JOAN HASTE, H. RIDER HAGGARD [free ereaders TXT] 📗

"Be silent, and help me to lift her," said Henry in a hollow voice; "perhaps she still lives."

Then together they raised her, and at that moment Joan opened her eyes.

"Listen, you!" Henry said: "she is alive. Now run as you never ran before, to Dr. Childs at Bradmouth, to the police, and anybody else you can think of. Tell them what has happened, and bid them come here as fast as horses can bring them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go."

Willie sprang forward like an arrow, and presently the sound of his footsteps beating on the road grew faint and faded away.

"Oh! Joan, Joan, my darling," Henry whispered as he leant over her, pressing her cold hands. "Cannot you speak to me, Joan?"

At the sound of his voice the great empty eyes began to grow intelligent, and the pale lips to move, faintly at first, then more strongly.

"Is that you, Henry?" she said in a whisper: "I cannot see."

"Yes. How did you come thus?"

"He was going to murder you. I--I passed myself off for you--at least, I tried to--but grew afraid, and--was running away when he--shot me."

"Oh! my God, my God!" groaned Henry: "to think that such a thing should have been allowed to be!"

"It is best," she answered, with a faint smile; "and I do not suffer--much."

Then he knelt down beside her and held her in his arms, as once on a bygone day she had held him. The thought seemed to strike her, for she said:--

"A year ago, to-night; do you remember? Oh! Henry, if I have sinned, it has been paid back to me to the uttermost. Surely there can be nothing more to suffer. And I am happy because--I think that you will love me better dead than ever you did alive. 'The way of transgressors--the way of----'" and she ceased, exhausted.

"I shall love you now, and then, and always--that I swear before God," he answered. "Forgive me, Joan, that I should ever have doubted you for a moment. I was deceived, and did not understand you."

Again she smiled and said, "Then I have done well to die, for in death I find my victories--the only ones. But you must love the child also--our child--Henry, since we shall wait for you together in the place--of peace."

A while went by, and she spoke again, but not of herself or him:--

"I have left Mrs. Bird in London--some money. When Mr. Levinger is dead--there will be a good deal; see that--she gets it, for they were kind to me. And, Henry, try to shield my husband--for I have sinned against him--in hating him so much. Also tell your wife nothing--or you will make her wretched--as I have been."

"Yes," he answered, "and your father is dead; he died some hours ago."

After this Joan closed her eyes, and, bleeding inwardly from her pierced lungs, grew so cold and pulseless that Henry thought she must be gone. But it was not so, for when half an hour or more had passed she spoke, with a great effort, and in so low a whisper that he could scarcely hear her words, though his ear was at her mouth.

"Pray God to show me mercy, Henry--pray now and always. Oh, one hour of love--and life and soul to pay!" she gasped, word by word. Then the change came upon her face, and she added in a stronger voice, "Kiss me: I am dying!"

So he pressed his lips on hers; and presently, in the midst of the great silence, Joan Haste's last sobbing breath beat upon them in a sigh, and the agony was over.

Two hours later Henry arrived at Rosham, to find his mother and Mr. and Mrs. Milward waiting to receive him.

"My dear Henry, where have you been?" said Lady Graves, "It is twelve o'clock, and we were beginning to fear that something had gone wrong at Monk's Lodge."

"Or that you had met with another accident, dear," put in Ellen. "But I haven't given you a kiss yet, to welcome you home. Why, how pale you look! and what is the matter with your coat?"

"Where is Emma?" he asked, waving her back.

"She was so dreadfully tired, dear," said Lady Graves, "that I insisted upon her going to bed. But has anything happened, Henry?"

"Yes, a great deal. Mr. Levinger is dead: he died in his sleep this evening."

Lady Graves sank back shocked; and Ellen exclaimed, "How dreadfully sad! However, his health was very bad, poor man, so it is something of a release. Also, though you won't care to think of such things now, there will be advantage for Emma----"

"Be silent, Ellen. I have something more to tell you. Joan Haste, or rather Joan Rock, is dead also."

"Dead!" they both exclaimed.

"Yes, dead,--or, to be more accurate, murdered."

"Who murdered her?" asked Milward.

"Her husband. I was walking back from Bradmouth, and found her dying in the road. But there is no need to tell you the story now--you will hear plenty of it; and I have something else to say. Do you mind leaving the room for a moment, Mr. Milward? I wish to speak to my mother and sister."

"Edward is my husband, Henry, and a member of the family."

"No doubt, Ellen, but I do not desire that he should hear what I have to say. If you feel strongly about the matter I will go into the library with my mother."

"Oh! pray don't trouble about me," answered Edward; "I am accustomed to this sort of thing here, and I shall only be too glad to smoke a cigar in the hall, if Sir Henry does not object"; and he left the room, an example which Ellen did not follow.

"Now that we are quite alone, Henry, perhaps you will condescend to unbosom yourself," she said.

"Certainly, Ellen. I have told you that this unhappy woman has been murdered. She died in my arms"--and he glanced at his coat--"now I will tell you why and how. She was shot down by her husband, who mistook her for me, whom he meant to murder. She discovered his plan and personated me, dying in my stead. I do not wish to reproach either of you; the thing is too fearful for reproaches, and that account you can settle with your own consciences, as I must settle mine. But you worked so, both of you, that, loving me as she did, and feeling that she would have no strength to put me away otherwise, she gave herself in marriage to a man she hated, to the madman who to-night has slaughtered her in his blind jealousy, meaning to slaughter me. Do you know who this woman was, mother? She was Mr. Levinger's legitimate daughter: it is Emma who is illegitimate; but she died begging me to keep the secret from my wife, and if you are wise you will respect her wish, as I shall. I have nothing more to say. Things have gone amiss between us, whoever is to blame; and now--her life is lost, and--mine is ruined."

"Oh! this is terrible, terrible!" said Lady Graves. "God knows that, whatever I have done, I acted for what I believed to be the best."

"Yes, mother," said Ellen boldly, "and not only for what you believed to be the best, but for what is the best. This unfortunate girl is dead, it seems, not through any deed of ours, but by the decrees of Providence. Henry says that his life is ruined; but do not grieve, mother,--he is not himself, and he will think very differently in six months' time. Also he is responsible for this tragedy and no one else, since it springs from his own sin. '/Les désirs accomplis/,'--you know the saying. Well, he has accomplished his desire; he sowed the seed, and he must reap the fruit and harvest it as best he may.

"And now, with your permission, Henry, I will order the carriage. I suppose that there will be policemen and reporters here presently, and you can understand that just at this moment, with the elections coming on, Edward and I do not wish to be mixed up in a most painful scandal."

Publication Date: 11-09-2014

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