The Lust of Hate by Guy Newell Boothby (digital book reader txt) 📕

I will do and abide by it.”

She put her little hand in mine, and having done so, seated

herself on a boulder. Then, after a little pause, she bade me tell

her all.

“In the first place,” I said, “I must make a confession that may

surprise you. My name is not Wrexford, as I have so long led you to

suppose. It is Pennethorne. My father was Sir Anthony Pennethorne, of

Polton-Penna, in Cornwall. I was educated at Eton and Oxford; and, as

you will now see, I got no good from either. After a college scrape,

the blame for which was thrown upon me, my father turned me out of

England with a portion of my inheritance. I went to Australia, where

I tried my hand at all sorts of employment, gold mining among the

number. Details of my life out there, with one exception, would not

interest you; so I will get on to the great catastrophe, the results

of which were taking me out of England when I first met you. Up to

this time ill-luck had constantly pursued me, and I had even known

the direst poverty. You may imagine, therefore, what my feelings were

when an old friend, a man with whom I had been partner on many

gold-fields, told me of a place which he had discovered where, he

said, there were prospects of sufficient gold to make us both

millionaires half a dozen times over. He, poor fellow, was dying at

the time, but he left his secret to me, bidding me take immediate

advantage of it. True to my promise, I intended to set off to the

place he had found as soon as he was buried, and having discovered

it, to apply to Government for right to mine there, but fate was

against me, and I was taken seriously ill. For weeks I hovered

between life and death. When I recovered I saddled my horse, and,

dreaming of all I was going to accomplish with my wealth, when I had

obtained it, made my way across country by the chart he had given me.

When I arrived at the spot it was only to learn that my greatest

enemy in the world, a man who hated me as much as I did him, had

filched my secret from me in my delirium, and had appropriated the

mine. You cannot imagine my disappointment. I wanted money so badly,

and I had counted so much on obtaining this, that I had almost come

to believe myself possessed of it. What need to tell the rest? He

became enormously rich, and returned to England. In the meantime my

father had died, leaving me a sufficient sum, when carefully

invested, to just keep me alive. With this to help me I followed my

enemy home, resolved, if ever a chance arose, to revenge myself upon

him. When I arrived I saw his name everywhere. I found his wealth,

his generosity, his success in life, extolled in every paper I picked

up; while I, from whom he had stolen that which gave him his power,

had barely sufficient to keep me out of the workhouse. You must

understand that I had been seriously ill, for the second time, just

before I left Australia, and perhaps for this reason—but more so, I

believe, on account of the great disappointment to which I had been

subjected—I began to brood over my wrongs by day and night, and pine

for revenge. I could not eat or sleep for it. Remember, I do not say

this in any way to excuse myself, but simply to show you that my mind

was undoubtedly not quite itself at the time. At any rate, to such a

pitch of hatred did I at length work myself that it was as much as I

could do to prevent myself from laying violent hands upon my enemy

when I saw him in the public streets. After I had been entertaining

the devil in this fashion for longer than was good for me, he in

return sent one of his satellites to complete my ruin. That man—such

a man as you could not picture to yourself—put before me a scheme

for getting even with my enemy, so devilish that at first I could

hardly believe he was in earnest. So insiduously did he tempt me,

playing upon my hatred and increasing my desire for revenge, that at

last I fell into his net as completely as he could wish. The

means were immediately found for getting my victim into my clutches,

and then nothing remained but to work out the hideous crime that had

been planned for me.”

I stopped for a moment and looked at Agnes, who was cowering with

her face in her hands. She did not speak, so I continued my gruesome

tale.

“I need not tell you how I got the man in my power, nor in what

manner it was arranged that I should kill him. I will content myself

with telling you that when I had got him, and could have

killed him by lifting my little finger, difficult as you may find it

to believe it, I saw your face before me imploring me to repent.

