MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/related; boundary="----=_NextPart_01D08C20.8B1EFB90" This document is a Single File Web Page, also known as a Web Archive file. If you are seeing this message, your browser or editor doesn't support Web Archive files. Please download a browser that supports Web Archive, such as Windows® Internet Explorer®. ------=_NextPart_01D08C20.8B1EFB90 Content-Location: file:///C:/E2C52EF3/NewArabianNights.htm Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Type: text/html; charset="us-ascii"
New Arabian Nights
By
Robert Louis Stevenson
Contents
STORY
OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE CREAM TARTS.
STORY
OF THE PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK.
THE
ADVENTURE OF THE HANSOM CABS
STORY
OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS
STORY
OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS.
THE
ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE.
CHAPTER
I - TELLS HOW I CAMPED IN GRADEN SEA-WOOD, AND BEHELD A LIGHT IN THE PAVILI=
ON
CHAPTER
II - TELLS OF THE NOCTURNAL LANDING FROM THE YACHT.
CHAPTER
III - TELLS HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH MY WIFE.
CHAPTER
IV - TELLS IN WHAT A STARTLING MANNER I LEARNED THAT I WAS NOT ALONE IN GRA=
DEN
SEA-WOOD
CHAPTER
V - TELLS OF AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN NORTHMOUR, CLARA, AND MYSELF
CHAPTER
VI - TELLS OF MY INTRODUCTION TO THE TALL MAN..
CHAPTER
VII - TELLS HOW A WORD WAS CRIED THROUGH THE PAVILION WINDOW
CHAPTER
VIII - TELLS THE LAST OF THE TALL MAN..
CHAPTER
IX - TELLS HOW NORTHMOUR CARRIED OUT HIS THREAT.
A
LODGING FOR THE NIGHT - A STORY OF FRANCIS VILLON..
During his residence in London, the accomplish=
ed
Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by the seduc=
tion
of his manner and by a well-considered generosity. He was a remarkable man even by wh=
at was
known of him; and that was but a small part of what he actually did. Although of a placid temper in ord=
inary circumstances,
and accustomed to take the world with as much philosophy as any ploughman, =
the
Prince of Bohemia was not without a taste for ways of life more adventurous=
and
eccentric than that to which he was destined by his birth. Now and then, when he fell into a =
low
humour, when there was no laughable play to witness in any of the London
theatres, and when the season of the year was unsuitable to those field spo=
rts
in which he excelled all competitors, he would summon his confidant and Mas=
ter
of the Horse, Colonel Geraldine, and bid him prepare himself against an eve=
ning
ramble. The Master of the Hor=
se was
a young officer of a brave and even temerarious disposition. He greeted the news with delight, =
and
hastened to make ready. Long
practice and a varied acquaintance of life had given him a singular facilit=
y in
disguise; he could adapt not only his face and bearing, but his voice and a=
lmost
his thoughts, to those of any rank, character, or nation; and in this way he
diverted attention from the Prince, and sometimes gained admission for the =
pair
into strange societies. The civil authorities were never taken into the sec=
ret
of these adventures; the imperturbable courage of the one and the ready inv=
ention
and chivalrous devotion of the other had brought them through a score of da=
ngerous
passes; and they grew in confidence as time went on.
One evening in March they were driven by a sha=
rp
fall of sleet into an Oyster Bar in the immediate neighbourhood of Leicester
Square. Colonel Geraldine was dressed and painted to represent a person con=
nected
with the Press in reduced circumstances; while the Prince had, as usual,
travestied his appearance by the addition of false whiskers and a pair of l=
arge
adhesive eyebrows. These lent=
him a
shaggy and weather-beaten air, which, for one of his urbanity, formed the m=
ost
impenetrable disguise. Thus
equipped, the commander and his satellite sipped their brandy and soda in s=
ecurity.
The bar was full of guests, male and female; b=
ut
though more than one of these offered to fall into talk with our adventurer=
s,
none of them promised to grow interesting upon a nearer acquaintance. There=
was
nothing present but the lees of London and the commonplace of
disrespectability; and the Prince had already fallen to yawning, and was
beginning to grow weary of the whole excursion, when the swing doors were
pushed violently open, and a young man, followed by a couple of
commissionaires, entered the bar.
Each of the commissionaires carried a large dish of cream tarts unde=
r a cover,
which they at once removed; and the young man made the round of the company,
and pressed these confections upon every one's acceptance with an exaggerat=
ed
courtesy. Sometimes his offer=
was laughingly
accepted; sometimes it was firmly, or even harshly, rejected. In these latter cases the new-comer
always ate the tart himself, with some more or less humorous commentary.
At last he accosted Prince Florizel.
"Sir," said he, with a profound
obeisance, proffering the tart at the same time between his thumb and
forefinger, "will you so far honour an entire stranger? I can answer for the quality of th=
e pastry,
having eaten two dozen and three of them myself since five o'clock."
"I am in the habit," replied the Pri=
nce,
"of looking not so much to the nature of a gift as to the spirit in wh=
ich it
is offered."
"The spirit, sir," returned the young
man, with another bow, "is one of mockery."
"Mockery?" repeated Florizel. "And whom do you propose to
mock?"
