"Then let me tell you this, you fellows," he said, "if ever you do, I'll crush you, as I would crush an empty egg-sh.e.l.l. I'll make life a h.e.l.l for you. I mean it! I have no fear of Winfield. He makes no profession of religion, and therefore will act squarely; but I say this to you two fellows--you, Sprague, and Purvis--if ever Miss Castlemaine hears of it, I know it will come from one of you two. No one else knows of it, and I shall quickly find out which of you two has told her. Well, I tell you this, no lost soul in the h.e.l.l about which you preach to sinners shall suffer as you shall suffer."

He had taken the wrong line, and he knew it, yet he did not think, at that time, of a way in which he could make them feel what he felt. His pride forbade him telling them that he was really in earnest now, and that he was ashamed of the compact they had made. He did try to bring himself to it; but to go to Sprague and Purvis and to tell them that he really loved Miss Castlemaine, and to ask them to refrain from mentioning what had pa.s.sed between them, was too much. Had they been men of a different order, he might have done it; but after the way he had regarded them, after he had laughed to scorn their religious notions, and their professed faith in women, he could not. He would maintain his old character, and he would make them fear to divulge the secret, which had now become the great fear of his life.

For the first time Sprague felt that he had pierced the weak place in Leicester's armour. He knew now that the man who had laughed at him was afraid of him, and he determined to take advantage of the position he held. It would help him to pay off old scores.

"If you will a.s.sure us that you are sincere in this new role you are playing," said Sprague, "and if you will promise never to touch drink of any sort again, it might be that----"

But Leicester did not allow him to finish the sentence. He rose to his feet in his pa.s.sion.

"Promise you!" he cried, "Promise _you_!" He laughed bitterly, and scornfully. Then he sat down again, ashamed of himself for having allowed a man like Sprague to anger him so. "You mistake yourself," he said. "A gentleman does not argue with a cabman, or invite his laundress to dinner. You are presuming too far." He hesitated again for a second.

"No," he went on, "I shall not promise anything, nor profess anything. I simply tell you that no word of this affair must pa.s.s your lips."

Sprague, stung by Leicester's words, was about to retort angrily.

"No, no, wait a minute," said Leicester, who now spoke very quietly.

"Look at me for a moment--that's it. Now, you know me. You know that I am not tied down to claptrap morality. And you know this, too, when I say a thing I'll do it, ay, even if I have to swing for it. I'll do it.

Whatever part I play elsewhere, I'm not playing a part now. I am in deadly earnest, and the devil always helps the man who is faithful to him. Well, I say this: if either of you breathe one word concerning that compact of ours--one word, mark you, especially to Miss Castlemaine--then no leper on a leper island shall suffer what you shall suffer, no victim of the Inquisition invented by your religious teachers has ever gone through the torments which you shall go through; no h.e.l.l that was ever invented shall be as ghastly as the h.e.l.l I will drag you through."

"You mean she would throw you over if she knew."

"No matter what I mean; but remember this, I am a man of my word, and I am in earnest about this. Winfield I know is safe, he is a gentleman, and he's not a rejected lover; but you others--well, I have said my say."

He left the club as he spoke, while the three men looked at each other wonderingly.

For some time after this nothing happened to disturb the serenity of Leicester's life. Little by little he was mastering the drink craving, while his outlook on life made him more and more cheerful. Olive Castlemaine had indeed wrought a wondrous change. When he was in her presence, at all events, the old Leicester was gone, and a new and happier man had taken his place. It is true Olive was not demonstrative in her affection towards him, but he was content, and as the wedding-day drew near it seemed to him that his happiness could not continue. The sky of his life was too bright, the joy was too great. Especially did he feel this on the evening before the day fixed for their wedding. He had come down from town to dinner, and when, after he had smoked a cigar with John Castlemaine, he and Olive were alone, it seemed to him as though his present happiness were a dream, and that he would presently awake to grim and stern realities.

"Why are you so sad, Radford?" asked Olive; "is anything worrying you?"

"Yes, no--I don't know."

She looked at him keenly.

"Something _is_ troubling you," she said. "Won't you tell me?"

"Olive," he said, "to-morrow is our wedding-day. I--I want to ask you something. I want you to promise me something."

She looked at him wonderingly, and then waited for him to continue.

CHAPTER IX

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING

"Olive," he said presently, "you've heard strange things about me?"

She nodded.

"You've believed them?"

"You have not denied them. But never mind those now. The past is past."

"Is it?" he said moodily. "Sometimes I almost believe it is; but only sometimes. Generally I have a feeling that there is no past; that what we call past keeps rising up against us, and cursing us."

"Radford, you are not well."

"Yes, I am. My trouble is that I am too happy. Oh, I know what I am talking about. I am too happy. To-morrow is our wedding-day. Think of it, to-morrow you are to be my wife, you are to be mine--mine. The wedding is to be early, then in the afternoon we are going to drive to London, and take the train for the Continent. We are going to Florence, to Rome, to Naples, to Capri, to Corsica. We are going away to sunshine, we are going to miss six weeks of dreary weather, and then when we return the spring will be here. Think of it! And I shall have you. _You_ all the time; you, my wife! Is it a wonder that I am too happy?"

There was a look of pride in the girl's eyes. It rejoiced her to feel that she could so arouse this proud, self-contained man, that she could drive his cynicism from him. She thought of the old Leicester, and the new, and her heart grew warm.

"And yet I am miserable," he went on; "I am haunted with a great fear lest all this can never come to pa.s.s."

She laughed almost gaily.

"The wedding dress has been bought," she said, "and even now our minister, Mr. Sackville, is talking with father about the ceremony to-morrow."

"Yes, yes, I know, but if there is no past. If it is resurrected----"

"Let us not talk about it," she said. "I have heard all about it, and--well, I have given you my promise."

"But if I am worse than you thought," he cried; "if you find out something which you cannot forgive. If some one told you that I am a fraud, a lie, a villain?"

"I should still trust you," she said quietly. "You have never told me a lie, have you?"

"No," he said, "I have never told you a lie."

"Then I should laugh at what I heard. You have told me that since your Oxford fiasco, when that girl jilted you, no woman has in any way ever come into your life."

"Yes, I have told you that, and it is true; bad as I may have been since that time, I have never given any woman but you a thought. If there is a G.o.d, He knows that my words are true."

Olive Castlemaine laughed merrily.

"Then," she said, "I shall not trouble a little bit about what I hear."

He looked up into her face, his eyes all afire with the ardour of his love. With her by his side, all things were possible. He was still a cynic with regard to others, but he no more doubted Olive than he doubted the sunlight. She was beyond suspicion, and yet his very faith in her made him fear that the coming day could never fulfil his hopes.

"I am not fit that you should be my wife," he cried. "I know I am not, and yet I would murder the man who tried to take you away from me. Oh, I am in earnest; I would. Why, you don't know what you are to me. You are hope, faith, motive power, heaven."

He started up, and walked away from her as though he were ashamed to stay by her side. But he quickly came back.

"Oh yes, I hate professions of faith," he went on. "I despise repentant sinners. I would a thousand times rather have to do with a good p.r.o.nounced blackguard than with your whining convert. And yet I know I shall be a good fellow with you as my wife. And I never break my promises. I was never so mean as that. Oh yes, I was whisky-sodden when I knew you first, and I was a plaything to the habit; but since that day--you remember, Olive--I've never touched it, and I never will--no, I never will!"

Olive Castlemaine was a little frightened at the intensity of his words; nevertheless, she was proud of her power over her lover. What woman would not be?

"And yet I am removed from you, Olive. I don't know why, but I feel it.

You love me, don't you?"