the vile Frenchman's advice, and had resolved to give it a trial; not with the degrading motive which he had suggested, but with the vague presentiment of making a discovery of wickedness, threatening mischief under a French disguise, which might be of service to her benefactress at some future time.
'And I may still turn it to your advantage, my lady,' Fanny ventured to add, 'if you will consent to say nothing to anybody of your having a servant who has learnt French.'
Iris looked at her coldly and gravely. 'Must I remind you,' she said, 'that you are asking my help in practicing a deception on my husband?'
'I shall be sent away,' Fanny answered, 'if you tell my master what I have told you.'
This was indisputably true. Iris hesitated. In her present situation, the maid was the one friend on whom she could rely. Before her marriage, she would have recoiled from availing herself, under any circumstances, of such services as Fanny's reckless gratitude had offered to her. But the moral atmosphere in which she was living had begun, as Mrs. Vimpany had foreseen, to exert its baneful influence. The mistress descended to bargaining with the servant.
'Deceive the doctor,' she said, 'and I well remember that it may be for my good.' She stopped, and considered for a moment. Her noble nature rallied its forces, and prompted her next words: 'But respect your master, if you wish me to keep your secret. I forbid you to listen to what my lord may say, when he speaks with Mr. Vimpany to- morrow.'
'I have already told your ladyship that I shall have no chance of listening to what they say to each other, out of doors,' Fanny rejoined. 'But I can watch the doctor at any rate. We don't know what he may not do when he is left by himself, while my master is at the meeting. I want to try if I can follow that rogue through the streets, without his finding me out. Please to send me on an errand to Paris to-morrow.'
'You will be running a terrible risk,' her mistress reminded her, 'if Mr. Vimpany discovers you.'
'I'll take my chance of that,' was the reckless reply.
Iris consented.
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE MYSTERY OF THE HOSPITAL
ON the next morning Lord Harry left the cottage, accompanied by the doctor.
After a long absence, he returned alone. His wife's worst apprehensions, roused by what Fanny had told her, were more than justified, by the change which she now perceived in him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was haggard, his movements were feeble and slow. He looked like a man exhausted by some internal conflict, which had vibrated between the extremes of anger and alarm. 'I'm tired to death,' he said; 'get me a glass of wine.'
She waited on him with eager obedience, and watched anxiously for the reviving effect of the stimulant.
The little irritabilities which degrade humanity only prolong their mischievous existence, while the surface of life stagnates in calm. Their annihilation follows when strong emotion stirs in the depths, and raises the storm. The estrangement of the day before passed as completely from the minds of the husband and wife—both strongly agitated—as if it had never existed. All-mastering fear was busy at their hearts; fear, in the woman, of the unknown temptation which had tried the man; fear, in the man, of the tell-tale disturbance in him, which might excite the woman's suspicion. Without venturing to look at him, Iris said: 'I am afraid you have heard bad news?' Without venturing to look at her, Lord Harry answered: 'Yes, at the newspaper office.' She knew that he was deceiving her; and he felt that she knew it. For awhile, they were both silent.
From time to time, she anxiously stole a look at him.
His mind remained absorbed in thought. There they were, in the same room—seated near each other; united by the most intimate of human relationships—and yet how far, how cruelly far, apart! The slowest of all laggard minutes, the minutes which are reckoned by suspense, followed each other tardily and more tardily, before there appeared the first sign of a change. He lifted his drooping head. Sadly, longingly, he looked at her. The unerring instinct of true love encouraged his wife to speak to him.
'I wish I could relieve your anxieties,' she said simply. 'Is there nothing I can do to help you?'
'Come here, Iris.'
She rose and approached him. In the past days of the honeymoon and its sweet familiarities, he had sometimes taken her on his knee. He took her on his knee now, and put his arm round her. 'Kiss me,' he said.
With all her heart she kissed him. He sighed heavily; his eyes rested on her with a trustful appealing look which she had never observed in them before.
'Why do you hesitate to confide in me?' she asked. 'Dear Harry, do you think I don't see that something troubles you?'
'Yes,' he said, 'there is something that I regret.'
'What is it?'
'Iris,' he answered, 'I am sorry I asked Vimpany to come back to us.'
At that unexpected confession, a bright flush of joy and pride overspread his wife's face. Again, the unerring instinct of love guided her to discovery of the truth. The opinion of his wicked friend must have been accidentally justified, at the secret interview of that day, by the friend himself! In tempting her husband, Vimpany had said something which must have shocked and offended him. The result, as she could hardly doubt, had been the restoration of her domestic influence to its helpful freedom of control—whether for the time only it was not in her nature, at that moment of happiness, to inquire. 'After what you have just told me,' she ventured to say, 'I may own that I am glad to see you come home, alone.'
In that indirect manner, she confessed the hope that friendly intercourse between the two men had come to an end. His reply disappointed her.
'Vimpany only remains in Paris,' he said, 'to present a letter of introduction. He will follow me home.'
'Soon?' she asked, piteously.
'In time for dinner, I suppose.' She was still sitting on his knee. His arm pressed her gently when he said his next words, 'I hope you will dine with us to-day, Iris?'