"I am not here to expound my
philosophy," replied the other, "but to distribute these cream
tarts. If I mention that I he=
artily
include myself in the ridicule of the transaction, I hope you will consider
honour satisfied and condescend. If
not, you will constrain me to eat my twenty-eighth, and I own to being wear=
y of
the exercise."
"You touch me," said the Prince,
"and I have all the will in the world to rescue you from this dilemma,=
but
upon one condition. If my fri=
end
and I eat your cakes - for which we have neither of us any natural inclinat=
ion
- we shall expect you to join us at supper by way of recompense."
The young man seemed to reflect.
"I have still several dozen upon hand,&qu=
ot;
he said at last; "and that will make it necessary for me to visit seve=
ral
more bars before my great affair is concluded. This will take some time; and if y=
ou are
hungry - "
The Prince interrupted him with a polite gestu=
re.
"My friend and I will accompany you,"=
; he
said; "for we have already a deep interest in your very agreeable mode=
of
passing an evening. And now that the preliminaries of peace are settled, al=
low
me to sign the treaty for both."
And the Prince swallowed the tart with the best
grace imaginable.
"It is delicious," said he.
"I perceive you are a connoisseur,"
replied the young man.
Colonel Geraldine likewise did honour to the
pastry; and every one in that bar having now either accepted or refused his
delicacies, the young man with the cream tarts led the way to another and s=
imilar
establishment. The two
commissionaires, who seemed to have grown accustomed to their absurd
employment, followed immediately after; and the Prince and the Colonel brou=
ght
up the rear, arm in arm, and smiling to each other as they went. In this order the company visited =
two
other taverns, where scenes were enacted of a like nature to that already
described - some refusing, some accepting, the favours of this vagabond
hospitality, and the young man himself eating each rejected tart.
On leaving the third saloon the young man coun=
ted
his store. There were but nine
remaining, three in one tray and six in the other.
"Gentlemen," said he, addressing him=
self
to his two new followers, "I am unwilling to delay your supper. I am positively sure you must be
hungry. I feel that I owe you=
a
special consideration. And on this great day for me, when I am closing a ca=
reer
of folly by my most conspicuously silly action, I wish to behave handsomely=
to
all who give me countenance.
Gentlemen, you shall wait no longer. Although my constitution is shatte=
red by
previous excesses, at the risk of my life I liquidate the suspensory condit=
ion."
With these words he crushed the nine remaining
tarts into his mouth, and swallowed them at a single movement each. Then, turning to the commissionair=
es, he
gave them a couple of sovereigns.
"I have to thank you," said be,
"for your extraordinary patience."
And he dismissed them with a bow apiece. For some seconds he stood looking =
at the
purse from which he had just paid his assistants, then, with a laugh, he to=
ssed
it into the middle of the street, and signified his readiness for supper.
In a small French restaurant in Soho, which had
enjoyed an exaggerated reputation for some little while, but had already be=
gun to
be forgotten, and in a private room up two pair of stairs, the three compan=
ions
made a very elegant supper, and drank three or four bottles of champagne,
talking the while upon indifferent subjects. The young man was fluent and gay, =
but he
laughed louder than was natural in a person of polite breeding; his hands
trembled violently, and his voice took sudden and surprising inflections, w=
hich
seemed to be independent of his will.
The dessert had been cleared away, and all three had lighted their
cigars, when the Prince addressed him in these words:-
"You will, I am sure, pardon my
curiosity. What I have seen o=
f you has
greatly pleased but even more puzzled me.&=
nbsp;
And though I should be loth to seem indiscreet, I must tell you that=
my
friend and I are persons very well worthy to be entrusted with a secret.
"I like you, Mr. Godall," returned t=
he
young man; "you inspire me with a natural confidence; and I have not t=
he
slightest objection to your friend the Major, whom I take to be a nobleman =
in masquerade. At least, I am sure he is no
soldier."
The Colonel smiled at this compliment to the
perfection of his art; and the young man went on in a more animated manner.=
"There is every reason why I should not t=
ell
you my story. Perhaps that is=
just
the reason why I am going to do so.
At least, you seem so well prepared to hear a tale of silliness that=
I
cannot find it in my heart to disappoint you. My name, in spite of your example,=
I
shall keep to myself. My age =
is not
essential to the narrative. I=
am
descended from my ancestors by ordinary generation, and from them I inherit=
ed
the very eligible human tenement which I still occupy and a fortune of three
hundred pounds a year. I supp=
ose
they also handed on to me a hare-brain humour, which it has been my chief
delight to indulge. I receive=
d a
good education. I can play the
violin nearly well enough to earn money in the orchestra of a penny gaff, b=
ut
not quite. The same remark ap=
plies
to the flute and the French horn. =
span>I
learned enough of whist to lose about a hundred a year at that scientific
game. My acquaintance with Fr=
ench
was sufficient to enable me to squander money in Paris with almost the same
facility as in London. In sho=
rt, I
am a person full of manly accomplishments.=
I have had every sort of adventure, including a duel about nothing.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Only two months ago I met a young =
lady
exactly suited to my taste in mind and body; I found my heart melt; I saw t=
hat
I had come upon my fate at last, and was in the way to fall in love. But when I came to reckon up what
remained to me of my capital, I found it amounted to something less than fo=
ur
hundred pounds! I ask you fai=
rly -
can a man who respects himself fall in love on four hundred pounds? I concluded, certainly not; left t=
he
presence of my charmer, and slightly accelerating my usual rate of expendit=
ure,
came this morning to my last eighty pounds. This I divided into two equal part=
s;
forty I reserved for a particular purpose; the remaining forty I was to
dissipate before the night. I=
have
passed a very entertaining day, and played many farces besides that of the
cream tarts which procured me the advantage of your acquaintance; for I was
determined, as I told you, to bring a foolish career to a still more foolish
conclusion; and when you saw me throw my purse into the street, the forty
pounds were at an end. Now yo=
u know
me as well as I know myself: a
fool, but consistent in his folly; and, as I will ask you to believe, neith=
er a
whimperer nor a coward."
