Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 77

"Good!" said Gideon Rolfe. "Then I go to the girl and acquaint her with the true story of her birth. If I know her--and I do--she has sufficient pride to prevent her staining so honorable a family as the Davenants by marrying into it," and he sneered bitterly.

Jack's face flushed.

"You professed to love her," he said. "Are you totally indifferent to her happiness?"

"No happiness could follow her union to one of your race," said Gideon Rolfe.

Stephen trembled. He was playing a dangerous and desperate game. A word from Rolfe might put Jack in possession of Una's real parentage, and Stephen would be ruined.

"My dear Jack," he said, sorrowfully, "I have besought Mr. Rolfe, almost on my knees, to hold his hand, but he is like stone--immovable."

There was a pause.

Jack stood, his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly. His frenzied brain saw the whole thing clearly. On one side stood his pa.s.sionate love and his life-long happiness, on the other Una's shame and agony.

"I love her so!" he moaned.

"You say that you love her," said Gideon Rolfe, sternly. "Prove it by saving her from the knowledge of the shame which clings to her name. If your love is worth anything it will make that sacrifice. Remember, it is on your side only. She is young--a mere girl, a few weeks, months at most, and she will have learned to forget you."

"That's a lie, at least," groaned Jack. "I know her better than you."

"No matter," said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. "Time will heal a disappointed love; no time can heal an undying shame."

Jack rose and paced the room.

"Leave me alone for a few minutes," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I must think this out; nothing you can say can influence me."

At a signal from Stephen, Gideon Rolfe remained silent.

Five minutes pa.s.sed and then Jack came to the light.

The handsome face was haggard and white and so changed that ten years might have pa.s.sed over his head in those few minutes.

"Mr. Rolfe," he said, and his voice was broken and hollow, "why you bear me such deadly enmity I cannot imagine, and you will not tell me?"

Gideon Rolfe made a gesture of a.s.sent.

"It is a mystery to me; I only know its results. Once more I ask you to relent, and spare the unhappiness of both of us."

"I am resolved," said Gideon. "Either relinquish her or I tell her all.

The decision is in your hands. I do not doubt you will seize your happiness, even at the cost of her shame."

"Then you wrong me," said Jack. "Rather than she should know the shadow which hangs on her life I relinquish her."

A light gleamed in Stephen's eyes, and his lips twitched.

"This I do," continued Jack, in a voice so low and broken that it scarcely reached them, "placing implicit trust in your a.s.sertion that she is--as you state."

He drew a long breath.

"I dare not risk it; but if in the future I should find that you have played me false--if, I say, this should prove a lie, then I tell you beware, for, as there is a Heaven above us, I will take my vengeance."

"So be it," said Gideon Rolfe, grimly. "Now write," and he pointed to a bureau on which stood pen and paper, as if prepared for use.

Jack started.

"You will not take my word?" he said, bitterly.

Gideon Rolfe hesitated; but, at a glance from Stephen, said:

"Let the knowledge that the engagement is at an end come from you; it will be better so."

Jack went to the bureau and sank into a chair.

Yes, if the blow must be dealt it better be by his hands, as tenderly as possible.

He sat for some moments with his head in his hands, as utterly oblivious of the presence of the others as if they were absent.

Before him rose the lovely face with its trustful eyes; in his ears rang the musical voice which he should never hear again.

What should he write? Why should he write?

Stephen stole behind him.

"You will be careful to conceal the truth, my dear Jack," he murmured.

Jack started, and turned upon him with a look that caused Stephen to shrink back behind the table.

"For what am I giving up what is most precious in life?" he said hoa.r.s.ely.

Then in sheer despair he seized the pen, and wrote in a trembling hand:

"MY DEAREST:--Since you left me, circ.u.mstances have occurred which have changed the current of both our lives. I dare not tell you more, but I pray, I beseech, you not to misjudge me. If you knew the position in which I am placed, you would understand why I am acting thus, and instead of condemning, pity me. Una, from this moment our lives are separate. Heaven send you happiness, and--as I know your true, loving heart--forgetfulness. I cannot tell you more--would to Heaven that I could. From the first I have been unworthy of you; I am more unworthy now than ever. I dare not ask of you to remember me; forget me, Una, forget that such a person as I ever crossed your path. Would to Heaven that we had never met! Don't think hardly of me, my darling, whatever you may hear. What I am doing is as much for your good as for mine.

Good-bye. I shall never cease to remember and love you, whatever happens. Good-bye! "JACK."

Blotted and smeared, he enclosed it in an envelope, and dropped it before Gideon Rolfe; then he looked round for his hat.

"A gla.s.s of wine, Jack?" murmured Stephen.

But Jack took no more notice than if he had been deaf, and seizing his hat staggered from the room.

Stephen drew a long breath.

"Well, Mr. Rolfe," he said, "we have conquered. As for this note, I will see that it is delivered at a proper opportunity."

"Good," said Gideon Rolfe; then he paused, and frowned sternly. "I am sorry for the young man."