"i stand outside in the bitter night,
and beat at the fast-closed door;
'oh, let me in to the kindly light,
give back to me days of yore.'
but an angel says, with a frowning brow,
'the past can no power restore,
you must dwell in the outer darkness now
for ever and ever more.'"
through the warm summer night, her heart filled with rage, humiliation, and despair, fled the unhappy woman, whither she knew not. all she wanted was to escape from thornstream, lest her husband, seeing her by chance, should break his word and tell kaituna what she was. if he did so--oh, the horror of it for her daughter to know that the mother whose memory she reverenced was alive, and an unhappy, fallen creature! a thousand fiends seemed to shriek in her ears as she ran onward, and it was only when she came against the trunk of a tree and fell half-stunned on the cool grass that she stopped in her mad career.
how cool was the delicate touch of the grass, how sweet the perfume of the flowers. she buried her hot face among the primroses, and pressed her aching breast against the chill bosom of the earth to still the agonised throbbing of her heart.
under the great tree she lay in an exhausted condition, thinking of her failure to conciliate pethram, of the past with all its follies, of the present with its pain, and the future which looked so hopeless and dreary.
it was all over. she had staked everything on the casting of a die, and lost. her husband had driven her away from the house, from her child, and there was nothing left for her to do but to return to london with ferrari and marry him at once. never again would she live with her child. she might see her--yes; but without being seen--for she knew that if she spoke again to kaituna everything would be revealed by rupert pethram. to destroy that beautiful memory of, motherhood, which was the chief treasure of kaituna's life--to show herself in her true colours as a fallen and wretched woman--no, she could not do that; better exile, better wretchedness, better death than the terrible truth.
with a groan she sat up among the soft grass, her hands lying idly on her lap, her wild face raised to the lonely sky. yes, lonely, for above there was nothing but clouds, black heavy clouds, as gloomy as her own future. oh, god! was there no hope? was there----
stay! the clouds part, rolling heavily to the westward, revealing a glimpse of dark blue sky, and set therein like a diamond, the glimmer of a star. hope! yes, it was a sign of hope! a sign of promise! a sign of comfort?
she thought she would go back to ferrari and see if he could suggest any plan by which she could turn the tables on her husband; so brushing the dead leaves off her dress, she threw the lace kerchief she wore round her neck over her head, after the fashion of a mantilla, and walked rapidly down the avenue towards deswarth.
the rapid motion of walking seemed to restore her nerve and with such restoration she regained again the fierceness of her savage spirit. the moment of softness was past, the good angel who had comforted her with the star of hope fled away in terror, and over her head the angel of evil, who had been her constant companion for so many years, now spread his sable wings.
he had ordered her away. he had parted her from her child. this man--her husband that used to be, who had ruined her life by his cruel words and studied neglect. the blame of her sin rested on his shoulders, and she had suffered in the eyes of the world. now once more he triumphed, and while he was resting, honoured and respected in his own house, she was flying through the night like a guilty creature.
"oh!" muttered mrs. belswin between her clenched teeth, "if i was a man i'd kill him. but i can do nothing! i can do nothing. yet i don't know. if i can persuade that cowardly ferrari, or belk. belk would do anything for me. what is to be done must be done to-night--to-morrow it will be too late. which way am i to turn?"
she paused a moment; pressed her hands on her beating heart, then suddenly made up her mind.
"i will see ferrari--first."
the chequers inn was just on the outskirts of deswarth, and a comparatively short distance from thornstream, so it did not take mrs. belswin long, at the rapid pace at which she was walking, to arrive there.
it stood a short distance back from the road, and the night being hot, all the doors and windows were open, letting the yellow light within stream out on to the dark village street. on the benches outside a number of yokels were drinking and talking loudly together about some fortnight-old event which had just reached their out-of-the-way parish. mrs. belswin, not wishing to be recognised, flitted rapidly past them, and was standing in the passage hesitating whether to make herself known to the landlord or not, when luckily at that moment ferrari came out of a side door with the intention of going into the taproom. like a ghost the woman glided forward and laid her hand on his arm.
"stephano!"
"you, cara mia."
the passage was so dark that he was able to recognise her by her voice alone, and the noise from the taproom was so loud that only a quick ear like his could have distinguished her low tones.
"come into some room. i wish to speak to you."
