Black is White 45

Black is White 45

“We go to-morrow!” she cried out in an ecstasy of triumph. She was

convinced that he would go! “La Provence!”

 

“Good Heaven!” he gasped, dropping suddenly into a chair and burying his

face in his shaking hands. “What will this mean to Lydia what will she

do--what will become of her?”

 

A quiver of pain crossed the woman’s face, her eyelids fell as if to

shut out something that shamed her in spite of all her vainglorious

protestations. Then the spirit of exaltation resumed its sway. She

lifted her eyes heavenward, and inaudible words trembled on her lips. A

moment later she stood over him, her hands extended as if in blessing.

 

Had he looked up at that instant he would have witnessed a Yvonne he did

not know. No longer was she the alluring, sensuous creature who had been

in his thoughts for months, but a transfigured being whose soul looked

out through gentle, pitying eyes, whose wiles no longer were employed

in the devices of which she was past-mistress, whose real nature was

revealed now for the first time since she entered the house of James

Brood.

 

There was pain and suffering in the lovely eyes, and there was a strange

atmosphere of sanctuary attending the very conquest she had made. But

Frederic did not look up until all this had passed and the smile of

triumph was on her lips again and the glint of determination in her

eyes. He had missed the revelation that would have altered his estimate

of her for the future.

 

“You cannot marry Lydia now,” she said, affecting a sharpness of tone

that caused him to shrink involuntarily. “It is your duty to write her

a letter to-night, explaining all that has happened to-day. She would

sacrifice herself for you to-day, but there is--to-morrow! A thousand

to-morrows, Frederic. Don’t forget them, my dear. They would be ugly,

after all, and she is too good, too fine to be dragged into------”

 

“You are right!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It would be the

vilest act that a man could perpetrate. Why--why, it would be proof of

what he says of me--it would stamp me for ever the dastard he--no, no;

I could never lift my head again if I were to do this utterly vile thing

to Lydia. He said to me here--not an hour ago--that he expected me to

go ahead and blight that loyal girl’s life, that I would consider it a

noble means of self-justification! What do you think of that? He------

But wait! What is this that we are proposing to do? Give me time to

think! Why why, I can’t take you away from him, Yvonne! What am I

thinking of? Have I no sense of honour? Am I------”

 

“You are not his son,” she said significantly.

 

“But that is no reason why I should stoop to a foul trick like this.

Do--do you know what you are suggesting?” He drew back from her with a

look of disgust in his eyes. “No! I’m not that vile! I-----”

 

“Frederic, you must let me------”

 

“I don’t want to hear anything more, Yvonne. What manner of woman are

you? He is your husband, he loves you, he trusts you; oh, yes, he does!

And you would leave him like this? You would------”

 

“Hush! Not so loud!” she cried in great agitation.

 

“And let me tell you something more. Although I can never marry Lydia,

by Heaven, I shall love her to the end of my life. I will not betray

that love. To the end of time she shall know that my love for her is

real and true and------”

 

“Frederic, you must listen to me,” she cried, wringing her hands. “You

must hear what I have to say to you. Wait! Do not leave me!”

 

“What is it, Yvonne--what is it?” he cried, pausing in utter amazement

after taking a few steps toward the door.

 

“Where are you going?” she whispered, following him with dragging steps.

“Not to _him?_”

 

“Certainly not! Do you think I would betray you to him?”

 

“Wait! Give me time to think,” she pleaded. He shook his head

resolutely. “Do not judge me too harshly. Hear what I have to say before

you condemn me. I am not the vile creature you think, Frederic. Wait!

Let me think!”

 

He stared at her for a moment in deep perplexity and then slowly drew

near.

 

“Yvonne, I do not believe you mean to do wrong--I do not believe it of

you. You have been carried away by some horrible------”

 

“Listen to me,” she broke in fiercely. “I would have sacrificed

you--aye, sacrificed you, poor boy--in order to strike James Brood the

cruellest blow that man ever sustained. I would have destroyed you in

destroying him--God forgive me! But you have shown me how terrible I am,

how utterly terrible! Love you? No! No! Not in that way. I would have

put a curse, an undeserved curse, upon your innocent head, and all for

the joy it would give me to see James Brood grovel in misery for the

rest of his life. Oh!”

 

She uttered a groan of despair and self-loathing so deep and full of

pain that his heart was chilled.

