He laughed softly. ‘No, no, my darling; not you. I wouldn’t hurt you for all the gold of all the Indies.’ He stopped suddenly, as if struck by his own words. ‘Gold?’ he repeated. ‘Ah! yes, of course, I must have gold. Where did I put it now?’
He retreated a few steps, looking uneasily from side to side.
‘Perhaps you left it in the library.—Ring for James. Or go to Mr Lennox, Arthur; he will help you to find it.’
He laughed again—a low monotonous laugh, to which my hospital-work had but too well accustomed me, and then he moved nearer her, still balancing the dagger in his long nervous fingers. That terrible knife! If he had only put it down for a moment, I could have rushed in and secured it before turning to him; but as matters were, cruel experience taught me that the instant he caught sight of me, he would rush to the child, to carry his dreadful purpose into effect, and that the mother in all probability would fall the victim. On the other hand, I dared not quit my post to summon assistance, and so leave Beatrice entirely at his mercy. I glanced round the dressing-room, and the window-cord caught my eye. It was new and strong. I cut it as high as I could reach, and crept back to my hole at the curtain. Crawford was growing rapidly angry.
‘Give me that boy!’ he cried roughly. ‘Get out of the way, Beatrice, and let me have him;’ and he caught her by the arm and dragged her from the cot.
‘Arthur, Arthur! husband, sweetheart!’ She clasped both arms around his neck, and raised imploring eyes to his; but the sight of the thin white face only moved him to greater wrath.
‘It is all your fault I have not made you strong long ago,’ he exclaimed irritably. ‘You never laugh now, and you can’t sing, and you won’t dance.’
‘Dance? O yes, I can. Look, Arthur!’ She drew rapidly back towards the cot, speaking in her ordinary quiet voice. ‘You shall do what you like with Bertie; I was only joking. Only we must have our dance first, you know.’
With a sudden movement, she stooped and lifted the sleeping child from the bed, talking all the time in an arch merry voice, that still retained its old power over the poor madman. He nodded approvingly as she began rocking to and fro with the boy in her arms, and he moved a chair or two, to give her more space.
‘Dance, Beatrice!’ and he began whistling a then fashionable valse, beating time to the air with the dagger, of which he never relinquished his hold.