sat often quite late in the office, long after Rasp had grumblingly gone off with a final stoke at the fire, which afterwards sank and died out; and at such times, in the semi-darkness, with the goggle-eyed helmets seeming to stare at him and rejoice in his sufferings, he asked himself what he should do? Whether he should leave home for ever? Whether he should put her away from him, and wait till some time in the far-off distance of life when she might, perhaps, come to him, and ask his pardon for the wrong she had done.
“No!” he would exclaim, “I will not believe such evil of her. She is dazzled by this polished scoundrel, and poor, rough, I compare badly with him, for she cannot see our hearts.”
Should he end the matter at once?
No, he felt that he could not, for he had nothing but his bare, cruel suspicions to go upon, the greatest of which was that before long Hester would flee with this man, and his home would be wretched.
Wretched? If not wretched already, for all was wretched at home: Hester was low-spirited; for his own part, he rarely spoke; and the Cuban avoided him.
So far, Dutch had indulged in the hope that he might, after all, be deceiving himself, when one evening, on entering the little drawing-room suddenly, Hester started up, looking confused, and left the room, while the Cuban turned away with a short nod, and walked to the window.
From that hour every spare moment was devoted to watching: for the suspicion grew stronger now that before long, if he did not stay it, his home would be left desolate.
This lasted for some days, when the idea was checked by Lauré himself, who, as the time approached for the departure of the expedition, suddenly began to display great interest in the proceedings, so that Dutch felt compelled to own that his ideas of flight must be wrong; in fact, it was as if Lauré had divined his thoughts just as he was about to speak to Mr Parkley, and tell him his suspicions that the Cuban evidently meant to give up the expedition, and, much as it would tear his heart to speak, give the reasons for his belief.
Hardly, though, had he come to the conclusion that he was wrong, when a trifle set him off back in his former way of thinking, for his mind was now a chaos of wildering fancies, and the slightest thing set his jealous feelings in a blaze.
He would not speak to Hester; he would not take an open, manly way of seeing whether his suspicions were just; but, submitting his better parts to his distorted reason, he nursed his anguish, and so it fell out that one night he found himself watching his own house, in the full belief that his wife’s illness in the morning before he left for the office was a subterfuge, and that the time had come for her to take some step fatal to her future.
“But I will stop it,” muttered Dutch to himself, as with throbbing pulse and beating temples he avoided the gate, so as not to have his footsteps heard on the gravel, and, climbing the fence, entered his own garden like a thief.
He had hardly reached the little lawn when he heard the sound of wheels, and stepping behind a clump of laurels he stopped, listening with beating heart, for here was food for his suspicions.
As he expected, the fly stopped at the gate; a man in a cloak got out, went hastily up the path, knocked softly at the door, and was admitted on the instant.
Dutch paused, hesitating as to what he should do. Should he follow and enter? No, he decided that he would stay there, and stop them as they came out, for the fly was waiting.
Where would Hester be now? he asked himself, with the dimly-seen house seeming to swim before him; and the answer came as if hissed into his ear by some mocking fiend —
“In her bedroom, getting something for her flight.”
Half-a-dozen steps over the soft grass took him where he could see the window, and of course there was a light there, and then —
The blood seemed to rush to his brain, a horrible sense of choking came upon him, and he groaned as he staggered back, for there, plainly enough seen, was the figure of Hester, her hair hanging loose as she lay back over the arm of a man, who was half-leading, half-carrying her towards the door.
All this in shadow was sharply cost upon the blind, and with a groan of mingled rage and misery Dutch rushed towards the house, but only to totter and fall heavily, for it was as though a sharp blow had been dealt him, and for some time he lay there passive and ignorant of what passed around.
He recovered at length, and lay trying to think – to call to mind what this meant. Why was he lying there on the wet grass, with this strange deathly feeling of sickness upon him?
Then all came back with a rush, and he rose to his feet to see that the light was still in the bedroom, but the shadows were gone.
With a cry of horror he ran to the gate, but the carriage was not there, and he stood listening.
Yes, there was the sound of wheels dying away. No, they had stopped, and he was about to rush off in pursuit when a hasty step coming in his direction stayed him, for he knew it well, and, drawing back, he let the Cuban pass him, then followed him softly as he stole round the house, going on tiptoe towards the dining-room window, where Dutch caught him by the shoulder.
“Ah,” he said, laughing, “so our gallant Englishman is on the watch, is he? Does the jealous trembler think I would steal his wife?”
“Dog!” hissed Dutch, catching him by the throat, “what are you doing here?”
“What is that to you, fool!” exclaimed the Cuban, flashing into rage. “Loose me, you madman, or you shall repent it. Curse you, you are strong.”
Blind to everything but his maddening passion, kept back now for so many days, and absorbed by the feeling that he could now wreak his vengeance upon the man who had wrecked his home, Dutch savagely tightened his hold upon his adversary, who, though a strong man, bent like a reed before him. It was no time for reason to suggest that he might be wrong; the idea had possession of the young man’s soul that he was stopping an intended flight, and he drove the Cuban backwards, and had nearly forced him across a garden seat when Lauré, writhing like an eel, got partly free.
“Curse your English brute strength!” he muttered, and getting his arm from his cloak, he struck Dutch full on the temple with some weapon, and the young man fell once more prone on the grass.
Story 1-Chapter VIII.
Breaking the Contract
Five days had passed since the encounter in the garden, and Dutch Pugh had not been back to his home. He had lain for some time stunned from the blow he had received, and then risen half-dazed, and in a wretched, dejected way made for the town, where, letting himself into the office, he had thrown himself upon the floor, and slept heavily till morning, to the great surprise of the clerks, who found him there when they came.
With an intense desire to hide his anguish from everyone, he had given out that he had fallen asleep after being many hours at work, and no notice was taken of his soiled clothes. Then, with the truth gradually oozing out, that no flight had been intended, but that for some reason, so Mr Parkley said, Señor Lauré had gone back to his hotel, Dutch worked on, superintending till the vessel was ready for sea.
The stores and machinery were complete for the purpose, and the passengers were on board. Moreover, a brother of Mr Parkley had been invited to assist in the business during the chief partner’s absence, and together Mr Parkley and Dutch walked down to the dock.
“We had a sort of hint from Bessy Studwick that you haven’t been home for
