"Listen to me." He spoke quickly, wild with anxiety lest she should carry out her threat. "You are to give me that letter--at once. At once, do you hear? I don't want to hurt you, but I will have that letter, and you had better give it to me of your own free will."
"You shan't--you shan't." She spoke gaspingly, using all her force to got away from him. Handicapped by his very superiority, Herrick did not venture to put forth his full strength, but Eva, held back by no scruples, fought desperately to release her hands that she might fling the letter in the fire.
Quite suddenly she found herself free. Herrick, his very soul sickened within him at the physical encounter, had released her abruptly, trusting, perhaps, to some instinct of generosity which should lead her to surrender in the moment of victory.
But he trusted vainly. The second she was free Eva flung herself on to her knees by the brightly-blazing fire; and as Herrick, maddened by her action, bent roughly over her to try, even now, to save the precious letter, she thrust her hand almost within the bars that the fire might destroy the writing the more completely.
But her own haste was her undoing. The loose chiffon sleeve she wore brushed against the glowing coals as she pushed the letter frantically between the bars; and a bright tongue of flame shot suddenly up her arm and ignited the masses of filmy lace which disguised the thinness of her once softly-rounded bosom.
There was a sharp cry from Herrick, a shriek of terror from Eva; and then, as Herrick sprang aside to snatch up the heavy travelling-coat which would most effectually beat out the flames, Eva rushed frenziedly to the door, screaming at the top of her voice.
Again and again he tried to fling the coat round her burning form; but she had completely lost her head, and several valuable seconds were wasted before he caught her finally and wrapped her completely round in the thick, heavy folds of his big coat.
Quite suddenly he felt her collapse in his grasp; and when, having extinguished the flames, he unwrapped the coat from her slender figure, Herrick had a horrible conviction that he held a dead woman in his arms....
She was still alive, however, though terribly burned about the arms and body. For nearly a week she lay between life and death, a piteous little figure swathed in bandages.
By some miraculous chance, although her golden curls were singed and blackened, her face had escaped injury, and as he sat by her side in the darkened room, Herrick could trace in the pale and suffering features the face of the bonny Irish girl who had won his heart so completely in those far-off days of an Irish spring.
For seven days she lay there, half-conscious at times, moaning piteously for hours together, though for the most part under the merciful influence of the morphia which lulled her agony; and in that terrible week Herrick took up afresh the burden of his marriage and determined that if Eva recovered he would give up his whole life to her service. He would endeavour to win her back to a saner, sweeter frame of mind, to make up to her by his unswerving patience and devotion for the misery she had endured; and he would relinquish, once for all, the hopeless mental attitude which had seemed to say that a life spent together must be impossible for both of them.
After all, she was pathetically young and frail. She had sinned, but she had paid, was paying now. Every feeble moan she uttered wrung his heart afresh; and he longed for her to regain consciousness that he might whisper words of love and encouragement into those fragile ears.
He had almost forgotten the cause of the catastrophe.
Toni's letter had been burned to ashes, and he had not the slightest idea of her whereabouts; but even Toni's welfare seemed of less importance during these days of torture; and beyond sending Owen a note to inform him that his wife was certainly alive, since she had written to her friend, Herrick had done nothing.
It was quite possible that Eva would die without revealing Toni's secret; and even though she lived, what guarantee had Herrick that she would unclose her lips even then?
Although, through her intense suffering, she had an irresistible claim upon his compassion, her husband did not feel certain that even were Eva herself again Toni's tragic blunder would be repaired; and although he was fully determined to do all in his power to bring Eva's restless spirit peace, there was a possibility that she would return to life as callous, as heartless, as vindictive as ever.
Yet as he looked at the wan little face on the pillow, he could not forbear a hope that this terrible disaster would mark a turning point in Eva's life; and then, as a moan fluttered through the girl's parched lips, he experienced a horrible fear that for Eva there would be no time for repentance and reparation.
It was nearly one o'clock on the seventh night when Herrick, watching closely, saw the grey Irish eyes open suddenly.
