Chapter XXI: Reveals the Gulf

As I did not reply she repeated her question.

"Do you know the reason Mr Little has left London, Victor?" she asked.

Her eyes were fixed upon me calmly and seriously. Her glance was one of strange suspicion. In her beautiful countenance was a look which I had never seen before. She had bent and, through her veil, was gazing straight into my eyes.

"The reason?" I faltered. "How should I know? He goes and comes so often without explaining any reason."

"H'm!"

It was all she responded, but it signified much doubt and suspicion. What story, I wondered, had that young fop in dress-clothes been telling her?

"And what can Julian Little's absence from London concern your love for me?" I asked, again taking her hand. But once more she withdrew it, slowly but very firmly.

"You are changed, Daisy," I said in a low tone of reproach. "Why?"

"Changed!" she cried, suddenly awakened to the fact that I had noticed her unusual demeanour. "Changed! Why, I'm sure I'm not! How?"

"Because I ask you a simple little question, and you refuse to reply."

"You silly boy," she exclaimed. But her laugh was hollow and unreal. I saw that her mind was overshadowed; that she held some secret which she intended to withhold from me.

It was upon the tip of my tongue to mention the man who had accompanied her on the previous night, but I refrained. I did not wish that she should know that I had spied upon her. Hitherto I had trusted her implicitly, never dreaming that she would play me false; that she denied me the pleasure of meeting her at night in order to accept the companionship of another man.

"Why am I silly?" I asked earnestly. "I love you, Daisy. You surely know that?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "You have told me so."

"And do you not believe it?" I cried, opening my eyes widely at her strange inertness.

She paused before replying.

"Well--I suppose I must," she said, with a slight sigh.

"I don't follow you at all," I said quite frankly. "I love you, Daisy, truly and devotedly; while you have yourself many times told me that you reciprocate my affection. Yet when I ask you to repeat those words that are so reassuring to me, those words of love from your own lips, you first ask me the reason Julian has left London. You know quite well that Julian, as special correspondent, comes and goes at a moment's notice. Sometimes, even at his dinner, he is interrupted by Wakeley on the 'phone, receives orders, and a quarter of an hour afterwards he is in a cab on his way to the railway station. Because we have chambers together it is no reason why he should share with me his confidences. Indeed, I know very little, I can assure you. He's by nature very close about his own affairs."

Daisy again fixed her fine eyes straight upon mine. Her look was one of disbelief and suspicion.

"Then you tell me you are unaware why Julian has gone to Servia?"

"Nothing more than that he received some information predicting a disturbance in Belgrade," I replied.

"No; I mean his private reason?"

"Certainly not."

"You are quite certain that his journey has nothing to do with yourself? I mean that it does not concern your own future?" she said slowly, still looking at me fixedly.

"I really don't understand you, darling," I said.

She smiled and nodded her head slightly, expressive of disbelief.

"You appear to think, dearest, that I'm trying to deceive you about something," I cried. "But I swear I am not. I cannot see why you are asking these extraordinary questions. What have they to do with our mutual love?"

"Much," she replied in a low voice--and I saw how changed was her manner.

"But, Daisy," I exclaimed, bending to her, "tell me what has happened! Why are you like this? It is surely not like you?"

All the mysterious details of that extraordinary tragedy flashed through my mind in an instant. Was it possible that the well-dressed young club-lounger was her lover after all? Was it possible that there was some foul plot against me and my own happiness? Fortunately, Whitlock disbelieved the amazing and anonymous allegation that a young journalist--myself, it was plainly hinted--was guilty of the crime. But did it not seem more than possible that the plot, whatever it was, had for its object my separation from this sweet-faced, dainty girl to whom I was so deeply devoted?

I looked into her beautiful countenance in silence. What could I say? Pause for a moment and reflect what you would have said in such curiously delicate circumstances.

"You affect not to understand me, Victor," she said in a low, cold voice.

"All I can understand," I said in a tone of reproach, "is that you are tired of me; that, perhaps, you have found someone whom you can love better than myself--someone who has taken my place in your heart," I added pointedly, watching her face the while. I saw that she bit her lip, while her cheeks went a trifle paler, and I felt that I had spoken the truth.

She gave vent to a hollow laugh.

"How ridiculous!" she cried. "Then you accuse me, Victor, of deceiving you?"

"I accuse you of nothing, dearest," was my quick response. "I am only expressing surprise at your extraordinary attitude." Would that I could speak to her openly, but I dare not, for it would have betrayed the fact of my watchfulness upon her on the previous night.

Was it possible that the man who had accompanied her was really Drayton? If so, what connection had he with that house of grim shadow in Barnes?

"It is of your attitude I complain," Daisy said reproachfully. "I ask you a simple question to which you will not reply."

"No," I protested. "I asked you whether your love for me was the same, but you refuse to answer. You ask me a question regarding Julian Little instead. Come," I said, taking her hand again, "don't let us quarrel, darling. You know how very sincere is my affection for you; that without you my life is a perfect blank. Thoughts of you and of our future happiness stir me to do my best in my profession. They call me a rising man--but why? Because I struggle and strive for your dear sake. Will you not tell me once again that you are the same to me as ever?" I whispered, bending earnestly to her.

