CHAPTER VI.

A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING.

Iris was looking forward to her husband’s return with an amount of determination that would have astonished any one who had seen her only in her moments of nervous prostration, when his insults and cruelty had opened her eyes to the folly of which she had been guilty in marrying him, at the same time that she felt her utter impotence to cope with the fate she had brought on herself. But there are points beyond which even the weakest will turn to defend themselves, and such an era had been reached in Iris Harland’s life now. She had carefully thought over the news which Mr Vansittart’s letter to her husband had revealed to her, and her mind seemed suddenly to have grasped the whole meaning of Godfrey’s late behaviour. He intended to desert her. He had made these new friends, who evidently believed him to be unmarried, and he had concealed all his liabilities--domestic and otherwise--from them, and would in all probability accompany them to this new world, and begin life over again, leaving her to perish or to maintain herself as best she could, so long as he was quit of her. He had often threatened so to leave her, but she had never quite believed he would have the cruelty to carry his threats into execution. But now she did. Certain late outrages in his treatment of her had made her believe him capable of anything, even of getting her out of his way, if she stood in it. Mr Vansittart’s letter said that the _Pandora_ sailed on the 24th. That was only ten days off. Surely, if Godfrey accepted the offer made to him, he would give her some warning of his intentions. At all events, she would wait and watch. If he carried his cruel threats into effect, she had made up her mind what to do. But the means. How was she to obtain the means to baffle her husband’s scheme to rid himself of her. The poor child sat and thought with her head in her hands all through the livelong day, without having come to any solution of the riddle, whilst Maggie hovered round her, dissolved in tears, entreating her to have a cup of tea, or to go to bed, or to tell her what was on her mind. At last, as the evening drew near, Iris heard her husband’s latch-key fumbling uncertainly in the keyhole, and knew that he had returned. Maggie heard the sound, too, and recognised the reason. ‘He’s bin at it agen,’ she remarked, with a contemptuous movement of her mouth, as she went to open the door. Godfrey stumbled past her, with an oath, into the little sitting-room, where his wife was waiting to receive him. He, too, was uncertain what to say to her. He had resolved to be led by circumstances. But he was sure of one thing. He must get his way by fair means, rather than by foul. His object just now was conciliation all round, until he had got clear out of England. So the husband and wife met, at heart belligerents, but outwardly calm, in order to effect their several purposes.

‘Well, Childie!’ exclaimed Godfrey thickly, using the _soubriquet_ by which he had nicknamed Iris in their courting days, but which he had forgotten for years past, ‘I have come back, you see, safe and sound, though I have been a deuce of a time away. However, I couldn’t help it. Business detained me. Have you been very dull alone?’

‘Yes; it _has_ been rather dull, with no one but Maggie to speak to. But you know I am used to that. Now you _have_ come, Godfrey, I hope you are going to stay.’

‘Well, my dear, to tell you the truth, I’m _not_. The fact is, Childie, we’re in a mess with regard to money matters, and it’s quite necessary I should lie _perdu_ for a week or two. I met an old chum of mine to-day in the city, the skipper of a Harfleur packet, and he’s promised to smuggle me out of England to-morrow morning, and I can stay with some friends of his abroad until Glendinning sets matters straight for me.’

‘But how can Mr Glendinning set matters straight for you, Godfrey, without paying your debts? and where is the money to come from?’ demanded Iris, with that uncomfortable penetrating glance of hers.

He turned his eyes away. They never had been able to stand hers.

‘Oh! he’ll raise some money for me, and he’ll pacify the rest of the creditors with promises. Glendinning’s a first-rate fellow at that sort of thing. But he says it is quite necessary I should be out of England, until the business is completely settled.’

‘I see,’ said his wife, ‘and you must go to-night and remain away. For how long is it? Ten days?’

‘I said a fortnight, and it may be three weeks,’ replied Godfrey. ‘It all depends upon how Glendinning can manage things for me. But one thing is certain--_I must go_.’

‘And how are we to live during your absence?’ asked Iris quietly.

‘_Live!_ Why, as you generally do, I suppose--on credit.’

‘That is quite impossible, Godfrey. I do not object to your going, but you must leave me some money to keep the wolf from the door. The tradesmen will not trust us with a single article. We have even to pay for the milk as we take it in.’

‘That’s awkward,’ said Godfrey. ‘Well, give me some brandy and water, and I’ll think it over.’

A sudden idea flashed into the girl’s mind. She _must_ know the truth before he left her that night, or she might never know it at all. And so, instead of restraining his over-indulgence as she was usually called upon to do, she poured the tumbler half full of brandy before she added the water, and placed it by her husband’s side. The end, in her sight, justified the means. She was resolved to know the worst, and there seemed no other way of forcing the knowledge from him. The strong potion, added to what he had already taken, soon had its effect, but in a different manner from what Iris had intended.

