Witness to the Deed Part 30

At last, by a tremendous effort, she raised her eyes to his to speak indifferently and break through this horrible feeling of dread and la.s.situde, but as their eyes met, her hands dropped from the keys, as, with a pa.s.sionate cry, he took a step forward, caught her to his breast, and she lay for the moment trembling there, and felt his lips pressed to her in a wild, pa.s.sionate kiss.

"Myra!" he panted; "all that must be as a dream. You are not his. It is impossible. I love you--my own! my own!"

His words thrilled her, but their import roused in her as well those terrible thoughts of the tie which bound her; and, with a cry of anger and despair, she thrust him away.

"Go!" she cried; "it is an insult. You must be mad."

Then, with the calm majesty of an injured woman proud of her honour and her state, she said coldly, as she pointed to the door:

"Mr Stratton, you have taken a cruel advantage of my loneliness here.

I am Mr Barron's wife. Go, sir. We are friends no longer and can never meet again."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE MORNING PAPER.

No one by any stretch of the imagination could have called the admiral a good reader. In fact, a person might very well have been considered to be strictly within the limits of truth if he had declared the old officer to be the worst reader he ever heard. But so it was, from the crookedness of human nature, that he always made a point of reading every piece of news in the paper which he considered interesting, aloud, for the benefit of those with him at the breakfast table.

Matters happen strangely quite as frequently as they go on in the regular groove of routine, and hence it happened, one morning at breakfast, that is to say, on the morning after the tragedy at the convict prison, that Sir Mark put on his gold spectacles as soon as he had finished his eggs and bacon and one cup of coffee, and, taking the freshly aired paper, opened it with a good deal of rustling noise, and coughed.

Edie looked across at her cousin with a mischievous smile, but Myra was gazing thoughtfully before her, and the glance missed its mark.

"Hum! ha!" growled Sir Mark. "'London, South, and Channel. Same as number three.' Confound number three! Who wants to refer to that? Oh, here we are: 'Light winds, shifting to east. Fine generally.'

Climate's improving, girls. More coffee, Myra. Pa.s.s my cup, Edie, dear."

He skimmed over the summary, and then turned to the police cases, found nothing particular, and went on to the sessions, stopping to refresh himself from time to time, while Edie wondered what her cousin's thoughts might be.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the admiral suddenly; "how singular! I must read you this, girls. Here's another forgery of foreign banknotes."

The click of Myra's teacup as she suddenly set it down made the admiral drop the paper and read in his child's blank face the terrible slip he had made.

"O Myra, my darling!" he cried apologetically; "I am so sorry;" and he turned to Edie, who looked daggers.

"It is nothing, papa," said Myra coldly, as she tried hard to master her emotion.

"But it is something, my dear. I wouldn't have said a word only I caught sight of Percy Guest's name as junior for the defence."

It was Edie's turn now to look startled, and Sir Mark hurriedly fixed upon her to become the scapegoat for his awkward allusion, and divert Myra's attention.

"Can't congratulate the prisoner upon his counsel," he said. "The man's too young and inexperienced. Only the other day a mere student. It's like putting a midshipman as second in command of an ironclad."

Edie's eyes now seemed to dart flames, and she looked up boldly at her uncle.

"Oh, yes," he said, "I mean it. Very nice fellow, Percy Guest, in a social way, but I should be sorry to trust an important case with him.

Here, I'll read it, and see what it's all about. No; never mind, I know you girls don't care about law."

The morning meal had been commenced cheerfully. There was sunshine without and at the table, Edie had thought how bright and well her cousin looked, and augured pleasant times of the future.

"If she could only feel herself free," was her constant thought when Myra gave way to some fit of despondency.

"I'm sure that she loves Malcolm Stratton, and what is the good of a stupid old law if all it does is to make people uncomfortable. I wish I knew the Archbishop of Canterbury or the judge of the Court of Divorce, or whoever it is settles those things. I'd soon make them see matters in a different light. Poor Myra would be obedient then, and there'd be an end of all this moping. I believe she delights in making herself miserable."

It was just when Edie had reached this point, and she was stirring her tea, and thinking how easily she could settle matters if she were at the head of affairs, so as to make everybody happy, herself included, when her uncle made his malapropos remarks.

There was no more sunshine in the dining room after that. Myra looked cold and pale, the admiral was uncomfortable behind the paper, in which he enveloped himself as in a cloud, from which came a hand at intervals to feel about the table in an absurd way for toast or his coffee cup, which was twice over nearly overturned.

Then he became visible for a moment or two as he turned the paper, but it closed him in again, and from behind it there came, now and then, a fidgeting nervous cough, which was as annoying to the utterer as to those who listened.

"Going out to-day, girls?" asked Sir Mark at last, but without removing the paper.

"Yes, uncle," said Edie sharply, for her cousin had given her an imploring look, and the girl could see that Myra was greatly agitated still; "the carriage is coming round at two. Shall we drop you at the club?"

"Great Heavens!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old man in a tone which startled both his hearers, and as if expectant from some premonition, Myra thrust back her chair, and sat gazing at the paper wildly.

"What is it, uncle?" cried Edie.

"Eh? Oh, nothing, my dear," said Sir Mark confusedly, as he rustled the paper and hurriedly turned it. "More horrors. These editors seem to revel in them, or the public do. So shocking; no sooner is one at an end, than another begins."

He had screened his face again as quickly as he could, for he was a miserable dissembler, and Edie and Myra exchanged glances. Then, rising slowly with her hand pressed to her breast, Myra made as if she would go to the other side of the table, but her strength failed her, and as her father cleared his throat with a sonorous cough, she clung to the edge, crumpling up the white cloth in her damp fingers.

Edie rose too, but throwing up her head, Myra motioned her back imperiously, and stood for a few moments with her lips parted and eyes dilated, gazing at the paper, as if devouring its contents, while from behind it came the admiral's voice with forced carelessness.

"For my part," he said, with a clumsy effort to hide his own emotion, "I am beginning to think that the ordinary daily newspapers are unsuitable reading for young ladies, who had better keep to the magazines and journals specially devoted to their wants."

There was no word spoken in return, and after another cough, the old man continued:

"What was that you said about dropping me at the club? By all means, yes. My leg was rather bad in the night. Don't care so much about walking as I used."

Still there was no reply, and, as if struck by the notion that he had been left alone in the room, Sir Mark coughed again nervously, and slowly moved himself in his chair, to turn the paper slightly aside, and, as if by accident, so that he could see beyond one side.

He sat there the next moment petrified, and staring at his daughter's wildly excited face, for, resting one hand on the table, she was leaning toward him, her hand extended to take the paper, and her eyes questioning his, while Edie, looking terribly agitated, was also leaning forward as if to restrain her cousin.

Sir Mark's lips parted and moved, but he made no sound. Then recovering himself, he hastily closed the paper, doubled it over again, and rose from his chair.

"Myra, my darling!" he cried, "are you ill?"

Her lips now moved in turn, but without a sound at first; then she threw back her head, and her eyes grew more dilated as she cried hoa.r.s.ely:

"That paper--there is news--something about my husband."

"Edie, ring! She is ill," cried Sir Mark.

"No, stop!" cried Myra. "I am not a child now, father. I tell you that there is news in that paper about my husband. Give it to me. I will see."

Sir Mark was as agitated now as his child, and with a hurried gesture, perfectly natural under the circ.u.mstances, he thrust the paper behind him. "No, no, my child," he stammered, with his florid face growing mottled and strange.