CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE LAST TEMPTATION.

"Death ever rends asunder marriage bonds, So should he die, this husband undesired, She would be free to woo and wed again And I might haply gain her hand, her heart. Yet there is folly in this argument, For such a course would breed but sterile love, Seeing the first link in the chain of circumstance Is ominous indeed--a dead man's grave."

Having thus routed the enemy, Eustace returned to his hotel very well satisfied with his victory, which he hoped would be productive of good in removing the obstacle to the reconciliation of husband and wife. For his own part, he felt considerable astonishment at the self-abnegation of his conduct, seeing that he was doing his best to place the woman he loved so devotedly beyond any possible chance of being anything to him. But since his last interview with Lady Errington, the astute man of the world had been quick to read her true feelings, and had therefore given up all hope of winning her love. Besides, he had arranged with Laxton to go to Africa, and had it not been for the accident of Guy's illness would have started almost immediately for that mysterious continent, but since things had turned out otherwise, he resolved to do his duty by his cousin even against his desire of gratifying self. It was true he had done all in his power to conquer this dominant faculty of egotism, he had parted with Alizon for ever, he had saved Errington from the machinations of Mrs. Veilsturm but the great temptation was yet to come, and in a guise least anticipated by the tempted.

Of course, he told Dr. Storge about his success in the delicate matter of Mrs. Veilsturm, at which success the physician expressed himself highly delighted, as he undoubtedly thought that the removal of this disturbing influence on Errington's life would have a beneficial result on his health.

Doctors are not infallible, however, and the result of this attempt to quiet the patient's mind only succeeded in exciting it still more, which state of the case considerably dismayed both Storge and Gartney.

Guy, being under the impression that his wife had cast him off for ever, had been touched by the interest displayed towards him by Mrs. Veilsturm, and clung to the idea of her disinterested affection as a drowning man clings to a straw. An old simile, certainly, but one that holds good in this case. He thought that his wife did not love him, that she had never loved him, and that Cleopatra was the only woman who had any tender feelings towards him in her heart. It was true that the world, a notoriously ungenerous critic, said that she was capricious, cruel, fickle as the wind--still, so cleverly had she feigned a love she did not feel, that Errington really believed he had inspired a genuine feeling in her hard heart.

Every day, when tender messages arrived for him with presents of fruit and flowers, he mentally thanked Heaven that one woman, at least, truly loved and remembered him in his hour of trouble. When, however, the messages with their accompanying gifts of fruit and flowers ceased to arrive, he wondered at the omission and became querulously suspicious. Why had she forgotten him? What was the reason of this sudden change? Could she be false to him, seeing that she had made such protestations of love? No, it could not be, and yet--there must be some reason. These were the questions he kept continually asking himself, and thereby working himself into such mad frenzies, that it seemed as though nothing could avert the threatened attack of brain fever.

True to her promise, which would cost her too much to break, Mrs. Veilsturm had departed from San Remo and taken up her abode at Nice, together with the Major, Dolly Thambits and Mr. Jiddy, alleging that she found the Italian watering-place dull and preferred the lively Gauls to the more sedate Latins. Errington, however, knew nothing of this sudden exodus, and his excited brain suggested a thousand reasons for the sudden silence of his quondam charmer. She was ill! She was afraid of exciting him. She had been called to England on business! What could be the reason of this sudden change from attention to neglect, from warmth to coldness? And day and night, and night and day, the weary brain puzzled over these perplexing questions, suggesting and discarding a thousand answers with every tick of the clock.

Eustace did his best to allay his cousin's excitement without telling him the truth, but all to no purpose, so, in despair, he spoke seriously to Storge as to what was best to be done under the circumstances.

"Things can't go on like this much longer," he said decisively, "if my cousin was ill when I arrived, he seems to me to be much worse now."

"It's a very difficult case," remarked Storge musingly. "So difficult, that I hardly know what step to take. I've made him keep to his room, see no one, given him sedatives, and yet he is no better. In fact, I think we're only at the beginning of the trouble."

"Well, I've got that woman out of the way," said Eustace bluntly, "so that is something gained."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied the doctor, biting his nails, a habit he had when irritated; "of course I advised it, and it was done for the best, still, upon my soul Mr. Gartney you must think me a fool. Here am I, a duly accredited M.D., yet I don't know what steps to take in order to cure my patient."