Godfrey Harland’s character was of the lowest type. He was obstinate, vicious, and cruel. But he was also hot blooded, and his hot nature not being under any sort of control, made him a very ardent lover when humoured, and equally dangerous when opposed. To thwart him was to rouse the temper of a fiend. To give in to him was to deal with a brute. He was fierce and unreasonable in his love--jealous and revengeful in his hate--and selfish and cunning in every phase of life. It was hard to say in which mood his wife had learned to dislike and fear him most, but it was as much as her life was worth to oppose him in either. Just now, as she saw the fumes of the brandy had recalled some of his softer feelings for her, she resolved, if possible, to turn the fact to her own advantage.

‘That’s good,’ he said, as he drained the tumbler. ‘By Jove! Childie! you’re looking very pretty to-night. Come here and sit on my knee.’

Iris shuddered at the request, but she complied with it. Nay, more, this wolf in sheep’s clothing smiled upon him as she twined her fingers softly in the dark curls of her husband’s hair.

‘Won’t you give me some money, Godfrey?’ she murmured. ‘You know that I _must_ have it. Just leave me enough to go on with for a month, and I’ll be satisfied.’

‘Well! how much do you want, you jade?’

‘Twenty pounds!’ said Iris boldly.

‘Twenty fiddlesticks! Why, I haven’t got twenty pence about me.’

‘Oh yes, you have!’ she said, coaxingly. ‘Just look, and you’ll find it, Godfrey. You couldn’t go abroad without _some_ ready money, you know.’

He fumbled about in his pockets then, and brought out the pile of notes and gold which had been given him in exchange for Mr Vansittart’s cheque. Iris saw them, and calculated their amount almost to a pound, but she was too discreet to say so. Godfrey separated a single bank-note from the rest, and held it up to her, saying,--

‘Now, what am I to have instead of it?’

‘What do you want, Godfrey?’

‘Twenty kisses at the very least,’ he replied, devouring her beauty with his amorous eyes. ‘Now, put your pretty arms round my neck, Childie, and give me the whole lot, or you sha’n’t have a sixpence.’

How the woman loathed her task. How she longed to tell this man, who had once seemed as a god in her eyes, that she hated and despised him for his cruelty and infidelity to her, and that she refused to degrade herself further at his command. But the thought of her revenge upheld her. ‘Revenge is sweet,’ says Byron, ‘especially to women.’ The prospect of it was sweet to Iris Harland at that moment, and the thought of destitution and starvation was sore, and so she stooped over her half-drunken husband, and gave him what he had asked for, slowly and deliberately, as if she were performing some painful expiation.

‘That’s a good girl!’ exclaimed Harland, as her penance was concluded. ‘And now you shall have the money.’

She laid her hand eagerly upon four or five of the bank-notes as he spoke--crumpled them up in her hand--and thrust the remainder into his breast-pocket again.

‘That is a great deal too much to carry about you, Godfrey, she said, nervously. ‘You will be robbed if you don’t take care. And you will want it all at Harfleur, you know.’

‘Oh, don’t you be afraid, my girl!’ he exclaimed, in his intoxicated, boastful manner, as he buttoned his coat over it. ‘I’ll take good care I’m not robbed. I’m not the sort of man to be taken in easily. You ought to know that by this time.’

Then he rose, and began staggering about the room.

‘I must go,’ he hiccupped, ‘because--because my friend--my friend--will start without me--unless I’m quick. Good-bye, my dear. Don’t--don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. Good-bye, Maggie--give us a kiss.’

‘A kiss, you drunken brute!’ cried the handmaid, _sans cérémonie_. ‘You’d better try it on--that’s all. It’s something very different from a kiss that I’d give you, if I had _my_ way.’

‘Hush! hush! Maggie,’ entreated Iris, as Harland stumbled through the passage, and out at the front door. ‘Let him go, for heaven’s sake! We shall have no peace till he is gone.’

She walked straight into the bedroom, and smoothed out the notes she still held crumpled in her hand. There were five of them for five pounds each--five-and-twenty pounds. She believed, and yet she was not quite sure, if they would be sufficient for her purpose. But to-morrow would decide. Before that time next day, she would know everything. The idea made her feverishly impatient.

‘Maggie,’ she cried, ‘lock up the door, and let us go to bed. I have so much to do to-morrow. I want to get all the rest I can.’

But though she lay down, it was impossible to close her eyes, and the next morning found Iris Harland tossing on her uneasy couch, and longing for the hour to arrive when her cruel doubts should be satisfied one way or the other.

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