THE VOW

“GIVE HER BACK TO ME—AND I VOW THE REST OF MY
DAYS TO YOUR SERVICE”—Page [21]

THE VOW
A NOVEL
BY
PAUL TRENT
AUTHOR OF
A WIFE BY PURCHASE
WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR BY
JOHN RAE
FIFTH EDITION

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1911, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company

TO
ETHEL

THE VOW

CHAPTER I

It was a dull November day, and the flickering light from the log fire lighted up one side of John Gaunt’s face—a strong face, with great possibilities in it for good or evil. The eyes were keen and steady; the nose commanding, while the lips were rather full, and would have denoted a nature that might run riot had it not been for the firmly moulded chin.

His wealth had been gathered by the use of his brains, and in that fact he took an intense pride. But one thing had been missing from his life—a friend. Acquaintances his check-book had brought, and he possessed the usual parasites that crowd the path of the millionaire. Life had been too strenuous to allow him to realize that he was losing a good deal of its sweetness, but latterly he had been conscious of a fierce longing to find some one who might become a second self—some one in whom he could confide, and whom he could trust with his inmost thoughts. And he imagined that he had found such a one in Lady Mildred Blythe.

A footman entered and approached with that deprecating air of the well-trained servant.

“Mr. Braithwaite would like to see you, sir.”

Gaunt hesitated, but soon a grim look came to his face.

“I will see him.”

A few moments later a gentleman, who was evidently ill at ease, came in and approached Gaunt with a deprecating air.

“They told me in the City that I should find you here,” he remarked apologetically.

“Then they failed in their duty. What do you want?” Gaunt asked curtly.

“You’ve been a good friend to me, and I’m afraid that I’ve worried you; but it is not my fault, old chap. I’m desperately hard up—and——”

“Cut it short. I suppose that you want to borrow again?”

“I thought that you would——”

“In this instance you thought correctly. I owe you a debt, for you did me a service many years ago. On several occasions since I have endeavored to repay it. Now, I will give you a check for a hundred pounds.”

Braithwaite began effusively to express his thanks but was cut short abruptly.

“This is the last time—and I am a man of my word. It seems to me that you must be a shiftless kind of person not to get on, with all the chances you have had. But I won’t preach. I want you to understand that I won’t give you another penny piece—not if you are starving,” Gaunt said with quiet emphasis.

Braithwaite watched his every movement, and when the check had been signed, almost clutched at the slip of paper.

“I am very grateful—and——”

“That’s sufficient. Now you can go,” Gaunt intervened, and gave him a curt nod of dismissal.

Braithwaite slouched away, and there was a little more color in his pale cheeks, perhaps brought there by shame; perhaps by that feeling of exultation which the sudden acquirement of money gives to the needy.

Gaunt fell into a reverie, and his thoughts were with the past. It was a great thing to have succeeded as he had done, when little more than thirty years of age. Everything he touched turned to gold, and now he possessed more than two million pounds; but there was nothing of the miser in his disposition, for it was not the gold that he loved, but the power that it represented, and it was ambition that directed his every step—save one. It was true that marriage with the woman he had chosen, Lady Mildred Blythe, would increase his social prestige, but it was not for that reason that he was about to offer her his hand and a share of his wealth. During his early years—that grim time spent on the Congo—he had not spoken to a white woman, the amassing of wealth had kept him too busy to think of love.

A month ago he would have laughed to scorn the idea of such a marriage and now he knew that everything else counted as naught, when weighed with his love for Lady Mildred. Even now he could picture her unerringly, with her beauty that moved him so strangely. And yet he realized that if she but knew what an inferno of passion she had aroused, her answer would be the refusal of his suit.

But there was no nervousness on his face when he was shown into the room where she awaited him. Lady Mildred did not rise from the chair, but gave him her hand and looked at him frankly.

“What news, Mr. Gaunt? How is that investment of mine?” she asked gaily.

But he could see the anxiety in her eyes. The woman he loved was poor, with that gnawing poverty of one who must keep up appearances.