From the whole tone of the young man's stateme=
nt
it was plain that he harboured very bitter and contemptuous thoughts about
himself. His auditors were led to imagine that his love affair was nearer h=
is
heart than he admitted, and that he had a design on his own life. The farce of the cream tarts began=
to
have very much the air of a tragedy in disguise.
"Why, is this not odd," broke out
Geraldine, giving a look to Prince Florizel, "that we three fellows sh=
ould
have met by the merest accident in so large a wilderness as London, and sho=
uld
be so nearly in the same condition?"
"How?" cried the young man. "Are you, too, ruined? Is this supper a folly like my cre=
am
tarts? Has the devil brought =
three
of his own together for a last carouse?"
"The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes=
do
a very gentlemanly thing," returned Prince Florizel; "and I am so
much touched by this coincidence, that, although we are not entirely in the
same case, I am going to put an end to the disparity. Let your heroic treatment of the l=
ast
cream tarts be my example."
So saying, the Prince drew out his purse and t=
ook
from it a small bundle of bank-notes.
"You see, I was a week or so behind you, =
but
I mean to catch you up and come neck and neck into the winning-post," =
he
continued. "This," laying one of the notes upon the table, "=
will
suffice for the bill. As for =
the
rest - "
He tossed them into the fire, and they went up=
the
chimney in a single blaze.
The young man tried to catch his arm, but as t=
he
table was between them his interference came too late.
"Unhappy man," he cried, "you
should not have burned them all!
You should have kept forty pounds."
"Forty pounds!" repeated the
Prince. "Why, in heaven's
name, forty pounds?"
"Why not eighty?" cried the Colonel;
"for to my certain knowledge there must have been a hundred in the
bundle."
"It was only forty pounds he needed,"
said the young man gloomily. "But without them there is no admission.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The rule is strict. Forty pounds f=
or
each. Accursed life, where a =
man
cannot even die without money!"
The Prince and the Colonel exchanged glances.
"Explain yourself," said the latter. "I have still a pocket-book
tolerably well lined, and I need not say how readily I should share my weal=
th
with Godall. But I must know =
to
what end: you must certainly =
tell
us what you mean."
The young man seemed to awaken; he looked unea=
sily
from one to the other, and his face flushed deeply.
"You are not fooling me?" he asked.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "You are indeed ruined men li=
ke
me?"
"Indeed, I am for my part," replied =
the
Colonel.
"And for mine," said the Prince, &qu=
ot;I
have given you proof. Who but=
a
ruined man would throw his notes into the fire? The action speaks for itself."=
;
"A ruined man - yes," returned the o=
ther
suspiciously, "or else a millionaire."
"Enough, sir," said the Prince; &quo=
t;I
have said so, and I am not accustomed to have my word remain in doubt."=
;
"Ruined?" said the young man. "Are you ruined, like me? Are you, after a life of indulgenc=
e,
come to such a pass that you can only indulge yourself in one thing more? Are you" - he kept lowering h=
is
voice as he went on - "are you going to give yourselves that last
indulgence? Are you going to =
avoid
the consequences of your folly by the one infallible and easy path? Are you going to give the slip to =
the
sheriff's officers of conscience by the one open door?"
Suddenly he broke off and attempted to laugh.<= o:p>
"Here is your health!" he cried,
emptying his glass, "and good night to you, my merry ruined men."=
Colonel Geraldine caught him by the arm as he =
was
about to rise.
"You lack confidence in us," he said,
"and you are wrong. To a=
ll your
questions I make answer in the affirmative. But I am not so timid, and can spe=
ak the
Queen's English plainly. We t=
oo,
like yourself, have had enough of life, and are determined to die. Sooner or
later, alone or together, we meant to seek out death and beard him where he
lies ready. Since we have met=
you,
and your case is more pressing, let it be to-night - and at once - and, if =
you
will, all three together. Suc=
h a
penniless trio," he cried, "should go arm in arm into the halls of
Pluto, and give each other some countenance among the shades!"
Geraldine had hit exactly on the manners and
intonations that became the part he was playing. The Prince himself was disturbed, =
and
looked over at his confidant with a shade of doubt. As for the young man, the flush ca=
me
back darkly into his cheek, and his eyes threw out a spark of light.