"It is perplexing," sighed Eustace, drumming with his fingers on the table. "Errington has got it into his head that this woman is his good angel--faugh! to what lengths will love carry a man."

"But you said he was not in love with her."

"Neither is he! This is one of those rare cases which are veritable enigmas. Most unaccountable. As far as I can see, the whole thing is simply this. My cousin thinks his wife hates him, and, as Mrs. Veilsturm has played her game so cleverly, believes she loves him. He doesn't love her, but he is intensely grateful for what he thinks is her disinterested kindness. Now she has withdrawn the light of her countenance, he imagines that he is forsaken for the second time, and his feeling is one of absolute despair."

"'Thou cans't not minister to a mind diseased," quoted Storge, musingly. "A very true remark of Shakespeare's. It seems to me, judging from your theory, with which I must say I agree, that I'm in very much the same dilemma. My drugs are no use while his mind is in such a turmoil. You cure his mind, Gartney, and I'll cure his body."

"It's all very well saying that," replied Eustace pettishly. "You give me the hardest task."

"Suppose you send for his wife?"

"She won't come."

"But surely when she knows----"

"I tell you she won't come," repeated Eustace sternly, "she thinks he has behaved shamefully, and I'm afraid she is rather unforgiving."

Storge ran his hands through his hair in a most perplexed fashion, but made no reply, as he was quite at his wits' end what to suggest. It was as he suggested more a mental than a physical case, and though he felt himself competent to deal with nerves, brain, or tissues, he was quite helpless in this emergency, which required the aid of external circumstances. Those external circumstances were best known to Eustace Gartney, so that gentleman was the only man who could have any influence in the matter.

"I tell you what," said Gartney, after a pause, during which he had been thinking deeply, "Errington imagines Mrs. Veilsturm an angel of light, and is worrying himself because he thinks a good woman has forgotten him. Suppose I show her to him in her true colours, and then----"

"And then," finished the doctor caustically, "you'll fix him up nicely for a very bad attack of brain fever."

"That is one presumption!"

"The only one."

"I don't agree with you! I'll undeceive him about Mrs. Veilsturm, and then he'll see the snare he has escaped."

"Oh, and do you think that will quiet him?" asked Dr. Storge sarcastically.

"I think it will turn his thoughts back to his wife. If so, I'll write to her to come over----"

"What about the forgiveness?"

"I'll tell her it's a case of life and death. That will surely soften her."

"You whirl about like a weather-cock, my friend," said Storge grimly, "you tell me decisively that the wife is unforgiving, and won't come, then you say she might soften--which view is the right one?"

"Both."

"Impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible with regard to a woman. But what do you say to my plan?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Then I'll try it," said Eustace determinedly.

"I don't approve of it," remarked Storge in desperation, "still, as it's a case of brain fever if things go on like this, the chance of accelerating the disease doesn't make much difference, so you'd better begin your disillusionising at once."

"Very well," replied Gartney with a sigh of relief, and this closed the conversation.

It was a disagreeable task to undertake, but not more so than that connected with Mrs. Veilsturm, and Eustace made up his mind to speak to Errington at once.

"The sooner things are brought to a crisis the better," he thought, as he went up to his cousin's room. "As they stand now, it's quite impossible to move either way."

Guy was lying with his arms outside the counterpane, when Mr. Gartney entered, and turned his eyes, unnaturally bright, in the direction of the door when he heard his cousin's footstep.

"Anything from Mrs. Veilsturm?" he asked eagerly.

"Nothing," responded Eustace, and took a seat beside the bed.

"What can be the matter with her?" said Guy, feverishly. "Eustace, why don't you find out? It's cruel of you to keep me in suspense."

"I won't keep you in suspense any longer."

"What?"

Guy sat up in his bed with a cry, but Eustace forced him to lie down again.

"Keep quiet, or I won't tell you," he said sternly. "By-the-way, if you don't want Albert, he had better go downstairs. I want to speak to you privately."

"Yes! yes! you can go, Albert. Mr. Gartney will stay with me."

The well-trained valet bowed his head in answer, arranged a few things on the little table beside the bed, and then noiselessly withdrew, leaving the cousins together.

"Well, Eustace, well?" said Guy, plucking restlessly at the bedclothes. "What is the matter? Nothing wrong with Mrs. Veilsturm."

