Chapter Twenty Five.
The Sacred Name.
What could I say? What would you have said?
I was silent. I knew not what words to utter. This scoundrelly young groom, the ne’er-do-well son of the respectable old seafarer who spent the evening of his days at the crossways, was actually the husband of the millionaire’s daughter! It seemed utterly incredible, yet, on recollecting that midnight scene in Mayvill Park, I at once recognised how powerless she was in the hands of that low, arrogant cad, who, in a moment of mad frenzy, had made such a desperate attempt upon her.
I recognised, too, that the love between them, if any, had ever existed, had disappeared long ago, and that the man’s sole idea was to profit by the fact of his union with her, and blackmail her just as so many wealthy and upright women are being blackmailed in England at this very moment. It flashed through my mind that the reason she did not follow and punish the fellow for that dastardly attempt on her life was now made plain.
She was his wife!
The very thought convulsed me with jealousy, regret and hatred, for I loved her with all the passion, honest and true, of which a man is capable. Since Mrs Percival had revealed to me the truth, I had lived only for her, to meet her again and openly declare my love.
“Is this the truth?” I asked her at last in a voice the hardness of which I could not control. I took her cold, inert hand in my own and glanced at her bowed head.
“Alas for me it is,” was her faltering response. “He is my husband, therefore all love between us is debarred,” she added. “You have always been my friend, Mr Greenwood, but now that you have forced me to confess the truth our friendship is at an end.”
“And your husband, is he here with you?”