"You are the men for me!" he cried, =
with
an almost terrible gaiety. "Shake hands upon the bargain!" (his h=
and
was cold and wet). "You =
little
know in what a company you will begin the march! You little know in what a happy mo=
ment
for yourselves you partook of my cream tarts! I am only a unit, but I am a unit =
in an
army. I know Death's private
door. I am one of his familia=
rs,
and can show you into eternity without ceremony and yet without scandal.&qu=
ot;
They called upon him eagerly to explain his
meaning.
"Can you muster eighty pounds between
you?" he demanded.
Geraldine ostentatiously consulted his
pocket-book, and replied in the affirmative.
"Fortunate beings!" cried the young
man. "Forty pounds is th=
e entry
money of the Suicide Club."
"The Suicide Club," said the Prince,
"why, what the devil is that?"
"Listen," said the young man; "=
this
is the age of conveniences, and I have to tell you of the last perfection of
the sort. We have affairs in
different places; and hence railways were invented. Railways separated us
infallibly from our friends; and so telegraphs were made that we might
communicate speedier at great distances.&n=
bsp;
Even in hotels we have lifts to spare us a climb of some hundred
steps. Now, we know that life=
is
only a stage to play the fool upon as long as the part amuses us. There was one more convenience lac=
king
to modern comfort; a decent, easy way to quit that stage; the back stairs to
liberty; or, as I said this moment, Death's private door. This, my two fellow-rebels, is sup=
plied
by the Suicide Club. Do not s=
uppose
that you and I are alone, or even exceptional in the highly reasonable desi=
re
that we profess. A large numb=
er of
our fellowmen, who have grown heartily sick of the performance in which they
are expected to join daily and all their lives long, are only kept from fli=
ght
by one or two considerations. Some have families who would be shocked, or e=
ven
blamed, if the matter became public; others have a weakness at heart and re=
coil
from the circumstances of death.
That is, to some extent, my own experience. I cannot put a pistol to my head a=
nd
draw the trigger; for something stronger than myself withholds the act; and
although I loathe life, I have not strength enough in my body to take hold =
of
death and be done with it. Fo=
r such
as I, and for all who desire to be out of the coil without posthumous scand=
al,
the Suicide Club has been inaugurated.&nbs=
p;
How this has been managed, what is its history, or what may be its
ramifications in other lands, I am myself uninformed; and what I know of its
constitution, I am not at liberty to communicate to you. To this extent, however, I am at y=
our
service. If you are truly tir=
ed of
life, I will introduce you to-night to a meeting; and if not to-night, at l=
east
some time within the week, you will be easily relieved of your existences. =
It
is now (consulting his watch) eleven; by half-past, at latest, we must leave
this place; so that you have half-an-hour before you to consider my
proposal. It is more serious =
than a
cream tart," he added, with a smile; "and I suspect more
palatable."
"More serious, certainly," returned
Colonel Geraldine; "and as it is so much more so, will you allow me fi=
ve
minutes' speech in private with my friend, Mr. Godall?"
"It is only fair," answered the young
man. "If you will permit=
, I will
retire."
"You will be very obliging," said the
Colonel.
As soon as the two were alone - "What,&qu=
ot;
said Prince Florizel, "is the use of this confabulation, Geraldine?
"Your Highness," said the Colonel,
turning pale; "let me ask you to consider the importance of your life,=
not
only to your friends, but to the public interest. 'If not to-night,' said this madma=
n; but
supposing that to-night some irreparable disaster were to overtake your
Highness's person, what, let me ask you, what would be my despair, and what=
the
concern and disaster of a great nation?"
"I will see the end of this," repeat=
ed
the Prince in his most deliberate tones; "and have the kindness, Colon=
el
Geraldine, to remember and respect your word of honour as a gentleman. Under no circumstances, recollect,=
nor
without my special authority, are you to betray the incognito under which I
choose to go abroad. These we=
re my
commands, which I now reiterate.
And now," he added, "let me ask you to call for the
bill."
Colonel Geraldine bowed in submission; but he =
had
a very white face as he summoned the young man of the cream tarts, and issu=
ed
his directions to the waiter. The
Prince preserved his undisturbed demeanour, and described a Palais Royal fa=
rce
to the young suicide with great humour and gusto. He avoided the Colonel's appealing=
looks
without ostentation, and selected another cheroot with more than usual
care. Indeed, he was now the =
only
man of the party who kept any command over his nerves.
The bill was discharged, the Prince giving the
whole change of the note to the astonished waiter; and the three drove off =
in a
four- wheeler. They were not =
long
upon the way before the cab stopped at the entrance to a rather dark court.=
Here all descended.
After Geraldine had paid the fare, the young m=
an
turned, and addressed Prince Florizel as follows:-
"It is still time, Mr. Godall, to make go=
od
your escape into thraldom. An=
d for
you too, Major Hammersmith. R=
eflect
well before you take another step; and if your hearts say no - here are the=
cross-roads."
"Lead on, sir," said the Prince. "I am not the man to go back =
from a
thing once said."