"Not that I'm aware of," responded Gartney drily. "She is a lady who can take remarkably good care of herself."

"Don't talk like that about her," said Guy, with weak anger, "she is my friend."

"Your friend!" repeated Eustace scornfully. "Yes, the same kind of friend as she is to every man!"

"Eustace!"

He sat up again with a fierce look on his face, but the calm gaze of his cousin disconcerted him, and he sank back on the pillows with an impatient sigh.

"I don't understand you," he said fretfully. "I don't understand--my head is aching--aching terribly."

"Guy, old fellow," said Eustace, in his low, soft voice, which had such an indescribable charm in its tones, "I want to speak to you about your wife."

"My wife?"

"Yes! I have a confession to make to you. I love your wife."

Guy looked at his cousin vacantly, and as if he did not understand.

"You love my wife?" he repeated mechanically. "You love my wife?"

"Yes," said Eustace, steadily, going through his self-imposed ordeal with stern determination, although his face was grey with anguish and his heart ached with pain and self-humiliation. "It's a terrible thing to confess to you--to her husband--but true nevertheless. When I first saw her at Como, I worshipped her for that calm, spiritual loveliness which made her so beautiful in my eyes. But I said nothing, and went into exile for her sake, trusting to come back and find her a happy wife and mother. I went away to forget, and I came back to remember. Oh, Guy, if you only knew how I have despised myself for thus thinking about your wife; but believe me, it was not in the sensual fashion of the world that I loved her. I worshipped her as one might worship a star which is higher and purer than he who kneels to its splendour. My love was pure, still I strove to crush it out of my heart, but all in vain. I came back to England and saw her once more, a happy mother indeed, but not a happy wife. It was not your fault, my poor boy, for I know you did your best to win her heart, but her child blinded her better nature, and she could not see that the father yearned for love, and required it as much as the son. Then came the episode of Mrs. Veilsturm, which was one of those cruel decrees of Fate which no man can guard against. It parted you, as I thought, for ever, and you obeyed the instincts of your lower nature, while she remained sternly unforgiving in her purity--a purity which could not understand the temptations of a weaker soul. I tried my best to make her look more kindly on your mistake--as I am a living man, Guy, I did my best to bring you together again, but it was all useless. Then I lost my head, the devil whispered in my ear, and I spoke to her of love, and the result was what you might have expected from your wife. She told me that she loved her child, and would not stoop to dishonour for his sake. But she said more--not in words indeed, but in looks, in manner, in irrepressible tears--that she loved you, Guy, that she was sorry for her cruel justice, that she longed for the father of her child, for the husband of her vows, to clasp her in his arms once more. I was punished for my daring to lift my eyes to her--I saw that I could be nothing to such spotless purity of soul, and I left--I went away into the outer darkness, intending to exile myself for ever from her sight. Then the child died--the child whom she worshipped--the child who was your strongest rival in her affections, and now she sits alone and in solitude--robbed of her nearest and dearest--waiting for the sound of her husband's voice, for the clasp of his arms, for the touch of his lips."

In his fervour, he had slipped from his chair, and was now kneeling beside the bed, holding his cousin's hot hand in his own. The sick man had listened dully to the long speech, but at the end he flung up his disengaged hand with a bitter cry.

"No! no! It is too late, it is too late."

"It is not too late," said Eustace, earnestly. "I have told you the truth. I have humiliated myself in your eyes because I am anxious to repair my fault, to bring you together again. Let me send for your wife, Guy, and believe me, she will come, only too gladly, to your sick bed with words of forgiveness and regret."

But the sick man rolled his head from side to side on the pillow with dreary despair.

"No; no! it cannot be. My wife can never be mine again--Maraquita----"

"Maraquita Veilsturm!" interrupted Eustace, sternly. "Don't mention her name in connection with that of your wife."

"She was kind to me when Alizon was so cruel."

"Kind, yes, for her own ends. Listen to me, Guy. Mrs. Veilsturm has been using you as a means of revenge against your wife."