He bent over the bed, and found that for the first time his wife was sufficiently herself to recognize him.
"Jim? Is that you?" Her voice was the merest thread.
"Yes, dear. Do you feel more comfortable now?"
"I feel ... dying," she murmured, still in that thin whisper.
"Jim ... I'm so sorry. I've been a wicked girl--but you must forgive me, because I'm going to die."
"No, no, dear." His heart stirred within him at the startling change in her, and he slipped to his knees beside the bed. "You are going to get better and be my own dear little wife again. There is no need to talk of forgiveness, Eva. That's all over long ago. Now I have only to love you."
"I'm glad you've forgiven me." When she had spoken she closed her eyes again; and Herrick felt himself turn cold, thinking she were dying indeed.
Presently she re-opened those sunken eyes, and her lips moved faintly.
Bending down he caught her words.
"Jim ... I'm sorry about Toni. She's safe--in Italy--in Naples...."
"You're sure, dear?" He spoke quietly, though his heart gave a throb of relief at her words.
"Yes. I can't remember her address." Her brows contracted pitifully.
"But she works in the library of an Italian called Zanoni--is that enough? Can you find her from that?"
"Why, yes, dear." He knew it would only be a matter of time to trace the girl now. "And you must not worry about her any more. Close those big eyes of yours and go to sleep."
She gave a little sigh, and her tiny bandaged hand lifted itself feebly as though seeking his. Instantly he laid his own warm fingers over hers; and a moment later Eva was asleep.
So it happened that Eva did not die, but crept slowly back to life; and throughout her painful and often halting convalescence she exhibited a patience, a gentleness which won her husband's heart afresh.
It seemed as though the fire had burnt out all the evil thoughts and desires which had ravaged her soul. Gone were all thoughts of revenge, of callous retribution for the sufferings she had endured. No longer bitter and hard and reckless, Eva was once again the engaging girl who had won Herrick's love; and although it was probable she would never again be quite so light-hearted, so thoughtless as she had been in the days before her marriage, Herrick was very strongly attracted to this oddly gentle, shy, wistful girl who gave him a new and passionate gratitude and love in place of her former half-careless, half-contemptuous affection.
Her first question on coming fully to herself had concerned Toni; and within a very short space of time Herrick was able to inform her that the girl had been found.
"Is she well--happy? Is Mr. Rose going to forgive her?"
"He has done that already," said Herrick with a smile. "By this time he is on his way to Italy; and I have no doubt he will bring her home to Greenriver as fast as boat and train can do it."
"Must I see her, Jim?" Into her eyes came a look of dread which touched him oddly. "I know it was all through my wickedness that she went away--but--must I ask her to forgive me?"
"You needn't trouble about that, dear. Mrs. Rose has forgiven you long ago. And as soon as ever you are well enough to travel, I'm going to take you right away where I can have you to myself and there will be no one to bother you all the rest of your life."
"Where are we going?" Her weak voice sounded pitifully glad.
"I'm not sure--but somewhere for away--Canada, or California, or some big, wild country where we can ride about all day and imagine ourselves back in dear old Ireland again."
She sighed with pleasure; and two minutes later fell asleep with a tender little smile upon her lips.
CHAPTER XXIX
On a beautiful evening in June, when the land was sweet with roses, and the cuckoos called insistently to one another from copse and wood, Owen Rose brought his wife home, for the second time, to Greenriver.
They had spent the intervening weeks in Italy; and to the end of her life Toni would look upon those glorious Italian days as her true honeymoon.
Now, indeed, she and Owen were really lovers, meeting on an equal ground through the very force of their mutual love. Gone for ever were the old doubts and misunderstandings, the miserable fooling of inferiority on Toni's side, the half-unconscious irritation with which Owen had viewed what seemed to be his wife's limitations.
No miracle had been worked. Toni and Owen both knew very well that in literary matters Owen would always be superior to Toni; but now that they were one in ambition, one in feeling, one in heart and soul, this superiority mattered little.