"Your coolness does me good," replied
their guide. "I have nev=
er seen
any one so unmoved at this conjuncture; and yet you are not the first whom I
have escorted to this door. M=
ore
than one of my friends has preceded me, where I knew I must shortly
follow. But this is of no int=
erest
to you. Wait me here for only=
a few
moments; I shall return as soon as I have arranged the preliminaries of your
introduction."
And with that the young man, waving his hand to
his companions, turned into the court, entered a doorway and disappeared.
"Of all our follies," said Colonel
Geraldine in a low voice, "this is the wildest and most dangerous.&quo=
t;
"I perfectly believe so," returned t=
he
Prince.
"We have still," pursued the Colonel,
"a moment to ourselves. =
Let me
beseech your Highness to profit by the opportunity and retire. The conseque=
nces
of this step are so dark, and may be so grave, that I feel myself justified=
in
pushing a little farther than usual the liberty which your Highness is so
condescending as to allow me in private."
"Am I to understand that Colonel Geraldin=
e is
afraid?" asked his Highness, taking his cheroot from his lips, and loo=
king
keenly into the other's face.
"My fear is certainly not personal,"
replied the other proudly; "of that your Highness may rest well
assured."
"I had supposed as much," returned t=
he
Prince, with undisturbed good humour; "but I was unwilling to remind y=
ou
of the difference in our stations.
No more - no more," he added, seeing Geraldine about to apologi=
se,
"you stand excused."
And he smoked placidly, leaning against a rail=
ing,
until the young man returned.
"Well," he asked, "has our
reception been arranged?"
"Follow me," was the reply. "The President will see you i=
n the cabinet. And let me warn you to be frank in=
your
answers. I have stood your
guarantee; but the club requires a searching inquiry before admission; for =
the
indiscretion of a single member would lead to the dispersion of the whole
society for ever."
The Prince and Geraldine put their heads toget=
her
for a moment. "Bear me out in this," said the one; and "bear=
me
out in that," said the other; and by boldly taking up the characters of
men with whom both were acquainted, they had come to an agreement in a twin=
kling,
and were ready to follow their guide into the President's cabinet.
There were no formidable obstacles to pass.
"He will be here immediately," he sa=
id,
with a nod, as he disappeared.
Voices were audible in the cabinet through the
folding doors which formed one end; and now and then the noise of a champag=
ne
cork, followed by a burst of laughter, intervened among the sounds of conve=
rsation. A single tall window looked out up=
on the
river and the embankment; and by the disposition of the lights they judged =
themselves
not far from Charing Cross station.
The furniture was scanty, and the coverings worn to the thread; and
there was nothing movable except a hand-bell in the centre of a round table,
and the hats and coats of a considerable party hung round the wall on pegs.=
"What sort of a den is this?" said
Geraldine.
"That is what I have come to see,"
replied the Prince. "If =
they keep
live devils on the premises, the thing may grow amusing."
Just then the folding door was opened no more =
than
was necessary for the passage of a human body; and there entered at the sam=
e moment
a louder buzz of talk, and the redoubtable President of the Suicide Club. The President was a man of fifty or
upwards; large and rambling in his gait, with shaggy side whiskers, a bald =
top
to his head, and a veiled grey eye, which now and then emitted a twinkle. His mouth, which embraced a large =
cigar,
he kept continually screwing round and round and from side to side, as he l=
ooked
sagaciously and coldly at the strangers.&n=
bsp;
He was dressed in light tweeds, with his neck very open in a striped
shirt collar; and carried a minute book under one arm.
"Good evening," said he, after he had
closed the door behind him. "I am told you wish to speak with me."=
;
"We have a desire, sir, to join the Suici=
de
Club," replied the Colonel.
The President rolled his cigar about in his
mouth. "What is that?&qu=
ot; he
said abruptly.
"Pardon me," returned the Colonel,
"but I believe you are the person best qualified to give us informatio=
n on
that point."
"I?" cried the President. "A Suicide Club? Come, come! this is a frolic for A=
ll
Fools' Day. I can make allowa=
nces
for gentlemen who get merry in their liquor; but let there be an end to
this."
"Call your Club what you will," said=
the
Colonel, "you have some company behind these doors, and we insist on
joining it."
"Sir," returned the President curtly,
"you have made a mistake. This is a private house, and you must leave =
it
instantly."
The Prince had remained quietly in his seat
throughout this little colloquy; but now, when the Colonel looked over to h=
im,
as much as to say, "Take your answer and come away, for God's sake!&qu=
ot;
he drew his cheroot from his mouth, and spoke -
"I have come here," said he, "u=
pon
the invitation of a friend of yours.
He has doubtless informed you of my intention in thus intruding on y=
our
party. Let me remind you that=
a
person in my circumstances has exceedingly little to bind him, and is not at
all likely to tolerate much rudeness.
I am a very quiet man, as a usual thing; but, my dear sir, you are
either going to oblige me in the little matter of which you are aware, or y=
ou
shall very bitterly repent that you ever admitted me to your
ante-chamber."
The President laughed aloud.
"That is the way to speak," said
he. "You are a man who i=
s a
man. You know the way to my heart, and can do what you like with me. Will
you," he continued, addressing Geraldine, "will you step aside fo=
r a
few minutes? I shall finish f=
irst
with your companion, and some of the club's formalities require to be fulfi=
lled
in private."
