Chapter XX: A Wife’s Love and a Maid’s Love

Under the conditions just described, the love-making of Charles Murray and Mrs. Gobson promised rapid progress. Ada was charmed by the easy address of the handsome stranger, for she knew that in order to visit her he had planned this attack from which he had saved her husband, but humiliated at her husband’s rudeness in the presence of his guest thought only of revenge.

Being sure that Gobson would be eager for an acquaintance with his preserver in proportion to the repugnance she might show for the intimacy, the next day, when she was told that Mr. Murray would lunch at the villa, she received the news with displeasure; she seated herself at the table, pouting, and before the end of the meal excused herself with some pretext, in spite of the rude remarks of her husband. But the latter cared little; he was none the less convivial with his guest, so much so that at the last course he was intoxicated and would not allow his new friend to leave.

“Let it please or not please Mrs. Gobson,” he said. “We must see each other often. Get admitted to our club at Barker’s; I will vouch for you. We will return to Jamaica Plain when we please, and if by chance we happen to come home early we will end our night gayly here.”

“I accept,” answered Murray, touching his glass for the tenth time to that of the drunken man. “Ah! you know how to enjoy life.”

“Better still; I wish our two villas to be like one. They formerly communicated by a gate now out of use; to-morrow it shall be opened again. Will that suit you?”

“Perfectly.”

“Hurrah, then! A good table, play and friends give the only true pleasure. To the devil with a wife--that is, your own--”

Charles Murray, who seemed proof against intoxication, touched glasses as often as it pleased his host, and they did not separate until the latter wishing to go to his club, thought it best to throw himself on his bed and rest for several hours before starting.

At nightfall, after dinner, when her husband had gone, Mrs. Gobson watched for her neighbor; but to her amazement and great chagrin he did not give a sign of his existence. She did not see him again until the next day, when Gobson, having opened the connecting-gate between the two villas, did the honors of the house and park to him.

During this visit Murray found a chance to say to Mrs. Gobson, “This evening,” and in the hope of this interview she forgot her disappointment and useless waiting of the evening before. She was punctual at the rendezvous. She waited for Murray at the garden-gate, and led him to a green bower, where no curious eye could see them.

“I waited for you in vain yesterday,” she said, in a gentle tone of reproach, as soon as they had seated themselves on a broad rattan bench.

“Ada, listen to me,” answered Mr. Murray, in a grave voice, but lovingly pressing the two little hands Mrs. Gobson gave him. “I feel drawn toward you by a genuine love. The thought that that coarse creature is your husband drives me to despair, and I long to break the fatal link that binds you to him. Is it not possible?”

“I think not,” answered Ada sadly, rapt by these words, for being little accustomed to delicate sentiments, she found a peculiar charm in feeling herself jealously loved.

“Why is it impossible?”

“Oh! I cannot tell you. Do not question me, if you love me.”

The young woman said this with an inexpressible accent of terror. Her hands trembled in Murray’s, and she bowed before him as if begging him to defend her, and tears shone in her beautiful eyes.

But this man seemed as if made of bronze; not a pulse was stirred, and yet this woman was appealing to him by the ardor of her heart, and the tone of her voice, but he gently tried to console her with kind words. He then led her to the doorsteps, saying:

“Again to-morrow.”

Ada went to her room, where, in a fit of despair, she flung herself upon her bed, giving vent to fierce words of hatred against her husband.

The following days passed the same. One evening when she was with him, she said:

“I entreat you to tell me what to do.”

“I repeat to you, Ada,” answered Murray, “you must separate from that man, since you have had the weakness to marry him a second time.”

“A second time!” said the young woman, with a smile whose irony transformed it into a sob, and falling at Murray’s feet, she repeated: “A second time! Oh! if you only knew.”

“Explain yourself. What secret links you to him? Have confidence in me. Let us try every means to free you.”

“Oh! no, no; never,” cried Mrs. Gobson, with an indescribable tone of terror. “If I were to die of your scorn, I shall not speak. Farewell.”

Speaking these words in a heart-rending tone, she had arisen and, without looking around, hastened to her room, shutting the door quickly behind her.

Murray who, no doubt, hardly expected this sudden disappearance, stood a moment amazed and disappointed, but he made no attempt to recall the fugitive. He took his hat, went slowly down stairs, left the house and walked toward the gate leading to his own villa. He had almost reached it when, suddenly, the rustling of a dress and hurrying footsteps indicated that some one was running after him. He turned round and saw Ada, who sprang toward him.

“No, I do not wish to part thus. To-morrow I will tell you all, and you will free me from that man. But you will love me, you will love me, won’t you?”