 

“Yvonne!” he gasped, dumbfounded.

 

“Do not come near me!” she cried out, covering her face with her hands.

For a full minute she stood before him, straight and rigid as a statue,

a tragic figure he was never to forget. Suddenly she lowered her hands.

To his surprise, a smile was on her lips.

 

“You would never have gone away with me. I know it now. All these

months I have been counting on you for this very hour, this culminating

hour--and now I realise how little hope I have really had, even from the

beginning. You are honourable. There have been times when my influence

over you was such that you resisted only because you were loyal to

yourself--not to Lydia, not to my husband--but to yourself. I came to

this house with but one purpose in mind. I came here to take you away

from the man who has always stood as your father. I would not have

become your mistress--pah! how loathsome it sounds!-but I would have

enticed you away, believing myself to be justified. I would have struck

James Brood that blow. He would have gone to his grave believing himself

to have been paid in full by the son of the woman he had degraded, by

the boy he had reared for the slaughter, by the blood------”

 

“In God’s name, Yvonne, what is this you are saying? What have you

against my--against him?”

 

“Wait! I shall come to that. I did not stop to consider all that I

should have to overcome. First, there was your soul, your honour, your

integrity to consider. I did not think of all those things. I did not

stop to think of the damnable wrong I should be doing to you. I was

blind to everything except my one great, long-enduring purpose. I could

see nothing else but triumph over James Brood. To gain my end it was

necessary that I should be his wife. I became his wife--I deliberately

took that step in order to make complete my triumph over him. I became

the wife of the man I had hated with all my soul, Frederic. So you can

see how far I was willing to go to--ah, it was a hard thing to do! But

I did not shrink. I went into it without faltering, without a single

thought of the cost to myself. He was to pay for all that, too, in the

end. Look into my eyes, Frederic. I want to ask you a question. Will you

go away with me? Will you take me?”

 

He returned her look steadily.

 

“No!”

 

“That is all I want to hear you say. It means the end. I have done, all

that could be done, and I have failed. Thank God, I have failed!” She

came swiftly to him and, before he was aware of her intention, clutched

his hand and pressed it to her lips. He was shocked to find that a

sudden gush of tears was wetting his hand.

 

“Oh, Yvonne!” he cried miserably.

 

She was sobbing convulsively. He looked down upon her dark, bowed head

and again felt the mastering desire to crush her slender, beautiful body

in his arms. The spell of her was upon him again, but now he realised

that the appeal was to his spirit and not to his flesh--as it had been

all along, he was beginning to suspect.

 

“Don’t pity me,” she choked out. “This will pass, as everything else has

passed. I am proud of you now, Frederic. You are splendid. Not many men

could have resisted in this hour of despair. You have been cast off,

despised, degraded, humiliated. You were offered the means to retaliate.

You------”

 

“And I was tempted!” he cried bitterly. “For the moment I was------”

 

“And now what is to become of _me?_” she wailed.

 

His heart grew cold.

 

“You--you will leave him? You will go back to Paris? Yvonne, it will be

a blow to him. He has had one fearful slash in the back. This will break

him.”

 

“At least, I may have that consolation,” she cried, straightening up in

an effort to revive her waning purpose. “Yes, I shall go. I cannot stay

here now. I--” She paused and shuddered.

 

“What, in Heaven’s name, have you against my--against him? What does it

all mean? How you must have hated him to------”

 

“Hated him? Oh, how feeble the word is! Hate! There should be a word

that strikes more terror to the soul than that one. But wait! You shall

know everything. You shall have the story from the beginning. There is

much to tell, and there will be consolation--aye, triumph for you in the

story I shall tell. First, let me say this to you: when I came here I

did not know that there was a Lydia Desmond. I would have hurt that poor

girl; but it would not have been a lasting pain. In my plans, after I

came to know her, there grew a beautiful alternative through which she

should know great happiness. Oh, I have planned well and carefully, but

I was ruthless. I would have crushed her with him rather than to have

failed. But it is all a dream that has passed, and I am awake.

 

“It was the most cruel, but the most magnificent dream--ah, but I dare

not think of it. As I stand here before you now, Frederic, I am shorn of

all my power. I could not strike him as I might have done a month ago.

Even as I was cursing him but a moment ago I realised that I could not

have gone on with the game. Even as I begged you to take your revenge, I