With these words he opened the door of a small
closet, into which he shut the Colonel.
"I believe in you," he said to Flori=
zel,
as soon as they were alone; "but are you sure of your friend?"
"Not so sure as I am of myself, though he=
has
more cogent reasons," answered Florizel, "but sure enough to bring
him here without alarm. He ha=
s had
enough to cure the most tenacious man of life. He was cashiered the other d=
ay
for cheating at cards."
"A good reason, I daresay," replied =
the
President; "at least, we have another in the same case, and I feel sur=
e of
him. Have you also been in the
Service, may I ask?"
"I have," was the reply; "but I=
was
too lazy, I left it early."
"What is your reason for being tired of
life?" pursued the President.
"The same, as near as I can make out,&quo=
t;
answered the Prince; "unadulterated laziness."
The President started. "D-n it," said he, "=
;you
must have something better than that."
"I have no more money," added
Florizel. "That is also a
vexation, without doubt. It b=
rings
my sense of idleness to an acute point."
The President rolled his cigar round in his mo=
uth
for some seconds, directing his gaze straight into the eyes of this unusual
neophyte; but the Prince supported his scrutiny with unabashed good temper.=
"If I had not a deal of experience,"
said the President at last, "I should turn you off. But I know the world; and this muc=
h any
way, that the most frivolous excuses for a suicide are often the toughest to
stand by. And when I downrigh=
t like
a man, as I do you, sir, I would rather strain the regulation than deny
him."
The Prince and the Colonel, one after the othe=
r,
were subjected to a long and particular interrogatory: the Prince alone; but Geraldine in=
the
presence of the Prince, so that the President might observe the countenance=
of
the one while the other was being warmly cross-examined. The result was satisfactory; and t=
he President,
after having booked a few details of each case, produced a form of oath to =
be
accepted. Nothing could be
conceived more passive than the obedience promised, or more stringent than =
the terms
by which the juror bound himself.
The man who forfeited a pledge so awful could scarcely have a rag of
honour or any of the consolations of religion left to him. Florizel signed the document, but =
not
without a shudder; the Colonel followed his example with an air of great
depression. Then the Presiden=
t received
the entry money; and without more ado, introduced the two friends into the
smoking-room of the Suicide Club.
The smoking-room of the Suicide Club was the s=
ame
height as the cabinet into which it opened, but much larger, and papered fr=
om
top to bottom with an imitation of oak wainscot. A large and cheerful fire and a nu=
mber
of gas-jets illuminated the company. The Prince and his follower made the
number up to eighteen. Most o=
f the
party were smoking, and drinking champagne; a feverish hilarity reigned, wi=
th
sudden and rather ghastly pauses.
"Is this a full meeting?" asked the
Prince.
"Middling," said the President. "By the way," he added,
"if you have any money, it is usual to offer some champagne. It keeps up a good spirit, and is =
one of
my own little perquisites."
"Hammersmith," said Florizel, "I
may leave the champagne to you."
And with that he turned away and began to go r=
ound
among the guests. Accustomed =
to
play the host in the highest circles, he charmed and dominated all whom he
approached; there was something at once winning and authoritative in his
address; and his extraordinary coolness gave him yet another distinction in
this half maniacal society. A=
s he
went from one to another he kept both his eyes and ears open, and soon bega=
n to
gain a general idea of the people among whom he found himself. As in all other places of resort, =
one
type predominated: people in =
the
prime of youth, with every show of intelligence and sensibility in their
appearance, but with little promise of strength or the quality that makes
success. Few were much above thirty, and not a few were still in their teen=
s. They stood, leaning on tables and
shifting on their feet; sometimes they smoked extraordinarily fast, and
sometimes they let their cigars go out; some talked well, but the conversat=
ion
of others was plainly the result of nervous tension, and was equally withou=
t wit
or purport. As each new bottl=
e of
champagne was opened, there was a manifest improvement in gaiety. Only two were seated - one in a ch=
air in
the recess of the window, with his head hanging and his hands plunged deep =
into
his trouser pockets, pale, visibly moist with perspiration, saying never a
word, a very wreck of soul and body; the other sat on the divan close by the
chimney, and attracted notice by a trenchant dissimilarity from all the res=
t. He was probably upwards of forty, =
but he
looked fully ten years older; and Florizel thought he had never seen a man =
more
naturally hideous, nor one more ravaged by disease and ruinous excitements.=
He was no more than skin and bone,=
was
partly paralysed, and wore spectacles of such unusual power, that his eyes =
appeared
through the glasses greatly magnified and distorted in shape. Except the Prince and the Presiden=
t, he
was the only person in the room who preserved the composure of ordinary lif=
e.
There was little decency among the members of =
the
club. Some boasted of the
disgraceful actions, the consequences of which had reduced them to seek ref=
uge
in death; and the others listened without disapproval. There was a tacit understanding ag=
ainst
moral judgments; and whoever passed the club doors enjoyed already some of =
the
immunities of the tomb. They =
drank
to each other's memories, and to those of notable suicides in the past. They compared and developed their
different views of death - some declaring that it was no more than blackness
and cessation; others full of a hope that that very night they should be
scaling the stars and commencing with the mighty dead.