“The shares have gone up fifteen shillings,” he answered quietly.

“Then I have made——?”

“About two thousand pounds.”

“Can I have a check at once, for——?” Lady Mildred stopped, and her face flushed painfully. She hated that this man should know that she so sorely needed the money; but poverty must sink its pride.

“You can have a check when you want. But I do not want to talk business, Lady Mildred—I am a blunt man, and I must come straight to the point. Will you be my wife?”

His eyes were fixed eagerly on her face, and it required a great effort to hide the passion that swayed him. But he would play the game as he had planned, and when he continued, his voice was almost devoid of expression.

“I am aware that you don’t love me, but I am content to take you on your own terms. I won’t insult you by remarking that I am a rich man. But money can be very useful. There is your brother—and——”

“You wish to remind me that he is on the verge of bankruptcy. Let us be quite frank with one another. I suppose you know that I shall accept your offer,” she continued very quietly.

“I hoped that you would.”

“You forget your boasted bluntness. You knew that I could not refuse—I wonder that you want me. There are many girls more beautiful, and with blood as blue in their veins. Why do you honor me?”

Gaunt longed to seize her in his arms and answer the question by fierce kisses.

“I have only met one woman in my life that I would care to ask to be my wife—and that woman is yourself!”

His voice was low and trembled slightly, in spite of his effort to control it. She looked at him curiously and a smile played about her mouth. Yes, he was eminently handsome and clean-looking, a man of whose appearance she would never be ashamed, and yet she was conscious of a feeling of something akin to fear. This man would endeavor to be her master, and the idea was extremely distasteful.

Prior to Gaunt’s arrival she had decided to accept him, but now she was vaguely reluctant to do so. Were there not rumors of the manner in which he had gained his wealth? His connection with the Congo was enough to damn him in the sight of most people; but on the other hand, there was the great temptation to say “good-bye” forever to mean poverty—to wear jewels that would make her the envy of all her friends. And she loved luxurious surroundings.

To do Lady Mildred justice, there was no man for whom she cared, and no one would be wronged should she accept John Gaunt. And there was her brother to be considered, for with the help of this millionaire, Geoffrey would be given a fair chance—the glories of their name might be renewed—and the Earl of Lynton take his proper place in the world. Then, too, there was her sister Ethel, who was not yet out of the schoolroom.

Gaunt watched her closely, for he realized that she was trying to make up her mind. Not for a moment had he imagined that she would hesitate, and he realized how heavy the blow would be should she refuse him.

Could she care for some one else? The mere idea caused him torments, and passionate words came near his lips. But no—he must not frighten her, for that would be fatal to his chance; and he moved away so that his face could not be seen.

“You are not going?” she cried hastily.

“I will stay, if you wish,” he answered very quietly.

“I do wish. Mr. Gaunt, I will be your wife.”

In a moment he was by her side and with his eyes fixed eagerly on her. Lady Mildred was almost frightened, now that she had promised to give herself to him; but she regarded him steadily.

“I am deeply honored.”

The words were spoken very quietly, and he raised her hand to his lips.

“I should like our marriage to take place as soon as possible. I will see your brother to-night and arrange about the settlements,” he continued gravely.

“You are very good, Mr. Gaunt—and——”

“Mildred, my name is John,” he suggested gently.

“Thank you, I won’t forget it again, John. May I say that you are a very curious kind of man. You have never tried to make love to me—and perhaps that is why I have consented to marry you,” she added reflectively.

“I hope you will like this ring.”

He placed it on her finger, and she looked at it reflectively.

“You made very certain of my answer,” she said a little coldly.

“I had chosen you for my wife, and I generally get my own way—sooner or later,” he answered, and there was exultation in his voice.

“Yes. I think you would. John, you would make a bad enemy.”

“But a loyal friend. Even my enemies in the City—and they are many—will tell you that I am a man of my word. I promise that I will always be good to you, Mildred. You shall never regret the promise that you have just made.”

