He looked at her sharply, without replying. She spoke with all the gravity of a woman twice her years, and he could not decide whether she were really in earnest in the expression of her readiness to become his friend. One thing was absolutely certain, namely, that she was acquainted with the innermost secrets of his heart. In the wild madness of despair he had blurted out his fear and agony of mind, and she had actually been the witness of those moments of sweet melancholy when, at the sight of that lock of hair, he had allowed his thoughts to wander back to the days long dead, when the world was to him so rosy and full of life. Should he conciliate her, or should he, on the other hand, defy her and refuse her a.s.sistance? That she, of all women, should in this fashion thrust herself into his life was strange indeed. But had she actually thrust herself upon him, or was her presence there, as she had alleged, a mere freak of fortune?

"You say that I ought to act like a man, Miss Mortimer. Well, I am ready to hear your suggestion."

"My suggestion is quite simple: it is that you should live, be bold, and face those who seek your downfall."

He sighed despairingly.

"In theory that's all very well, but in practice, impossible," he answered after a short pause.

"Think! You are wealthy, you are famous, with hosts of friends who will come to your aid if you confide in them--"

"Ah! but I cannot confide in them," he cried despondently, interrupting her. "You are the only person who knows the secret of my intention."

"But surely you will not deliberately seek such an inglorious end--you, the pride and hope of a political party, and one of a race that has century after century been famous for producing n.o.ble Englishmen. It is madness--sheer madness!"

"I know it," he admitted; "but to me birth, position, wealth, popularity are all nothing."

"I can quite understand that all these qualities may count as nothing to you, Mr. Chisholm," she said in a tone of voice indicative of impatience, "but there is still one reason more why you should hesitate to take the step you have just been contemplating."

"And what is that?"

For a moment she remained silent, looking straight at him with her splendid eyes, as if to read the book of his heart. At length she made answer:

"Because a woman worships you."

He started, wondering quickly if his midnight visitor intended those words to convey a declaration of love. With an effort he smiled in a good-humoured way, but almost instantly his dark features regained their tragic expression.

"And if a woman pays me that compliment, is it not a misfortune for her?" he asked. There was a motive in her concealment there. What could it be?

"It surely should not be so, if the love is perfect, as it is in the present case."

"Well," he said, smiling, "apparently you are better acquainted with my private affairs than I am myself, Miss Mortimer. But in any case the love of this woman whom you mention can be only a pa.s.sing fancy. True, I was loved once, long ago. But that all belongs to the past."

"And the only relic of the bygone romance is that lock of hair? Yes, I know all. I have seen all. And your secret is, I a.s.sure you, safe with me."

"But this woman who--well, who is attracted towards me? What is her name?" he demanded, not without some interest.

"You surely know her," she answered. "The woman who is your best and most devoted friend--the woman in whom you should surely confide before attempting to take such a step as you are contemplating to-night--Lady Richard Nevill."

His lips again set themselves hard at the mention of that name. Was it uttered in sarcasm, or was she in real earnest? He regarded her keenly for a moment, and then inclined to the latter opinion.

"The relations existing between Lady Richard and myself are our own affair," he said, vexed by her reference to a subject which of all others, next to the knowledge of his sin, perturbed him most.

"But your secret concerns her," Muriel declared. "Many times you have confided in her and asked her help at the various crises in your career.

Why not now? Her very life is yours."

"Am I to understand that you wish to pay me compliments, Miss Mortimer?"

"No. This is hardly the time for paying compliments. I speak the truth, Mr. Chisholm. She loves you."

"Then if that is really so, it seems an additional misfortune has overtaken me," he replied hoa.r.s.ely, unable as yet to grasp her motive.

"All the world knows that she is madly in love with you, and would be ready to become your wife to-morrow. Under all the circ.u.mstances I must say that your indifference strikes me as almost unbelievable."

She was pleading for Claudia, a fact which made the mystery surrounding her all the more perplexing. He did not notice that she was calmly watching the effect of her words upon him.

"You hold a brief for Lady Richard, but I fail to see the reason why.

We are friends, very old friends, but nothing else. Our future concerns no one but ourselves," he said.

"Exactly. The future of each of you concerns the other," she answered triumphantly. "She loves you, and because of this all her thoughts are centred in you."

"I must really confess, Miss Mortimer, that I do not see the drift of your argument," he said. "Lady Richard has no connection whatever with the present matter, which is my private affair alone."

"But since she loves you as devotedly as she does, it concerns her deeply."

"I repeat that we are friends, not lovers," he replied with some asperity.

"And I repeat, just as emphatically, that she loves you, and that it is your duty to confide in her," answered Muriel, determined not to haul down her flag.

"Love!" he cried bitterly, beginning to pace the room, for as soon as he thought of Claudia his attempt to remain calm was less and less effective; "what is love to me? There is no love for such as I."

"No, Mr. Chisholm," she said earnestly, stretching forth her hand.

"Pardon me, I pray, for speaking thus, but to every man and woman both love and happiness are given, if only they will accept it."

He was thinking of Claudia, and of the fact that she had first seen Cator and had contrived to keep him aloof from the guests. She could surely suspect nothing, otherwise she would have waited to see him after the visitor's departure. Yes, he knew that everything said by this fair-haired girl was quite true. That was the unfortunate factor in the affair. She loved him.

"Tell me, then," he demanded at last, "what do you advise? You know that I have a secret; that I intend deliberately to take my life and to trouble no one any further. As you have prevented me from doing so, it is to you I look for help and good counsel."

"I am ready and eager to give both," she exclaimed, "only I very much fear that you do not trust me, Mr. Chisholm! Well, after all, that is not very remarkable when the short period of our acquaintanceship is borne in mind. Nevertheless, I am Claudia's friend, and consequently yours. You must really not do anything foolish. Think of your own position, and of the harsh judgment you will naturally provoke by your insane action!"

"I know! I know!" he replied. "But to me the opinion of the world counts for absolutely nothing. I have sinned, and, like other men, must bear the penalty. For me there is no pardon on this side of the grave."

"There is always pardon for the man who is loved."

"A love that must turn to hate when the truth is discovered," he added bitterly, with a short, dry laugh. "No, I much prefer the alternative of death. I do not fear the end, I a.s.sure you. Indeed, I really welcome it," and he laughed again nervously, as though suicide were one of the humours of life.

"No," she cried in earnestness, laying her hand gently on his arm.

"Listen to reason, Mr. Chisholm. I know I have no right to speak to you like this--only the right of a fellow-creature who would prevent you from taking the rash step you contemplate. But I want you fully to realise your responsibility towards the woman who so dearly loves you."

"Our love is ended," he blurted out, with a quick, furtive look at the gla.s.s upon the writing-table. "I have no further responsibility."

"Has it really ended?" she asked anxiously. "Can you honestly and truthfully say before your Maker that you entertain no love for Lady Richard--that she is never in your thoughts?"

Her question nonplussed him. A lie arose to his lips, but remained there unuttered.

"You are thinking of that former love," she went on; "of that wild, impetuous affection of long ago, that madness which has resulted so disastrously, eh? Yes, I know. You still love Lady Richard, while she, for her part, entertains a loving thought for no other man but you. And yet there is a sad, sweet memory within you which you can neither stifle nor forget." There was a tone of distinct melancholy in her voice.

"You have guessed aright," he answered in a strained tone. "The tragedy of it all is before me day and night, and it is that alone which holds me at a distance from Claudia."