With a resumption of his usual self-control he hissed: "Those jewels are worth thirty thousand pounds. You were clumsy to miss such a prize.

Now listen to me. That young fool's father killed your father."

Gilda shuddered, and tears trickled down the cheeks which had been skilfully lined to disguise their youthful beauty.

Again, stooping towards her, his words were reduced almost to a whisper as he said: "Look at me straight in the eyes, Gilda, and listen. You must make love to that man. He cannot, and shall not resist you. He must marry you, and you--must--ruin--him. That shall be your revenge.

It shall be my revenge--and your father's revenge."

Then, springing to his feet with extraordinary vigour, he added:

"Come now! Remember what I have said. It must be. It shall be."

People turned to look at this peaceful and distinguished-looking "old"

couple sauntering down the front to their hotel.

There is an unscrupulous type of villain in this world, whose power for harm is unbounded. Even as the weasel, the stoat, and certain of her types of ferocious animals, kill for the l.u.s.t of killing, so these evil-minded people pursue their depredations. The worst of this type exercise a curious fascination over women.

It is not essential to discuss the possibilities of hypnotism, mesmerism, or any other forms of mind influence, or thought transference. A perusal of the newspapers, and even a general observation of those around us is sufficient to satisfy us of the existence of this power. Curiously, it would more generally seem to be exercised for evil rather than good. Doctor Danilo Malsano exercised his malicious influence over Gilda Tempest with all the malignancy of the type of predatory blood-sucking animals, to which allusion has been made.

It was easy, therefore, for plans to be made to encompa.s.s the downfall and ruin of Raife Remington. Subterfuge brought clandestine meetings between the young couple. The clandestine element is that which appeals most strongly to the ordinary lover. Raife Remington loved Gilda Tempest with a fierce pa.s.sion, which he could not control, but, in many senses, he was an ordinary lover.

He was now well aware of Gilda's skill as a "thief"--a burglar. The thought rankled in his mind, but still he could not stave off the desire for her company. A smile from her chased away the hateful reminiscence of the night in the library at Aldborough Park, when she was fully revealed as a thief. There were other mysterious circ.u.mstances that, in his ordinary mood, he could not explain away, but when Gilda smiled and looked at him with her appealing eyes, all doubt vanished.

He was certain of one thing--Doctor Malsano was a blackguard, and he hated him. Again, his sense of reason--nay of duty--impelled him to give information to the police that would lead to the arrest and conviction of this arch-criminal--a criminal who used his uncanny powers to employ, as a dupe, a sweet, beautiful girl whom he called his niece.

His influence appeared almost supernatural, and yet, his cowardice was evident in the fact that he adopted such foul methods. So, in spite of all this, when Gilda smiled, that baneful person, her uncle, was safe from arrest as far as Raife was concerned.

There were many incongruities in this courtship. Their first meeting, and each subsequent meeting, had been quite unconventional--yet there was nought but pure thought as far as this couple were concerned when they met.

The baleful influence of the doctor at other times alone made for trouble.

In all these circ.u.mstances, then, it is not surprising that the quaint, old-world, white room of the "Blue Boar" at Tunbridge Wells should have become the rendezvous when it was the only opportunity that served.

Raife Remington's sense of proportion had restrained him for a week or two, and he had not met Gilda. Doctor Malsano was not the type of man to allow his victim to elude his machinations for long. Gilda was, therefore, compelled to adopt the disguise of a hospital nurse, and, with full instructions from information obtained by the doctor, visited Tunbridge Wells. On the pretext of a patient who was expected from town, she obtained a room at the "Blue Boar." It was not hard to invent a ruse to ensure Raife's attendance at the "Blue Boar." When Gilda met him on the staircase, her old influence returned, and under the chaperonage of the landlord, Mr Twisegood, they started the interview.

The astute, old Twisegood chuckled as he discreetly left the room, but, at the same time, he had no real knowledge of the state of affairs. Nor was Raife aware that this "accidental" meeting had been cunningly planned by Doctor Malsano.

For long they talked. Gilda exercised her fascinating arts, and Raife succ.u.mbed more completely than ever. The conquest was complete, and Raife arranged to meet her in town, where they should run less risk of observation, and each should enjoy their own society unmolested by the inquisitive.

During all this strange courtship the ordinary caresses, in which lovers freely indulge, had been few indeed. Now, to-day, when Fate seemed propitious, their caresses were less restrained, and, for the first time, Raife kissed Gilda pa.s.sionately. The fire of youthful kisses will destroy discretion. The sight of a neatly-costumed nurse being pa.s.sionately embraced by the youthful owner of Aldborough Park would have made an interesting film for a cinema. In real life the casual or accidental witness of such a scene, is liable to be shocked. In this instance the genial old landlord of the "Blue Boar" was ascending the stairs, and saw sufficient of the impa.s.sioned incident, through a mirror, to encourage him to give a loud and friendly cough. The process of disentanglement was instant and complete. Most of us are familiar with it. With a discreet tap at the door, which had been, with an inadvertence which was frequent on such occasions, left partly open, the old man announced: "If you please, Sir Raife, Lady Remington is coming upstairs and would like to see you."

Raife merely exclaimed, in a tone that indicated panic, and the exclamation consisted of one word only--a characteristically English utterance, "What!" Hastily pushing the old man out of the room, and, closing the door, he stood for a moment bewildered. Then Raife e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in short, disjointed sentences: "Good heavens! The mater!

What brings her here? How did she know?"

Gilda stood calmly. She had been well trained to avoid panic in an emergency.