“I wonder if you are right? Would you mind leaving me now?” she said gently.

He hesitated and would have taken her in his arms had he received the slightest encouragement, but she merely gave him her hand, which he again raised to his lips.

Late that night John Gaunt thought over the great event of the day. His self-confidence was supreme, and he had not the slightest doubt that in time he would win the love of the woman who had promised to be his wife. His passion for her had only increased by reason of its relentless suppression, and he already looked forward to the day when she would give him love for love, and kiss for kiss.

And a month later John Gaunt and Lady Mildred became man and wife.

CHAPTER II

A year passed and John Gaunt left his house in Park Lane to go to his office in the City. It was a joy to him—this daily battle of wits, and although he was as rich as mortal man could desire, there had been no thought of giving up his work.

During the drive his thoughts were with his wife, for there was naturally a little anxiety at such a time, but he remembered that Lady Mildred was physically a strong woman, and there was but little chance of any complication arising.

His secretary, Michael Foster, rose to receive him and placed on the table a pile of letters.

“I have dealt with all the rest, sir. That letter from Brussels seems to be rather important.”

A frown appeared on Gaunt’s face as he read.

“There is no end to the sickly sentimentality of the English. Why can’t they mind their own business and leave the Congo to work out its own salvation?” he said irritably.

“I don’t think that this will make much difference, sir. It’s all talk, and none of the Powers dare make any practical move. It’s England’s jealousy of Germany, and vice versa, that ties their hands. But are things really so bad as people make out?”

“Do you mean—are the niggers compelled to work? If so, the answer is—yes, and the means used to make them are severe. But then, severity is necessary.”

“But the cruelty and torture. I think——”

“Then don’t think; but if you must, pray keep your thoughts to yourself. I will answer this letter. About the Amanti Mine—has any cable been published yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. What time is the appointment with Weiss and his crowd?”

“Eleven o’clock, sir.”

Gaunt glanced at the clock and then thought for a few moments.

“Put out the cigars and you can go. Send them in as soon as they arrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alone, John Gaunt paced restlessly to and fro, and the expression on his face was not a pleasant one. To all intents and purposes the foundation of his vast fortune rested on “red rubber.” It was the Congo that had supplied him with the capital necessary for his first financial schemes; and the revelations of the methods employed in that country annoyed him.

Punctually at the time appointed Weiss arrived. The man was a typical German-Jew, who had made a fortune on the Rand, and with him there came two other men of his race. The latter were also financiers and usually followed where Weiss led, greatly to the advantage of their pockets.

“Good-morning, Gaunt. There’s a cable from the manager of the Amanti Mine just come in.”

Weiss’ accent was not that of the Jew of fiction and the stage, for he spoke slowly and correctly, and it was only by intonation that he showed his race.

“So it has arrived?” Gaunt answered quickly.

“Yes—and we thought it would be just as well to come to an understanding. To our joint account you have bought about twenty thousand shares at an average of seven and six.”

“That is so, Weiss.”

“Good. But may I point out to you that we—I and my two friends—have no evidence that they were bought to our joint account?” Weiss continued suavely.

“What do you want?” Gaunt demanded, and there was an ugly expression in his eyes, which the Jew did not observe.

“Just a little piece of paper, setting out the facts, and with your name to it.”

“So that’s your errand. Well, you won’t have it, for I’m not quite a fool, Weiss. Let us suppose that the sending of this cable was traced to one of your instruments.”

Weiss rose to his feet and gesticulated furiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I repeat that I am not quite a fool. I know that this cable is a fraud. That the shares will be rushed up—are being rushed up at the present moment—and that we shall reap a handsome profit. You and your friends will get your share of it. So you thought that you could hoodwink me, did you?”

“I don’t admit that the cable is a fraud. But that doesn’t matter. What concerns me is that we are entirely in your hands. You need give us nothing, if you don’t want to.”