“How could I help loving you, when you give me such a proof of love,” he answered. “I love you so much already.”

At the same moment a mournful groan was heard on the other side of the gate.

“What is that?” asked Mrs. Gobson, frightened.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Charles Murray, whose paleness was hidden by the darkness. “Go home now.”

“But then----”

“Go, go, I beg you; it is my wish,” and paying no further attention to her, he sprang into his garden, fastening the gate after him; within two steps he came near stumbling over some one lying near a cluster of trees.

“Jane,” he cried, recognizing who it was.

He took her in his arms and, laden with his precious burden, ran into the house.

“Oh, Miss Jane, what has happened?” cried her good governess, on recognizing her pupil. “She was with me only five minutes ago.”

“It is not much, I hope,” answered Murray, mounting the stairs as lightly as if he were carrying a child.

Having reached Jane’s sleeping-room he lay her on a lolling-chair, and immediately assured himself that it was only a fainting turn. A moment later, owing to prompt measures, she came to herself. Opening her large eyes, and after trying a few minutes to steady her head, she recognized her friend, and blushingly clasping her hands, said:

“Forgive me, Charles, forgive me, I am punished enough,” and she burst into sobs.

“Forgive you, Jane? For what? Weep if you must; it will relieve you, and you can explain all to me later. Meanwhile, dear little one, be calm. I forgive you with all my heart, although I do not know what fault you have committed, and I love you.”

At these words the young girl grew pale, and, as if she felt herself growing ill again, her lids drooped.

“Let your maid attend to you,” continued Murray, after touching the child’s forehead with his lips, “and your governess and I will then come and stay with you until you fall asleep.”

He signed to the governess, and leaving the invalid in the care of the maid, they passed into the boudoir. There they were far enough away not to be heard.

“What does this mean?” Murray asked the old lady.

“It was sure to happen some day or another, sir,” answered the teacher; “I reproach myself with having kept silence.”

“Silence? Explain yourself; you frighten me.”

“Miss Jane loves you, sir.”

“Miss Jane loves me.” And as he repeated these words Murray carried his hands to his face, which became of a livid pallor.

“Yes, she loves you and is jealous.”

“Jealous of whom, great God?”

But with his customary clearness of mind immediately reviewing the scene whose ending caused the young girl’s cry and fainting, he understood that she had been watching him in the garden when Ada joined him near the gate, and it was the loving words she heard which caused her illness.

“Oh! it is frightful,” he murmured, with great agitation.

“That is not all, sir; I must conceal nothing from you,” replied the teacher.

“What more?”

“Day before yesterday, early in the evening, Miss Jane, who had left me only a quarter of an hour before, came up suffering from a nervous attack. I wished to call you, but she objected, saying: ‘He is with her in his library. I suspected it, but I wished to see for myself. Oh! I am cruelly punished for my curiosity.’”

“She saw me with Mrs. Gobson?” questioned Murray in amazement, and in a voice strangely moved.

“That is how it was,” continued the governess, “but I ask your pardon for speaking to you of things that do not concern me.”

“Continue, continue. Did Miss Jane watch me and hear me enter?”

“I do not know; it is probable. At any rate, she came down slowly, noiselessly slipped into your sleeping-room, of which you had only dropped the portieres without closing the door, and she recognized that woman, and she ran away for fear of being caught. And she came and told me this with sobs.”

“Poor little one,” said Murray, with a strange smile, “I am in despair. Go up to her; do not leave her alone a single instant; tell her that she is mistaken, and that I will explain all some day. Above all, advise her to be calm.”

Then he added, as if speaking to himself, while the teacher left to join her pupil, “The love of this angel is my punishment; well, I must finish my task; God will do the rest.” And immediately going down-stairs to his study, he rapidly wrote the following lines:

MY DEAR FRIEND:--The hour has come; on receipt of this letter, run to
Mr. Kelly’s and tell him to ask Mr. Davis for a warrant against James
Gobson and his wife. Tell these gentlemen that I will answer for this
measure with my honor. Then take the first train for Boston with Mr.
Saunders and stop at the American House, where await yours truly,

WILLIAM.

Having addressed it to Captain Young at the office of the central police, New York, Charles Murray, or rather William Dow, whom the reader has already recognized, left his study calmer than he had entered it a few moments before.

He ordered one of his servants to mail this letter and went to inquire after Jane. The young girl had recovered and fallen asleep. As he went down he gave a threatening look at the lighted windows of Mrs. Gobson, who, no doubt, was thinking lovingly of him and he entered his apartments, saying:

“Young will have my letter to-morrow; in forty-eight hours he will arrive. I have more time than I need. Before then all will be ready.”