A man ceases to be an aristocrat when he allows panic to be more than momentary. Sir Raife Remington, Bart., was an aristocrat. Gilda's practised eye looked at the window and calculated the drop.

With a discretion inherited through generations of "service," Twisegood had descended the old staircase.

Lady Remington, with the instinct of a mother, ascended the staircase.

Her rather "exalted" tones sounded from without:

"Is this the room, Twisegood?" Her hand was upon the handle of the door.

Then did inspiration seize Raife.

Whispering hurriedly: "You go down this staircase," pointing to the secret exit, "into the loose box at the bottom and wait your chance."

To Gilda, who had shown such dexterity in descending by a silken rope from the library window at Aldborough Park, it was easy to find a "way out" by a staircase, even if it did lead her into a loose box in a stable!

When Lady Remington explained that the horse in her brougham had cast a shoe, and that Twisegood's man was attending to it--and that Twisegood had said that Sir Raife was upstairs, it became easier to understand why Lady Remington was climbing those stairs at that unpropitious moment.

Sir Raife expressed his opinion of affairs to Twisegood at a later date.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HAUNTED BY THE SPIRIT OF THE RIVER.

There are brief times of happiness in the careers of most people, and it is a fortunate circ.u.mstance that, in the majority of instances, memory reverts to happiness rather than to misery.

The gambler prefers to remember the times when he won. The joys of our youth linger in our minds until we approach the border-line of dotage.

Among the joys of the youth of most of us are the joys of love. There are few who cannot remember the thrill that accompanied the first kisses with the girl we loved. The happy moments when the world was a vista of promised pleasure! There is happiness in the quiet content of drab surroundings, and there is the delirious happiness of forced gaiety.

The pleasure spots of this world are many and varied. "The Great White Way" of New York has its thrills and excitements. Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and the Riviera all possess their pleasure atmosphere and zones, but the vast swing and swirl of London gaiety is a thing apart.

Raife Remington and Gilda Tempest came to London to enter into what they determined should be the love zone of pleasure, which should complete their lives. By a tacit understanding, now that the first and most important stages of conquest had been acquired, the doctor did not appear more than necessary. Raife was rich enough for a full indulgence in the round of gaiety that London offers, especially to those who are to the manner born. Raife was to the manner born, and he possessed the gift of selecting those varied entertainments which appeal to most youth, but more especially to young and beautiful women.

Gilda, now to a considerable extent away from the depressing and exacting influence of her uncle, experienced, for the first time, the joys of love and of comparative freedom. Her lightest whims were gratified, and together, light-heartedly, they joined the gay whirl of entertainment. Dressed in the richest attire and bejewelled, she was the observed of all, and envied by most women. By men she was admired.

By the man to whom she had given her heart she was adored, and Raife had acquired a wonderful skill in courtly admiration. He was living in his old-world suite of rooms in Duke Street, St James's, and Gilda and her uncle occupied a suite in a new Bloomsbury hotel.

September, and even October, are frequently the most kindly months in England, in the matter of genial climate, and ate more suggestive of perfect summer weather than that afforded by July.

On a night in September, Raife and Gilda were dining at the Savoy Hotel.

He had chosen a table, and, prior to dinner, they were overlooking the river and the embankment, with the long sweep of lights that lead mysteriously into gloom, whilst the flickering reflections of the murky Surrey side sparkled in the swiftly-moving stream at high tide. He was supremely happy. She appeared to be, but it was not possible to fathom the depths of a heart and mind that had been subordinated to the sinister workings of a hard and cruel disposition. There are few who have looked upon that ancient waterway who have not been influenced by its fascination. To-night its mystery entered into the spirit of Raife, and for a brief while he was affected by the outlook. His had been a great happiness for two weeks now, and he had chased away every grim thought in connection with Doctor Malsano and Gilda. They whispered a brief love-talk and then entered the salon, and crossed to the table which was awaiting them. The waiters performed those mystic evolutions which indicate the relative rank of the diners who are to occupy their tables. It appeared evident that Raife was a person of importance.

Apart from this testimony from the waiters, he and she were evidently the cynosure of the rest of the richly-clad diners. With a gay laugh he spoke softly across the table.

"Gilda, that view of the river depressed me for a while. There was something of gloom and hidden mystery about it. Shall we drink some champagne to-night?"

"Yes, Raife, by all means. Don't let a horrid river depress you. I'm never depressed now that you are mine."

The soft light from the shaded lamp fell on her lovely form. A pink glow suffused her bare arms and heaving breast. The jewels that decked her sparkled, and her wonderful, l.u.s.trous eyes looked at him with a strange, tender look as she uttered those last words, "Now that you are mine." He answered: "Yes, Gilda, I am yours." There seemed to be still some sense of foreboding, in spite of all the happiness of the last two weeks and the luxurious gaiety of their present surroundings. The spirit of that ancient river had left a sense of sadness which Raife could not alter. The waiter arrived opportunely with the wine, and they both drank a gla.s.s of the sparkling champagne, the wine which has made much merriment and led to much sadness.

The dinner progressed with all the stateliness of service, and the exquisite choice of food which is a.s.sociated with a restaurant whose _chef_ receives the salary of a statesman.

Gilda said, during one of those intervals, when a _piece de resistance_, which is to follow, has justified a delay:

"Oh, Raife, uncle said to-day--"

With a gesture of impatience he interrupted: "Don't tell me what your uncle said. I don't want to know what he says. I only want to know what you say."

Then he smiled, as many another lover has smiled, who was tempted into a lapse of perfect and complete adoration of his loved one. Even in these happy conditions, where everything seemed favourable to a perfect courtship, love was on tenterhooks.