“Quite right, Weiss; but you must remember that I happen to be honest according to my lights. No man can say that John Gaunt ever went back on his word. If I make a promise I carry it out. Isn’t that my reputation in the City?”

“Yes—but it isn’t business,” Weiss answered grudgingly.

“It happens to be my way of doing business on this occasion. I propose to sell when the shares are above a pound, and you shall have a check directly the deal is through. Good-morning.”

As soon as Weiss and his friends had gone, Michael Foster entered carrying in his hand a slip of paper.

“Amantis have risen to twelve shillings, sir,” he announced.

“Let me know when they reach a pound. Are there any more appointments this morning?”

“No. But Mr. George Braithwaite wishes to see you.”

“Is he here now?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I send him in?”

John Gaunt nodded his head and dipped his hand into the box from which he took a big cigar. The end was cut neatly and the match applied with great care.

“Well, Braithwaite, what can I do for you?” he asked sharply.

There was a shamefaced expression on the face of the newcomer that gave him almost a shifty look, and his clothes showed many signs of wear.

“I am sorry to trouble you again, old chap; but things are very bad. I haven’t a penny in the world and the family are——”

“That is quite sufficient. You came to me a year ago with a similar sort of story. I gave you a hundred pounds.”

“You were very generous——”

“And I told you that it would be the last time you got any money from me,” Gaunt said curtly.

“I know that; but things are really bad. There’s no food in the house, and the wife——”

“I am a man of my word. Surely you should have realized the uselessness of this call. Have you ever known me change when I have once made up my mind?”

“I am desperate, Gaunt. We are starving——”

There was truth in the man’s voice. The words carried conviction with them, but Gaunt showed no sign of weakening.

“I once did you a good turn,” Braithwaite said appealingly.

“You did—and I have repaid it many times over.”

As he spoke his fingers pressed the button of the electric bell.

“Foster, my private ledger.”

The secretary brought the book, and then disappeared in silence.

“You did me a good turn—it’s quite true—and on no less than six occasions you have come to me for assistance. The last time I told you that it should end—have a cigar?”

Braithwaite rose to his feet and his body swayed a little.

“Look at that. It’s a pawn-ticket for my wife’s wedding ring,” he said hoarsely.

“I don’t wish to be rude, but I’m really busy. I am sorry for you but I can do nothing. You should have understood that the last hundred pounds was the end of my assistance. I told you so, and I am a man of my word. Good-morning.”

“Gaunt, remember that we were boys together. You with your millions—and I starving. You can’t refuse me. Only a sovereign. It will buy food. Ten shillings—even a shilling will get us bread.”

“Not one penny.”

“Curse you!” Braithwaite cried hysterically.

“Don’t be melodramatic—just go—for I’m busy.”

Gaunt felt a little regret when he was alone, but the feeling quickly passed. The fact that he had said that he would do no more for Braithwaite rendered anything but refusal impossible.

Soon he was again interrupted by the entrance of Foster, who announced that Amantis were still rising steadily. Afterwards lunch was brought to his room for he had found it impossible to eat in any public place. His face was so well known in the City that he was liable to be interrupted by the many people who sought favors.

After the meal was over his secretary came in to announce a visitor.

“The Reverend Edward Drake would like to see you, sir.”

“Isn’t that the parson who is working in the East End?” Gaunt asked.

“Yes, sir. There is an article by him in to-day’s Times.”

“Bring it to me.”

Gaunt took the paper and rapidly scanned the column and a half.

“It reads all right. Quite straightforward and no whining. Send him in.”

It was with some interest that Gaunt examined the clergyman’s face, and he was not disappointed. Clean-cut features, noble in outline, steady eyes that regarded one frankly. The lips firm, but rather full; and the expression of the mouth was winning.

“What do you want? Money?” Gaunt demanded bluntly.

“You have guessed it, Mr. Gaunt. I see you have the Times there. If you have read my article, there is no need to say a word. I know you are a busy man,” Mr. Drake said with a smile.