"To the eternal memory of Baron Trenck, t=
he
type of suicides!" cried one.
"He went out of a small cell into a smaller, that he might come
forth again to freedom."
"For my part," said a second, "I
wish no more than a bandage for my eyes and cotton for my ears. Only they have no cotton thick eno=
ugh in
this world."
A third was for reading the mysteries of life =
in a
future state; and a fourth professed that he would never have joined the cl=
ub,
if he had not been induced to believe in Mr. Darwin.
"I could not bear," said this remark=
able
suicide, "to be descended from an ape."
Altogether, the Prince was disappointed by the
bearing and conversation of the members.
"It does not seem to me," he thought,
"a matter for so much disturbance.&nb=
sp;
If a man has made up his mind to kill himself, let him do it, in God=
's
name, like a gentleman. This
flutter and big talk is out of place."
In the meanwhile Colonel Geraldine was a prey =
to
the blackest apprehensions; the club and its rules were still a mystery, an=
d he
looked round the room for some one who should be able to set his mind at
rest. In this survey his eye
lighted on the paralytic person with the strong spectacles; and seeing him =
so
exceedingly tranquil, he besought the President, who was going in and out o=
f the
room under a pressure of business, to present him to the gentleman on the
divan.
The functionary explained the needlessness of =
all
such formalities within the club, but nevertheless presented Mr. Hammersmit=
h to
Mr. Malthus.
Mr. Malthus looked at the Colonel curiously, a=
nd
then requested him to take a seat upon his right.
"You are a new-comer," he said,
"and wish information? Y=
ou
have come to the proper source. It
is two years since I first visited this charming club."
The Colonel breathed again. If Mr. Malthus had frequented the =
place
for two years there could be little danger for the Prince in a single
evening. But Geraldine was no=
ne the
less astonished, and began to suspect a mystification.
"What!" cried he, "two years! I thought - but indeed I see I hav=
e been
made the subject of a pleasantry."
"By no means," replied Mr. Malthus
mildly. "My case is pecu=
liar. I
am not, properly speaking, a suicide at all; but, as it were, an honorary
member. I rarely visit the cl=
ub
twice in two months. My infir=
mity
and the kindness of the President have procured me these little immunities,=
for
which besides I pay at an advanced rate. Even as it is my luck has been
extraordinary."
"I am afraid," said the Colonel,
"that I must ask you to be more explicit. You must remember that I am still =
most
imperfectly acquainted with the rules of the club."
"An ordinary member who comes here in sea=
rch
of death like yourself," replied the paralytic, "returns every
evening until fortune favours him.
He can even, if he is penniless, get board and lodging from the
President: very fair, I belie=
ve,
and clean, although, of course, not luxurious; that could hardly be, consid=
ering
the exiguity (if I may so express myself) of the subscription. And then the President's company i=
s a
delicacy in itself."
"Indeed!" cried Geraldine, "he =
had
not greatly prepossessed me."
"Ah!" said Mr. Malthus, "you do=
not
know the man: the drollest fe=
llow! What stories! What cynicism! He knows life to admiration and, b=
etween
ourselves, is probably the most corrupt rogue in Christendom."
"And he also," asked the Colonel,
"is a permanency - like yourself, if I may say so without offence?&quo=
t;
"Indeed, he is a permanency in a very
different sense from me," replied Mr. Malthus. "I have hem graciously spared=
, but
I must go at last. Now he nev=
er
plays. He shuffles and deals =
for
the club, and makes the necessary arrangements. That man, my dear Mr. Hammersmith,=
is
the very soul of ingenuity. F=
or
three years he has pursued in London his useful and, I think I may add, his
artistic calling; and not so much as a whisper of suspicion has been once a=
roused. I believe him myself to be
inspired. You doubtless remem=
ber
the celebrated case, six months ago, of the gentleman who was accidentally
poisoned in a chemists shop? =
That
was one of the least rich, one of the least racy, of his notions; but then,=
how
simple! and how safe!"
"You astound me," said the Colonel.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "Was that unfortunate gentlem=
an one
of the - " He was about =
to say
"victims"; but bethinking himself in time, he substituted -
"members of the club?"
In the same flash of thought, it occurred to h=
im
that Mr. Malthus himself had not at all spoken in the tone of one who is in
love with death; and he added hurriedly:
"But I perceive I am still in the dark. You speak of shuffling and dealing=
; pray
for what end? And since you s=
eem
rather unwilling to die than otherwise, I must own that I cannot conceive w=
hat
brings you here at all."
"You say truly that you are in the
dark," replied Mr. Malthus with more animation. "Why, my dear sir, this club =
is the
temple of intoxication. If my
enfeebled health could support the excitement more often, you may depend up=
on
it I should be more often here. It requires
all the sense of duty engendered by a long habit of ill- health and careful
regimen, to keep me from excess in this, which is, I may say, my last
dissipation. I have tried the=
m all,
sir," he went on, laying his hand on Geraldine's arm, "all withou=
t exception,
and I declare to you, upon my honour, there is not one of them that has not
been grossly and untruthfully overrated. People trifle with love. Now, I deny that love is a strong =
passion. Fear is the strong passion; it is =
with
fear that you must trifle, if you wish to taste the intensest joys of
living. Envy me - envy me,
sir," he added with a chuckle, "I am a coward!"