There and then I determined to throw off my disguise, to let him know

who I was, and what I intended to do to him; after that I would have

bidden him go, and have left him to his own conscience. But, to my

horror, when I got down from my box—for I was driving him in a

cab—I found that in some devilish fashion my work had been

anticipated for me—the man was dead, killed by the same fatal

agency that had been given to me to do the deed. Try for one

moment to imagine my position. In one instant I stood in that quiet

London street, stamped with the brand of Cain. Never again could I be

like my fellow men. Henceforth I must know myself for what I was—a

murderer, whose proper end should be the gallows. In an agony of

terror I got rid of the body—left it in the street in fact—and

fled for my very life. While the town was still abed and asleep I

tramped away into the country, and at a suburban station caught the

earliest train to Southampton. On arrival there I booked my passage

in the Fiji Princess for South Africa, and went on board. The

rest you know. Now, Agnes, that you have heard my wretched story, you

can see for yourself why I was so desirous of getting out of

civilization as quickly as possible. You can judge for yourself

whether I was right or wrong in refusing to allow you to say you

loved me. God knows you cannot judge me more harshly than I judge

myself.”

She looked up at me with terror-stricken eyes.

“But you did not mean to kill the man,” she cried. “You repented

—you said so just now yourself.

“If it had not been for me the man would not have died,” I

answered. “No, no! Agnea, you cannot make me out innocent of his

death, however hard you try.”

A look of fresh life darted into her face. It was as if she had

been struck by a brilliant idea that might mean my salvation.

“But how do you know that you killed the man?” she asked. “Are you

quite certain that he was dead when you looked at him?”

“Quite certain,” I answered. “I examined him most carefully.

Besides, I have made enquiries since and elicited the fact that he

has never been seen or heard of since that awful night. There have

been advertisements in the papers offering rewards for any

information concerning him.”

She did not reply to this, only sat and rocked herself to and fro,

her face once more covered in her hands. I knelt beside her, but did

not dare, for very shame, to attempt to comfort her.

“Agnes,” I said, “speak to me. If it only be to say how much you

loathe me. Your silence cuts me to the heart. Speak to me, tell me my

fate, advise me as to what I shall do. I swear by God that whatever

you tell me, that I will do without questioning or comment.”

Still she did not answer. “When I saw this I rose to my feet, and

in my agony must have turned a little from her. This action evidently

decided her, for she sprang up from the boulder on which she had

hitherto been sitting, and, with a choking cry, fell into my arms and

sobbed upon my shoulder.

“Gilbert,” she moaned, “come what may, I believe in you. Nothing

shall ever convince me that you would have killed the man who so

cruelly wronged you. You hated him; you longed to be revenged on him;

but you never would have murdered him when it came to the point.”

In answer I drew her closer to me.

“Agnes, my good angel,” I said; “what can I say to you for the

comfort you give me? You have put fresh life into me. If only you

believe in me, what do I care for the world? Heaven knows I did not

mean to kill the man—but still the fact remains that he is dead, and

through my agency. Though morally I am innocent, the law would

certainly hold me guilty.”

“You do not mean to say that the police will take you?” she cried,

starting away from me with a gesture of horror.

“If I am suspected, there can be no doubt that they will do so.

How it happens that I have not been arrested ere this I cannot

imagine.”

“But, Gilbert, you must not let them find you. You must go

away—you must hide yourself.”

“It would be no use, they would find me sooner or later, wherever

I went.”

“Oh, what can you do then? Come what may I shall not let you be

taken. Oh God, I could not bear that.”

She glanced wildly round, as if she fancied the minions of the law

might already be on my track. I endeavoured to soothe her, but in

vain. She was thoroughly frightened, and nothing I could say or do

would convince her that I was not in immediate danger. At last, to

try and bring her to a reasonable frame of mind, I adopted other

tactics.

“But, Agnes, we are missing one point that is of vital

importance,” I said. “Knowing what I am, henceforward everything must

be over between us.”

“No, no!” she cried, with a sudden change of front. “On the other

hand, you have shown me that there is more reason than ever that I

should love you. If you are in danger, this is the time for me

to prove what my affection is worth. Do you value my love so lightly

that you deem it only fit for fair weather? When the world is against

you, you can see who are your friends.”

“God bless you, darling,” I said, kissing her sweet upturned face.

“You know that there is no one in this world so much to me as you;

and for that very reason I cannot consent to link your fate with such

a terrible one as mine.”

“Gilbert,” she said, “if you repulse me now you will make me

miserable for life. Oh, why must I plead so hard with you? Cannot

you see that I am in earnest when I say I wish to share your danger

with you?”

I was silent for a few moments. In what way could I make her see

how