While he spoke the two men were regarding one another with overt curiosity and suddenly they both smiled. Gaunt’s hand had gone to a drawer and he drew forth a check-book.

“Will that do?” he asked, as he handed over the pink slip of paper.

“You are more than generous. I am very grateful.”

“Show your gratitude by keeping your mouth shut. I am not buying a baronetcy.”

Mr. Drake had risen. There was a flush on his face, and he seemed to have some difficulty in speaking. Just then a bell tinkled on the writing-table, and Gaunt took up the receiver.

“Yes. Put me through.”

He listened for a while, and his face became very white.

“I’ll come at once,” he said and threw down the receiver.

“Mr. Gaunt, I must thank you most——”

“Get out of the way, man. My wife’s ill,” Gaunt cried roughly, and seizing his hat, hastened from the room.

CHAPTER III

“Can nothing be done?” Gaunt asked in a voice that was hoarse from the supreme effort made to control it.

“We have done everything possible. The issue is out of our hands,” Sir Felix Hellier answered, with the ever ready sympathy which had helped him to attain so eminent a position in his profession.

“Will she die?”

Now there was only a great despair in Gaunt’s voice. The physician looked keenly at the famous millionaire; noted the lines of suffering on his strong face, and wondered. To the world, John Gaunt was a hard man, one whose only object in life was the attainment of wealth—one who would sacrifice ruthlessly to gain that end.

Twelve months ago he had surprised every one by marrying the beauty of the season—Lady Mildred Blythe—and the general comment was that the bridegroom was moved by social ambition; while the bride wished to exchange a life of aristocratic poverty for one of unlimited wealth.

And now the wife lay on a bed of sickness, fighting for her life; while the son which she had given to her husband slumbered peacefully in an adjoining room.

“Can nothing be done?” Gaunt repeated hoarsely.

His powerful face worked painfully, and now he made no effort to hide his distress.

“I am a rich man—and——”

“Money cannot help you. The issue is in God’s hands,” Sir Felix said gravely, and turned towards the door.

“You are not going to leave her?”

“I can do no more. The nurse is quite competent.”

“Stay and I will pay you any fee you like to ask,” Gaunt cried passionately.

Sir Felix smiled slightly.

“There are patients who await me, and I may be able to help them. Here I can do no more.”

“A thousand pounds if you will stay.”

“Don’t tempt me. If I could be of the slightest use I would remain. Good-night.”

John Gaunt looked wildly at the door which had been closed so quietly. Then a deep groan came from his parched lips and he fell back heavily into an armchair.

Twelve hours ago he had been so content with his lot. Rich beyond the dreams of avarice—a beautiful wife whom he loved—and who he believed was beginning to care for him in return. How anxiously he had looked forward to the birth of their child. It was upon the coming of the babe that he had counted, to awaken in Lady Mildred’s heart a love as passionate as his own.

Now she lay a-dying, and he could do nothing to help her. In that lay the sting. His check-book was powerless and it seemed strange that it should be so. If she should die—and he would never know the love that he had sworn to arouse.

The issue lay in God’s hands.

In God’s hands, and for years the name of the Deity had never been on his lips, save as an imprecation. In the piling up of his fortune, there had been no place for religion, and he had left his youth behind him with but one determination—to amass wealth—honestly if possible—but to amass wealth. And he had succeeded beyond his most sanguine dreams. There was not a financial pie of any magnitude in which Gaunt had not a finger; and his rivals in the city gave him their unstinted admiration. No brain was as keen as his when the result of a scheme meant money, and he was not the man to allow any delicate scruple to interfere with his plans. One principle he had—one that had helped him enormously, for John Gaunt’s word was his bond, and if a bargain were once made, it would be fulfilled relentlessly, even should it result in loss. But this latter event happened very rarely.

The issue lay in God’s hands.

Could he influence His decision? His mind went back to the time when his mother, a gracious God-fearing woman, was living—his mother—who had endeavored to teach him the religion which had guided her every action until the day of her death, when he was some sixteen years of age. It had been her custom to pray with him; but her influence had not lasted very long, for Fate took Gaunt to a strange land—to the Congo—in search of fortune, and in that country and with that object, religion must be left at home. So the teaching of his mother had been forgotten.

