Jack got up slowly. The stupor and horror of it all were not gone from him, but he crossed to the other man, and looked into his dull, ashen face.
My God! Burton, forgive me, he said, brokenly; I am a gentleman. I will fix it all right. She is my wife, and all the world to me. We can remarry if you wish, and I swear to protect her with all the love and homage I would give to any woman who became my wife.
Yes, you must do that, said the other, with weak half-comprehension. But where is she?
Where is she? Jack repeated, dazedly. They had forgotten her departure. A dread of her possible loss possessed and stupefied Jack, and Taro was half delirious.
We must look for her at once, said Jack.
They called to her, and all over the house and through the grounds they searched for her, their lanterns scanning the dark shadows under the trees in the little garden; but only the autumn winds, sighing in the pine-trees, echoed her singing minor notes, and mocked and numbed their senses.
She must have gone home, said the husband.
We must go there at once, said the brother.
It will be all right, Burton, dear old friend. Trust me; you know me well enough for that.
Taro paused, and turned on him burning eyes, in which friendliness had been replaced by a look that spoke of stern and awful judgment. Otherwise, he began, but paused; he went on in a cold hard voice, I was going to say, I will kill you.