I felt a slight shudder run through her. Her little hand trembled within my own. Her lips quivered. She tried to speak, but it seemed as though, in that great struggle going on within her, she wished to explain to me something, and yet could not bring herself to do so.

She was silent.

Never before had she failed to respond to my declaration of love, and until the past night I had reposed every confidence in her. Though living in that wild, restless world of the variety song and dance, a world full of temptations and pitfalls for the unwary, yet she was sweet, innocent, and pure, a womanly woman possessing all the grace, modesty, and tenderness of her sex. But her adventure of that night had caused me a storm of indignation, and a dark cloud of suspicion overshadowed my whole being.

Was she playing me false?

I repeated my words, but she made no response. Her face was pale to the lips; her whole attitude was that of a woman seeking to control herself, determined not to speak out the truth.

"If you refuse to reply, Daisy, what am I to think?" I asked in a tone of deep regret.

She was sitting rigid and motionless. For nearly five minutes she did not utter a word, but sat staring straight before her.

"Why were you so deeply interested in my friend Little?" I asked. "Come, do tell me, dearest, and let us end all this."

"I--I want to know the truth," she stammered.

"About what?"

"About Mr Little's sudden journey to Servia."

"But I've told you everything I know," I declared. "He left a note for me saying that he had gone."

"Why?"

"The secret reason of his journey--if there be any secret one, dearest--is known to himself alone. I had no idea of his intention to leave. Indeed, only on the previous night I heard him speaking over the 'phone to the Chief regarding a journey to Canada, to 'do' a conference in Quebec."

"Tell me the truth, Victor," she said, turning again to me. "Are you in utter ignorance of the real motive of his sudden departure?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed in surprise. "I've already told you everything I know about it."

"But you've not referred to the--the mystery," she said, in a low, hard voice.

"Mystery! What mystery?"

"You know well enough to what I refer," she said, her face changing. "And you know well enough that Julian Little has gone to Belgrade in your interests. And--and yet you dare to repeat your love for me!"

I half rose from the seat, then sank back again, utterly staggered by her words. Julian gone to Servia in my interests! What could she mean?

"I really don't understand you, Daisy," was all I could reply.

"Because you do not wish to do so," was her cold response.

Well did I recollect Whitlock's attitude towards my friend on the night of his call at Gray's Inn. Had not that fact been puzzling me to distraction? Why had Julian left so suddenly, and why was Whitlock so very anxious daily for news of him if there was not some suspicion upon him?

No. That man suspected to be Drayton had made some false accusation against me, without a doubt. Had those forged Press messages actually emanated from him? At anyrate, his identity with Francis Drayton would, ere long, be established or negatived, and it was equally certain that neither he nor Daisy dreamed that they had been watched and followed on the previous night.

"You mistake me, Daisy," I said at last, when I had sufficiently recovered from my surprise. "To my knowledge Julian Little has no interests to serve on my behalf in his sudden journey. I can therefore only surmise that you have been given information which is false and baseless. You appear to be making some mysterious allegation against myself and Little. Why not be frank and tell me what it is, so that, if false, I can refute it? This," I went on, "is surely not like your old self, dearest. Put yourself for a moment in my place, charged with some mysterious misdemeanour by the very woman whom I love better than my own life, and----"

"Let us leave love out of the question at present, Victor," she said, interrupting. "We are dealing with facts."

"And is not my strong affection for you a fact, Daisy?" I protested. "Have we not been happy in each other's love all these months? Have we not often sat upon this very seat, careless of all other things in the world; have we not lived for each other alone, heedless of all around; and yet," I added with deep reproach, "you call me here this afternoon to tell me that we need not mention our affection."

"Because you refuse to clear up the mystery which has surrounded you."

"But as far as I know there is no mystery! I love no other woman, and my movements are all open and well known."

She smiled with a slight cynicism. Was it possible that she had grown jealous. If so, of whom? Of late I had not been out in society much, and had hardly spoken to any other woman. Her whole attitude was sphinx-like.

Slowly she rose, saying, "There is no use for me to remain. Let us part."

"Part! You mean to leave me, Daisy!" I cried, in dismay, "because of this--because----Well, I suppose," I added, half choked with emotion--"I suppose you have found another love--you, my own dearest love! This is heartless, cruel. I never dreamed that you, my own dear heart, would treat me thus."

"Good-bye," she said, very coldly, putting forth her hand. "I can never trust a man farther who attempts to deceive me as you have done."

"Deceive you!" I cried. "Why, before Heaven! I've never attempted to do such a thing! Who has cast this veil of mystery about me? An enemy--perhaps a man who loves you and has become my rival. But if he has stolen your love he shall reckon with me," I added in anger.

"Good-bye, Victor," was all she said, for next instant she turned, and I stood watching her receding figure in the falling dusk, too astounded to follow; so utterly astonished that I was powerless.

The sudden blow had stunned me. A mystery had fallen upon me--me! But what was it? Why did she refuse to tell me, and thus allow me no opportunity of clearing myself of any suspicion?

But she had turned the bend in the path, and the sun of my life had set for ever.