In God’s hands!

Dare he approach Him? There was still the memory of the prayers that he had known, but there was also the black record of the past. The scheming, the fighting, worse than that, the deliberate robbing within the scope of the law. He shuddered to remember the countless ruined lives which lay behind him in the pursuit of wealth.

Those terrible years on the Congo; the maiming and torturing of human beings; the shedding of blood to acquire wealth. With these sins on his soul could he go down on his knees and pray God to give him the life of the woman he loved?

John Gaunt was no hypocrite and he shuddered. There was not the excuse of ignorance; for as a boy he had gone to church and accepted God, only deliberately to throw Him aside when Christianity would have interfered with his ambition.

“I can’t go whining back to Him now I want something,” he said miserably.

How still everything was! There was something ghostly in the silence of the large library where he sat. Above him his wife lay battling for her life, and he could do nothing to help. Again he thought over what the famous specialist had said and he realized that in all human probability his wife was doomed.

Even now she might be dead. He rose and walked quickly up-stairs. A distant wail from the babe greeted his ears, and his lips were grimly pressed into a straight line.

The son and heir that would cost him his beloved.

Very carefully he turned the handle of his wife’s room and entered. The nurse was standing by the bed and she came to meet him.

“How is she?” he whispered hoarsely.

“No better, I am afraid.”

And he stood beside the bed where his wife lay breathing heavily. Even in that moment of agony he was struck afresh by her great beauty. Never had she been so dear to him, and he would willingly have given all that he possessed in the world to keep her with him.

Suddenly he fell on his knees and took her burning hand in his. The nurse moved away but he did not heed her. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved; but no words could be heard.

“I believe in God but I have put Him from my life. I have lived for my own ends and have committed many sins. I cannot hope that my prayer will be granted for I have done nothing to deserve any favor at Your hands.”

Formal words of prayer would not come to his unaccustomed lips. He spoke as if he were addressing some fellow being.

“But as I have done evil in my life, so I have the power of doing good. Give me the life of my wife—give her back to me—and I vow the rest of my days to Your service. I will not pretend that I can become a Christian, but I swear to You—and I keep my word—that every action of my life shall be deliberately thought out and shall be taken in accordance with the teaching of Christ. I will try to right the wrongs that I have done. Grant my request and I swear by the memory of my mother that I will keep my side of the bargain in the spirit and the letter. Should I be in doubt at any time, I will go to the best Christian that I know and I will implicitly carry out his advice.”

John Gaunt rose to his feet and there was a dazed look in his eyes. The nurse drew near and looked at him with deep sympathy.

“Her breathing seems a bit easier, sir,” she whispered.

CHAPTER IV

John Gaunt’s eyes were fixed eagerly on his wife and the suspense was unbearable. Yes, her breathing did seem to be more regular. He took the nurse almost savagely by the arm and dragged her from the room.

“Tell me—is she dying?” he demanded hoarsely.

“No, sir. I think your wife is better. Take your hand away. You hurt me,” she said gently.

“Sir Felix. Did he expect this change for the better?”

“No. He thought that she would gradually get worse.”

“Is there a chance that she will live?” he asked, and his voice was tense with suppressed emotion.

“How can I tell? I am not a doctor.”

“No—you’re a fool,” he said savagely.

He ran along the corridor and down-stairs to the library. There he seized the telephone book and looked up a number which he gave to the Exchange.

“Is that Sir Felix Hellier’s house?—Is your master in?—Tell him that he is wanted immediately—Mr. Gaunt, Park Lane—I will come round myself.”

His face worked with passion as he strode from the room.

“The car at once.”

He gave the order to the butler and looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock.

“So he’s not to be disturbed. We’ll soon see about that,” he muttered as he walked up and down the hall waiting to hear the sound of the car, and as soon as it arrived he rushed away.

