones. "He went to that lonely place this morning—at your instigation—and he met his death there—no one knows how—no one ever will know."