All the listless despair disappeared from Errington's face, and he wrenched his hand angrily away from Eustace. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say," said Eustace hurriedly, seeing that his cousin was getting excited, and determined to have the whole thing over and done with it at once. "Do you think Mrs. Veilsturm ever forgave or forgot the slight she received from your wife? Not she! I know Mrs. Veilsturm, none better. However, I'm going to say nothing about her except this, that she pretended to love you in order to cause trouble between yourself and your wife. And now that she has succeeded, she has gone off and left you, ill as you are, to do the best you can without her."

"No! it's not true! It can't be true," raved Guy, fiercely. "You malign her, she is a true good woman, she loves me--she loves me."

"I tell you she does not," said Eustace, rising to his feet, so as to be ready for any emergency, for Guy looked so wild that he was afraid he would spring upon him.

"Liar! You cannot prove it!"

"I can, and by her own handwriting."

Guy snatched the letter Eustace held out to him, tore open the envelope, glanced over the few cruel words of dismissal, and then, dropping the paper, covered his face with his hands, moaning pitifully.

"You see now, my dear Guy, what this woman really is," said Gartney tranquilly, picking up the letter; "a vindictive vixen, who simply used you for her own ends."

The baronet uncovered his face, and looked at Eustace in a vacant manner, his eyes large and bright, his lips twitching with nervous agitation, and a feverish flush on his hot, dry skin.

"I must go to her," he said in a shrill voice, trying to rise from his bed. "I must see her."

"No! no! it's impossible," cried Eustace in alarm, holding him back; "be reasonable, Guy, be reasonable. Stay where you are, Guy!"

But Guy was now past all understanding, and struggled vehemently with Eustace, uttering short cries of rage and terror like a caged animal. His cousin's heart bled for the frenzied agony of the unhappy man, but he saw that Guy was rapidly getting worse, and shouted for assistance. No one answered, however, so having forced Guy to lie down with a great effort, Eustace ran to the electric bell, and in a moment its shrill summons rang through the house. In that moment, however, Guy was out of bed, making for the window, swaying, staggering, raving, with outstretched hands, and Eustace had just time to throw himself on the madman--for he was nothing else at present--and prevent him breaking the glass.

Albert entered, and, seeing the state of affairs, shouted for aid, and came forward to help Gartney, whose valet also came up stairs in answer to their cries, and between them the three men managed to get Guy back to bed, where they held him down, raving, crying, shrieking, and entirely insane. Leaving the two servants in charge, Eustace went down stairs and sent for the doctor, who arrived speedily on the scene and prescribed such remedies as were necessary, although, truth to tell, he could do but little.

"Just what I expected," he said grimly, when things were going smoother, "and now, Mr. Gartney, as you've carried out your first intention, perhaps you'll carry out the second, and send for his wife."

"I suppose I must."

"It's a case of life and death," said Storge, and walked out of the room.

In two minutes Eustace was on his way to the telegraph office. As he walked rapidly down the street, the temptation came, the terrible temptation that whispered to him not to send for Alizon.

"If you do not," whispered the devil on his left, "Guy will die, and you will be able to gain her for your wife."

"No," said the good angel on his right. "She can never love you, you could buy nothing, not even happiness, at the price of your cousin's death."

So Eustace walked along with these two angels, the bad and the good, whispering in his ears, now inclining to one, now to the other, fighting desperately against the temptations of the devil, and again yielding to the insidious whisper of future joy to be won by a simple act of neglect. In that short walk a whole life-time of agony passed, but no one looking at this stalwart, calm-faced man striding along the Street, could have guessed the hell that raged within.

The powers of good and evil fought desperately for the possession of this weak, wavering soul, that was in such sore straits, but in the end the good angel prevailed, and Eustace sat down to write his telegram.

He wrote one to Alizon, as strongly worded as he was able, and a second to Otterburn, telling him he must bring Lady Errington over at once. In both he wrote the words, "It is a case of life and death," those words that had been ringing in his ears ever since the doctor had said them.

Then, as he handed the telegram to the clerk, the temptation again assailed him. It was not too late, let him withdraw the messages, tear them up, and there would be a chance of his winning the woman he loved instead of going into voluntarily exile. But at the price of a man's life? No! that was too big a price to pay, and yet--he put down the money demanded by the clerk and walked out of the post office.

Outside in the sunshine he stood with drops of sweat on his forehead, and the soul that had been saved from the commission of a great crime, put up a prayer of thanks to God that this last temptation had passed, and that the powers of evil had not prevailed in the hour of weakness.