“62A Harley Street, as quickly as possible.”

The chauffeur looked at his master in surprise, but at the sight of his face he pressed in the clutch. There was no thought of tires or police as he speeded along to pull up with a jerk at the house. In answer to the ring a butler appeared and Gaunt walked into the hall.

“I must see Sir Felix at once. It is imperative,” he said fiercely.

“My master gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. He is not well and has gone to bed. Mr. Percival will attend to any urgent case.”

“Take my name up to your master.”

“I dare not,” the servant answered respectfully.

“Then stand aside.”

So saying Gaunt passed and ran up the stairs. When he reached the landing he called forth.

“Sir Felix.”

All was silent save for the heavy breathing of the butler who had followed, under the impression that he had to deal with a lunatic.

“Which is your master’s room?” Gaunt demanded roughly.

“Who is there? What’s the meaning of this?”

A door had opened and Sir Felix, clothed in a dressing-gown, appeared.

“It is John Gaunt. You must come at once. The nurse says that my wife is better.”

“Mr. Gaunt, you forget yourself, I think.”

“I only remember that you are my wife’s doctor. She needs you, and you must come.”

“You are acting very strangely. I left instructions that Mr. Percival should attend to any pressing cases.”

“Sir Felix, you will come back with me at once. You told me that you could do no more. You said the issue was in God’s hands. I believe that He has decided the issue. But I am taking no risks. You may be able to help, and must come with me.”

“I think you cannot quite be responsible for what you are saying. I am not used to——”

Gaunt almost pushed him back into his room.

“Get your clothes on and don’t talk. I won’t leave this spot until you promise to accompany me. Do you understand?”

The look of anger left Sir Felix’s face and he smiled faintly.

“That’s better. If my wife lives, there’s a blank check, which you can fill in for any amount,” Gaunt continued eagerly.

A few minutes later they were seated in the car and the rapid pace made Sir Felix utter an ejaculation.

“Is this quite safe?” he said deprecatingly.

There was no answer for hope had surged to Gaunt’s heart and he could only think of what the next few hours would bring forth.

“I don’t think you had better come in with me. You shall know, at the earliest possible moment,” Sir Felix said suavely, when they reached the door of the bedroom.

“I shall be in the library.”

And there Gaunt went. An abstemious man—he poured out half a tumbler of neat brandy, which he gulped down. His hands trembled as he endeavored to light a cigar.

The moments passed, oh, so slowly, and his agitation increased. What would be the verdict? Death, and with it the vanishing of all life’s sweetness. Life—and—his wife.

How long it was he knew not, but at last Sir Felix entered.

“Lady Mildred has taken a turn for the better.”

“She will live?”

“I cannot say yet, but there is hope. Why don’t you lie down and rest? It may be an hour or two before I can tell you definitely.”

“Rest—what do you think I’m made of? Have you any idea what my wife means to me?” Gaunt asked hoarsely.

“Still I think you should rest. You have evidently been enduring a great strain,” Sir Felix persisted gently.

“Go back to her, and I will await your verdict.”

“Your wife has a wonderful constitution. Ninety-nine out of a hundred women would have already succumbed.”

Sir Felix cast a curious look at the bowed head of the millionaire and went back to his patient. The nurse was standing by the side of the bed and holding a spoon to Lady Mildred’s lips.

“She has recovered consciousness, sir,” she whispered.

The eyes of the sick woman followed the doctor as he approached, and her lips moved.

“My baby.”

“Fetch the child, nurse.”

“Doctor, I thought I was dead—am I dying?”

“No—not if you want to live. It rests with yourself.”

The sound of a cry—not feeble, but almost shrill, and that wonderful “mother-look” came into Lady Mildred’s eyes. The baby was placed by her side, and as it nestled to her breast, she sighed.

“I shall not die—with this——”

The words, little more than a whisper, could scarcely be heard. The nurse held her breath and bent down to her patient, while Sir Felix’s fingers rested on Lady Mildred’s pulse, and it was evident that he, too, was full of anxiety.