"here, then!" he said, drawing her into the room from whence he had emerged, "what is wrong? il marito! eh! dio! by your face there is trouble."
with a sigh of relief mrs. belswin flung herself wearily into a chair, while ferrari carefully closed the door and took up his position on the hearthrug. even in that moment of anxiety mrs. belswin, with that noting of trivial things common to a preoccupied mind, noticed the tawdry furnishing of the apartment--the gaudy wall-paper, on which hung brilliantly coloured portraits of the queen, the prince of wales, and general gordon; the vivid red of the tablecloth, the dingy blue of the chairs, and the tarnished mirror over the fireplace swathed in fly spotted yellow gauze. ferrari had evidently been smoking, for there yet lingered about the room the odour of a cigar, and the atmosphere was slightly hazy with smoke, while the smoky flame of a badly trimmed kerosene lamp faintly illumined the whole place.
on a chair near the wall sat mrs. belswin, faint and weary, but with an angry light in her wonderful eyes; and standing on the hearthrug the italian, his hands behind his back, and his body slightly bent forward, eager, anxious, and expectant.
"ii marito?" he repeated, inquiringly.
the woman made a gesture of assent, upon which ferrari rubbed his hands together with an air of satisfaction.
"bene!" he said, smiling and showing his white teeth; "it is as i said it would be. il marito has said 'depart,' and you, my lucrezia, have come back to the faithful one. ah, che gioja! we will now leave this fog land and go to my beautiful italy--dolce napoli. the waiting is over, cara mia. you are to me at last, ah felicita!"
"you go too fast, my friend," replied mrs. belswin, with a cold look of disapproval on her expressive face. "do you think i will marry a coward?"
"i am no coward! if a man to me dared to speak the word i would show him i am italian. it is your eyes--your evil eyes--that make me afraid. but you will not be cruel to me again, bellissima," he added, in a caressing tone. "you have come to say, 'i love thee.'"
"listen, stephano," said mrs. belswin, rising to her feet and crossing to the italian. "i wish to tell you what he said. no! do not touch me! wait! i saw my husband. he spoke cruelly to me; he made me leave his house--yes, turned me out like a dog!"
"cospetto!"
"ah, that stirs your blood! i see your eyes flash! can you see me--the woman you love--treated in this manner? no! i am sure you love me too much. you are italian! you have a strong arm and a warm heart! is it not so?"
"but what wish you, signora?"
"kill him!"
she had caught the italian by the coat with her two hands, and her face was so close to his own that he felt her hot breath on his pale cheek. with a gesture of alarm he shrank away, and was about to speak, but she prevented him.
"you are afraid of the law," she went on hurriedly. "do not be afraid. listen! he--that man i hate--the man who has treated me like a dog--is in a room with open windows that lead on a terrace. go there without noise--wait in the shadow. within all is light--without all is darkness. draw him to the window by some trick. when his figure is in the light, shoot him with this!"
ferrari gave a gasp, for she had thrust a small revolver into his hand, upon which his fingers unconsciously closed.
"i cannot do it myself," went on the temptress; "i dare not. they would find out who i was, and what i did. i bought this pistol to kill him to-night, but my heart failed me. no one will think it is you. go! go, if you love me, and kill him, i will be your wife--i will do what you wish--i will go where you like--only kill him! kill him!"
it was no civilised woman who was thus planning a murder in such a cold-blooded manner. it was a savage, with all the blood-thirsty instincts of a barbaric race. all the european side of this woman's nature had vanished, and the primeval lust for blood dominated her entirely. ferrari felt this horrible truth as her face, distorted with passion, pressed close to his own, and with a cry of fear thrust her away, dropped the pistol on the floor, and covered his face with his hands.
"devil woman that you are! no!"
mrs. belswin whirled into the centre of the room like an enraged tigress.
"you won't do it?" she hissed madly. "you won't help me? i was right. you are a coward. well, i will ask you no more--i will do it myself."
she picked up the pistol lying at his feet and turned to the door, but with a cry of horror he sprang in front of her, and prevented her exit.
"no, no! you are mad! you are mad! i will not let you go."
"stand away! i will go."
"no, cara, think. dio!"
like a caged panther she looked round the room for a means of exit, for, mad with rage as she was, she yet retained sufficient sense to know that a scene at the "chequers" would be detrimental to her plans.
"i must go! i must go!"
her eye caught the window, and like a flash of lightning she sprang towards it, tore it open, and bounded through into the darkness like a panther, uttering a laugh of triumph as she vanished.
ferrari darted forward, but stopped half-way across the room in amazement.
"dio! what a devil. i must go, or she will kill him."
he put on his hat and coat rapidly, and, closing the window, left the inn by the door.
"my friend," he said to the landlord, "i go for a little walk. addio!"
luckily none of the labourers outside had seen mrs. belswin leave, as she had slipped past them in the shadow, and the road to thornstream being perfectly deserted, she was free from discovery. ferrari had explored the neighbourhood that afternoon, so, knowing the way to thornstream, walked slowly along the road until out of sight of the inn, then ran rapidly onward through the darkness, longing to catch a glimpse of the flying woman speeding towards thornstream with murder in her heart.
