Footsteps of Fate Part 17

"That I do not know," replied Eva. "All I know is this: our maid Kate--you remember her--came crying one day to tell me that she could not stay any longer, for she was afraid of William, who had declared that he would murder her. I inquired what had happened; and then she told me that she had once been just about to bring up a letter to Papa--in your handwriting. She knew your writing. William had come behind her when she was close to the door, and had s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her, saying that he would carry it in; but instead of doing so he had put the letter into his pocket. She had asked him what he meant by it; then they had a violent quarrel, and ever since she had been afraid of the man. She had wanted to tell me a long time ago, but dared not for fear of William. We questioned William, who was rough and sulky, and considered himself offended by our doubts of his honesty. Papa had his room searched to see if he had stolen any more letters or other things.

Nothing, however, was to be found, neither stolen articles nor letters.

Not even the letter to Papa, which seems to have been the last of the three you wrote."

"It was," said Frank.

"Of course Papa dismissed the man. And--oh, what was it I wanted to tell you?--I cannot remember.--So you wrote actually three times?"

"Indeed I did; three times."

"And what did you say?" she asked, with a sob in her throat.

"I asked you to forgive me, and whether--whether all could not be the same again. I confessed that I had been wrong--"

"But you were not."

"Perhaps not. I cannot tell now. I felt it so then. I waited and waited for a word from you or your father. And none came."

"No, none!" she sighed. "And then?"

"What could I have done?"

"Why did you not come yourself? Oh! why did you never come near us?" she wailed reproachfully.

He was silent for a minute, collecting his thoughts; he could not remember it all.

"Tell me, Frank?" she said softly. "Why did you not come, yourself?"

"I cannot remember exactly," he said, dully.

"Then you did think of it?"

"Yes, certainly," said he.

"Then how was it that you never came?"

Frank suddenly broke down; he gulped down his tears with difficulty, a gulp of anguish.

"Because I was heart-broken, because I was so wretched, so unspeakably wretched. I had always taken rather cynical views of women, and love, and so forth; and then when I met you it was all so new, so fresh to me, I felt myself a boy again; I was in love with you, not only for your beauty but for everything you said and did; for being what you are, always so calm and sweet. Good G.o.d! I adored you, Eva.--Then there was that change: that doubt, that dreadful time. I cannot remember it all now; and I felt so forlorn and broken-hearted. I could have died then, Eva, Eva!"

"You were so miserable? And you did not come to me?"

"No."

"But, good heavens, why not?"

"I wanted to go to you!"

"And why did you not do it, then?" Again he sat lost in thought; his brain seemed clouded.

"Ah yes! I think I remember all about it now," he said slowly. "I wanted to go--and then Bertie said--"

"What did Bertie say?"

"That he thought me a fool for my pains; a coward, and a cur, and a fool."

"But why?"

"Because you had disbelieved my word."

"And then?"

"I thought perhaps he was right and I did not go."

She flung herself on a sofa in utter woe, weeping pa.s.sionately.

"Then it was what Bertie, said?" she cried reproachfully.

"Yes; nothing else," he said, mournfully. "G.o.d in heaven! that alone."

They were both silent. Then Eva sat upright again, shivering; her face was white and bloodless, her eyes fixed with a dull, vacant glare, like weathered gla.s.s.

"Oh Frank!" she cried--"Frank, I am so frightened! It is coming!"

"What, what?" he asked in alarm.

"I feel it coming upon me!" she moaned, panting. "It is like the sound of distant thunder, droning in my ears and in my brain. Great heavens!

It is close to me! Frank, oh Frank! It is above me, over me. The thunder is over my head!" She shrieked and fought the air with her arms as if to beat something off, and her slender frame was convulsed as from a series of mysterious electric shocks. Her breath came rattling in her throat.

Then she tottered, and he thought she would have fallen. He clasped her in his arms.

"Eva, Eva!" he cried.

She allowed him to drag her to the sofa without making any resistance, happy in his embrace in spite of her hallucination; and there she remained sitting by him, with his arm round her, cowering against his breast.

"Eva! come, Eva, what is it that ails you?"

"It has pa.s.sed over," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "Yes, it is gone now--it is gone. It has come over me so often lately; it comes roaring on, slowly and stealthily, and then it breaks over my head, shaking me to the core; and then it goes away, dies away--away.... I am in such terror of it; it is like a monster which comes bellowing at me, and it frightens me so! What can it be?"

"I cannot tell; over-wrought nerves, perhaps," he said, consolingly.

"Oh! hold me close," she said, caressingly; "hold me tightly to you.

When I am alone, after it is past, I am left in such deadly fear; but now--now I have you--you once more. You will not cast me from you again; you will protect me, your poor little Eva, will you not? Ah! yes, I have you back now. I knew, I felt, I should have you back some day; and I have made papa come to Scheveningen every summer. I had an idea that you must be somewhere in Holland--at the Hague or at Scheveningen; and that if we were ever to meet again it would be here. And now it has happened, and I have you once more. Hold me tightly now--in both arms--both arms. Then I shall not be frightened."

She clung more closely to his breast, her head on his shoulder; and then, in a voice like a child's:

"Look," she said, holding out her wrist.

"What?" asked he.

"That little scar. You did that."