Lover or Friend Part 57

'"You have killed it, Mat," was my answer; and then I said good-bye to him, and we parted.

'Well, I took Biddy into my confidence; she was a faithful creature, and had been devoted to me since my childhood. She had accompanied me to England on my marriage, and had been my one comfort before the children were born. Strange to say, she had always disliked Mat, and if I had only listened to her, his wooing would have been unsuccessful.

'I found a lawyer who would do my business, and then I took a lodging at Richmond and called myself Mrs. Blake, and for a few years we lived quietly and comfortably.'

'The investments had prospered, one especially was yielding a handsome dividend, so I was better off than I expected. I had got rid of some house property, and I put aside this money for my boy's education. I need not tell you that he was my one thought. Sometimes, when I saw him growing so fast, and looking so n.o.ble and handsome, my heart would quite swell with pride and happiness to think he was my son; and I forgot Mat and the past wretchedness, and only lived in and for him. My other children were nothing to me compared to him.'

'And you heard nothing of your husband?'

'I tell you I had no husband; he was dead to me. Do you think I would allow a man like Mat to blight my boy's career--a poor creature, weak as water, and never able to keep straight; a man who could be cowed into giving up his own wife and children? I would have died a hundred times over before I would have let Cyril know that his father was a convict.'

Michael held his peace, but he shuddered slightly as he thought of Audrey. 'They will make her give him up,' he said to himself.

'Yes, I was happy then,' she went on. 'I always had an elastic temperament. I did not mind the poverty and s.h.i.+fts as long as Cyril was well and contented. I used to glory in giving up one little comfort after another, and stinting myself that he might have the books he needed when he was at Oxford. I used to live on his letters, and the day when he came home was a red-letter day.'

'And you never trembled at the idea that one day you might come face to face with your husband?'

'Oh no; such a thought never crossed my mind. I knew Mat too well to fear that he would hunt me out and make a scene. Another man would, in his place, but not Mat: he had always been afraid of me, and he dared not try it on. It was accident--mere accident--that made him cross my path yesterday. But I know I can manage him still, and you--you will not betray me, Captain Burnett?'

'I do not understand you,' he returned, almost unable to believe his ears. Could she really think that he would make himself a party to her duplicity?

'I think my meaning is sufficiently clear,' she replied, as though impatient at his denseness. 'Now you have heard my story, you cannot blame me; under the circ.u.mstances, you must own that my conduct was perfectly justifiable.'

'I am not your judge, Mrs. Blake,' he answered quietly; 'but in my opinion nothing could justify such an act of deception. None of us have any right to say, "Evil, be thou my good." When you deceived the world and your own children, by wearing widow's weeds, when all the time you knew you had a living husband, you were distinctly living a lie.'

'And I glory in that lie!' she answered pa.s.sionately.

'Do not--do not!' he returned with some emotion; 'for it will bring you bitter sorrow. Do you think the son for whom you have sacrificed your integrity will thank you for it----' But before he could finish his sentence a low cry, almost of agony, stopped him. Ah, he had touched her there.

'You will kill me,' she gasped, 'if you only hint at such a thing!

Captain Burnett, I will say I am sorry--I will say anything--if you will only help me to keep this thing from my boy. Will you go to Mat? Will you ask him, for all our sakes, to go away? He is not a bad man. When he hears about Cyril's prospects he will not spoil them by coming here and making a scene. I will see him if he likes--but I think it would be better not. Tell him if he wants money he shall have it: there is a sum I can lay my hands on, and Cyril will never know.'

'You want me to bribe your husband to go away?'

'Yes. You have promised to help me; and this is the only way.'

'Pardon me! There are limits to anything--an honest man cannot soil his hands with any such acts of deception. When I said I would help you, it was real help I meant--for good, and not for evil. I will not attempt to bribe your husband; neither will I stand by and see you blindfold your son.'

Then she threw herself on her knees before him, with a faint cry for mercy. But he put her back in her seat, and then took her hands in his and held them firmly.

'Hus.h.!.+ you must not do that. I will be as kind to you as I can. Do you think that my heart is not full of pity for you, in spite of your wrong-doing? Try to be reasonable and listen to me. I have only one piece of advice to give you. Tell your son everything, as you have told me.'

'Never, never! I would die first.'

'You do not know what you are saying,' he returned soothingly. 'Do you think a son is likely to judge his own mother harshly? If I can find it in my heart to pity you, will your own flesh and blood be more hard than a stranger?'

'Oh, you do not know Cyril!' she replied with a shudder. 'He is so perfectly truthful. I have heard him say once that nothing can justify a deception. In spite of his goodness, he can be hard--very hard. When Kester was a little boy, he once, told a lie to s.h.i.+eld Mollie, and Cyril would not speak to him for days.'

'I do not say that he will not be shocked at first, and that you may not have to bear his displeasure. But it will be better--a hundred times better--for him to hear it from your own lips.'

'He will never hear it,' she returned; and now she was weeping wildly.

'The story will never be told by me. How could I bear to hear him tell me that I had ruined him--that his prospects were blasted? Oh, have mercy upon a miserable woman, Captain Burnett! For the sake of my boy--for Kester's and Mollie's sake--help me to send Mat away!'

He made no answer, only looked at her with the same steady gentleness.

That look, so calm, yet so inexorable, left her no vestige of hope. A rock would have yielded sooner than Michael Burnett, and she knew it.

'I was wrong to trust you,' she sobbed. 'You are a hard man--I always knew that; you will stand by and see us all ruined, and my boy breaking his heart with shame and misery, and you will not stretch out your hand to save us.'

But he let this pa.s.s. Her very despair was making her reckless of her words.

'Mrs. Blake,' he said quietly, 'will you tell your son that he has a father living?'

'No; I will not tell him!'

Then Michael got up from his chair as though the interview were at an end. His movement seemed to alarm Mrs. Blake excessively.

'You are not going? Do you mean that you are actually leaving me in this misery? Captain Burnett, I would not have believed you could be so cruel!'

'There is no use in my staying. I cannot convince you that your best hope for the future is to throw yourself on your son's generosity. I regret that you will not listen to me--you are giving me a very painful task.'

Then she started up and caught him by the arm.

'Do you mean that you will tell him?'

'I suppose so--somebody must do it; but I would rather cut off my right hand than do it.'

'Shall you tell him to-night?'

'No, certainly not to-night.'

'To-morrow?'

'Yes, to-morrow or the next day; but I must speak to Mr. O'Brien and Dr.

Ross first.'

Then she left him without saying another word; but it went to his heart to see her cowering over the fire in her old miserable att.i.tude.

'Mrs. Blake,' he said, following her, 'if you think better of this, will you write to me? Two or three words will be enough: "I will tell him myself" just that----' but she made no reply. 'I shall wait in the hope that I may receive such a note; a few hours' delay will not matter, and perhaps a little consideration may induce you to be brave. Remember, there is no wrong-doing except that of heinous and deadly sin that we may not strive to set right. It needs courage to confess to a fellow-creature, but love should give you this courage.'

But still she did not move or speak, and he was forced to leave her. He found Biddy hovering about the dark pa.s.sage, and he guessed at once that she had been a listener. A moment's consideration induced him to take the old woman by the shoulder and draw her into an empty room close by.

She looked somewhat scared at his action. She had a candle in her hand, and he could see how furtively her wild, hawk-like eyes glanced at him.

'Biddy, I know you are your mistress's trusted friend--that she confides in you.'

'Ay.'

'Use every argument in your power, then, to induce her to tell her son about his father.'