“My little baby.”

Her breathing now was more regular, and the faintest tinge of color came to her cheeks.

“She is asleep,” the nurse whispered triumphantly.

“Hush!”

Neither of them moved, and the pulsations told their tale to the physician. It was a long time that they waited, and at last Sir Felix withdrew his hand. And now his thoughts were of the husband. Only too well did he know the reputation of John Gaunt—heartless in his pursuit of fortune—and yet he must love this woman to distraction. The world, too, had its opinion of Lady Mildred. Her life, until a month or two ago, had been that of the ultra-fashionable woman of to-day. Apparently thoughtless of everything save the extraction of every possible enjoyment from each moment of her life. What was there in her to arouse so great a passion in such a man as John Gaunt? True she was very beautiful, but that in itself was not sufficient to account for such a love.

“The man behaved like a madman,” he muttered to himself.

Should he go down and relieve him of his anxiety? No. This time there should be no mistake, and he would wait until he could be absolutely certain.

In the meantime John Gaunt was pacing restlessly to and fro. Deep lines had appeared on his face, and his eyes were strained. The stronger a man’s character, the greater his capacity for suffering, and Gaunt was a strong man. As the minutes passed his agitation lessened—not that he suffered any the less acutely—but his mind had become dazed.

He thought over each event of the day. His actions in the City, and he vividly remembered his interview with Braithwaite. Had the man succeeded in obtaining money, or was his family still without food? Not that he felt any greater sympathy for him—he only wondered.

Then the deal in Amanti shares, and he muttered an exclamation of anger when he remembered that he had forgotten to leave instructions with Foster.

“Surely he will have the sense to realize,” he muttered.

Yes. That was a smart piece of business, and would net in a few thousands.

Then came the visit from the parson. He was glad that he had been generous, and he smiled wanly at the memory of his abrupt departure. What agony he had suffered as he hastened home—what hours of torture which had culminated in that moment when he had knelt by his wife’s side.

He, John Gaunt, had prayed. Every word that he had said was burnt into his brain.

“Give me the life of my wife, and I vow the rest of my life to Your service. Every action of my life shall be deliberately thought out, and shall be in accordance with the teaching of Christ.”

He trembled when he remembered the words, and a feeling of awe overwhelmed him as he realized what he had promised. The trembling increased until it reached every limb, and his step was a stagger as he endeavored to reach a chair into which he fell back heavily.

“I have made a bargain with God,” he said hoarsely.

It was immediately after he had risen from his knees that the nurse had told him that his wife seemed to be a little better. Was that an answer to his prayer? Had the bargain been ratified from above?

To John Gaunt the silence of the room seemed death-like. He tried to moisten his parched lips and then suddenly leapt to his feet.

“What was that sound?”

The handle of the door turned, and Sir Felix appeared; a reassuring smile on his face.

“My dear sir, I am happy to tell you that your wife is out of danger.”

Gaunt staggered, fell back and clutched wildly at the chair. Sir Felix ran to the table and brought a glass of brandy.

“Drink this. Ah! That’s better. Now you must go to bed. A good sleep and you will be all right.”

Still Gaunt did not speak. His eyes had a vacant look and his lips were tremulous.

“Thank you, Sir Felix. Don’t stay any longer. It was good of you to come. Good-night.”

“Take my advice and go to bed. Good-night,” Sir Felix said drily.

John Gaunt never knew how long he rested there motionless, save for the twitching of his limbs. There was much to be thought out. His wife would live. God had decided the issue, and now there was his own side of the bargain to be fulfilled.

His quick mind told him what the vow meant—the upheaval of his life—the changing of everything—“red rubber” must go—the Amanti deal—everything must be different.

Could he carry out what he had promised—honestly, and completely?

Suddenly his face cleared and he rose. There was a steady light in his eyes and his lips were pressed firmly together.

The vow

THE VOW

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV