These two had rooms in
Dover Street always, where they kept some English clothes and a
servant. Jerry Gardner was over in London. I knew that, and was
expecting to see him every day. Wenham found his way to the
rooms, dressed himself in his brother's clothes, even wore his
ring and some of his jewelry, which he knew I should recognize,
and came here. I believed--yes, I believed all the time," she
went on, her voice trembling, "that it was Jerry who was sitting
with me. Once or twice I had a sort of terrible shiver. Then I
remembered how much they were alike and it seemed to me
ridiculous to be afraid. It was not till we got upstairs, till
the door was closed behind me, that he turned round and I knew!"
Her head fell suddenly into her hands. It was almost the first
sign of emotion. Tavernake analyzed it mercilessly. He knew
very well that it was fear, the coward's fear of that terrible
moment.
"And now?"
"Now," she went on, more cheerfully, "no one will venture to deny
that Wenham is mad. He will be placed under restraint, of
course, and the courts will make me an allowance. One thing is
absolutely certain, and that is that he will not live a year."
Tavernake half closed his eyes. Was there no sign of his
suffering, no warning note of the things which were passing out
of his life! The woman who smiled upon him seemed to see
nothing. The twitching of his fingers, the slight quivering of
his face, she thought was because of his fear for her.
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