WHAT BECAME OF M. FELIX, AS RELATED IN THE FIRST PERSON BY ROBERT AGNOLD, ON THE REPORTING STAFF OF THE "EVENING MOON."
CHAPTER XLIII.
ROBERT AGNOLD TAKES UP THE THREADS OF THE STORY.
In setting forth the incidents narrated in Book Second of this story, under its heading "A Life Drama--Links in the Mystery," I have had no occasion to speak of myself, my acquaintance with Emilia beginning after the 16th of January, on which night the Book fitly ends. In what has now to be told, however, I played a not unimportant part, and it is proper, and will be more convenient, that I should narrate what followed in the first person. I think my name, Robert Agnold, has been mentioned only once or twice in these pages, and it is not for the purpose of making myself better known to the public, but simply for the sake of clearness, that I depart from the journalistic method (with which in other circumstances I am very well contented) in what I am about to write. I do so with the full approval of the conductors of the newspaper with which I have the honor to be connected. It is perhaps unnecessary for me to state that in the preparation of Book Second I have been guided both by what I have heard from the lips of its heroine, Emilia herself, and by what subsequently came to my knowledge; but it is as well to state this, in order to prove that I have not drawn upon my imagination.
I now take up the threads of the story.
When Emilia made her escape from M. Felix's house on the night of the 16th of January, she was, as may be supposed, in a state of extreme agitation. Her errand had failed, and she had nothing to hope for at the hands of Gerald's brother, whom I shall continue to speak of as M. Felix. She hardly dared to think of the future, and indeed the pain of her wound and the personal danger in which she stood were sufficient occupation for her mind at that juncture. As quickly as she could she made her way to the one room she had taken unknown to her daughter, and there she bathed and dressed the wound--throwing the stained water out of the window, so that it might not betray her--and effected the necessary change in her attire. In woman's clothes she left the house, and proceeded to her lodgings in Forston Street, Kentish Town. She was thankful that her daughter was asleep when she reached home; it saved her the necessity of an immediate explanation, and gave her time to make more plausible the story she had thought of to account for the injury to her arm. Creeping into bed without disturbing Constance she lay awake for hours, and sank into slumber only when daylight was beginning to dawn. She slept till past noon; fortunately for her, Nature's claims were not to be resisted, and she arose strengthened if not refreshed, and with still a faint hope that she might yet succeed. She would make one more appeal to M. Felix, this time in daylight. She would go to him this very afternoon, and endeavor to soften his heart by offering to bind herself to any terms he might dictate, if he would but furnish her with the name of the place in which the marriage ceremony had been performed. The echo of the statement he had made in Switzerland that she and Gerald were never married, although it struck a chill to her heart, found no lodgement therein. Most firmly did she believe that she had been honestly and honorably married, and until she was convinced to the contrary by absolute evidence she would continue to believe it. If M. Felix failed her she would set a watch upon Dr. Peterssen's movements, and endeavor by some means to gain her end through him. She had not the remotest idea how she should proceed with this man, but she trusted in God to guide her.
Constance, as was natural, was in great distress at the wound her mother had received, but Emilia made light of it, although it caused her exquisite pain. It was an accident, Emilia said; she had slipped, and fell upon some broken glass; and Constance did not dream that the story was untrue. The young girl was very anxious on this morning; she expected a letter from her lover, Julian Bordier, and she told her mother that in her last letter to Julian she had given him the address of their lodgings in Forston Street. Emilia could not chide her for doing so, but she was inwardly distressed by the idea that the Bordiers might present themselves at any unexpected moment. M. Bordier would almost certainly make some inquiries as to the nature of the business that brought her to England. How should she reply? He was a penetrating man, and she could foresee nothing but calamity from a renewal at present of close relations with him. She could do nothing, however, to avert the dangers by which she was threatened. All she could do was to wait and hope.
She went to the post office for letters, and received one for Constance and one for herself. She rode back immediately to Forston Street to give Constance her lover's letter, and in the cab she read her own. It was short but most affectionate and tender, and it confirmed her fears. There was every likelihood that the Bordiers would be in London within the next few weeks.
Delivering Julian's missive to the eager girl, Emilia left her once more with the intention of proceeding to Gerard Street. She rode only part of the way, getting out of the cab at Regent's Circus. It was bitterly cold, but in this city of startling contrasts there are wheels that never stop. Though darkness enveloped the streets for weeks together the newspaper boys would still perambulate the thoroughfares with the last editions of the newsp............