Geraldine could scarcely repress a movement of
repulsion for this deplorable wretch; but he commanded himself with an effo=
rt,
and continued his inquiries.
"How, sir," he asked, "is the
excitement so artfully prolonged? and where is there any element of
uncertainty?"
"I must tell you how the victim for every
evening is selected," returned Mr. Malthus; "and not only the vic=
tim,
but another member, who is to be the instrument in the club's hands, and
death's high priest for that occasion."
"Good God!" said the Colonel, "=
do
they then kill each other?"
"The trouble of suicide is removed in that
way," returned Malthus with a nod.
"Merciful heavens!" ejaculated the
Colonel, "and may you - may I - may the - my friend I mean - may any o=
f us
be pitched upon this evening as the slayer of another man's body and immort=
al
spirit? Can such things be possible among men born of women? Oh! infamy of infamies!"
He was about to rise in his horror, when he ca=
ught
the Prince's eye. It was fixe=
d upon
him from across the room with a frowning and angry stare. And in a moment Geraldine recovere=
d his composure.
"After all," he added, "why
not? And since you say the ga=
me is interesting,
VOGUE LA GALERE - I follow the club!"
Mr. Malthus had keenly enjoyed the Colonel's
amazement and disgust. He had the vanity of wickedness; and it pleased him =
to
see another man give way to a generous movement, while he felt himself, in =
his entire
corruption, superior to such emotions.
"You now, after your first moment of
surprise," said he, "are in a position to appreciate the delights=
of
our society. You can see how =
it
combines the excitement of a gaming-table, a duel, and a Roman
amphitheatre. The Pagans did =
well
enough; I cordially admire the refinement of their minds; but it has been
reserved for a Christian country to attain this extreme, this quintessence,
this absolute of poignancy. Y=
ou
will understand how vapid are all amusements to a man who has acquired a ta=
ste
for this one. The game we
play," he continued, "is one of extreme simplicity. A full pack - but I perceive you a=
re
about to see the thing in progress. Will you lend me the help of your arm?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I am unfortunately paralysed."=
;
Indeed, just as Mr. Malthus was beginning his
description, another pair of folding-doors was thrown open, and the whole c=
lub
began to pass, not without some hurry, into the adjoining room. It was similar in every respect to =
the
one from which it was entered, but somewhat differently furnished. The centre was occupied by a long =
green
table, at which the President sat shuffling a pack of cards with great
particularity. Even with the =
stick
and the Colonel's arm, Mr. Malthus walked with so much difficulty that every
one was seated before this pair and the Prince, who had waited for them, en=
tered
the apartment; and, in consequence, the three took seats close together at =
the
lower end of the board.
"It is a pack of fifty-two," whisper=
ed
Mr. Malthus. "Watch for =
the ace
of spades, which is the sign of death, and the ace of clubs, which designat=
es
the official of the night. Ha=
ppy,
happy young men!" he added.
"You have good eyes, and can follow the game. Alas! I cannot tell an ace from a deuce =
across
the table."
And he proceeded to equip himself with a second
pair of spectacles.
"I must at least watch the faces," he
explained.
The Colonel rapidly informed his friend of all
that he had learned from the honorary member, and of the horrible alternati=
ve
that lay before them. The Pri=
nce
was conscious of a deadly chill and a contraction about his heart; he swall=
owed
with difficulty, and looked from side to side like a man in a maze.
"One bold stroke," whispered the
Colonel, "and we may still escape."
But the suggestion recalled the Prince's spiri=
ts.
"Silence!" said be. "Let me see that you can play=
like
a gentleman for any stake, however serious."
And he looked about him, once more to all appe=
arance
at his ease, although his heart beat thickly, and he was conscious of an un=
pleasant
heat in his bosom. The member=
s were
all very quiet and intent; every one was pale, but none so pale as Mr.
Malthus. His eyes protruded; =
his
head kept nodding involuntarily upon his spine; his hands found their way, =
one
after the other, to his mouth, where they made clutches at his tremulous and
ashen lips. It was plain that=
the
honorary member enjoyed his membership on very startling terms.
"Attention, gentlemen!" said the
President.
And he began slowly dealing the cards about the
table in the reverse direction, pausing until each man had shown his card. =
Nearly
every one hesitated; and sometimes you would see a player's fingers stumble
more than once before he could turn over the momentous slip of pasteboard.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> As the Prince's turn drew nearer, =
he was
conscious of a growing and almost suffocating excitement; but he had somewh=
at
of the gambler's nature, and recognised almost with astonishment, that there
was a degree of pleasure in his sensations. The nine of clubs fell to his lot;=
the
three of spades was dealt to Geraldine; and the queen of hearts to Mr. Malt=
hus,
who was unable to suppress a sob of relief. The young man of the cream tarts a=
lmost
immediately afterwards turned over the ace of clubs, and remained frozen wi=
th
horror, the card still resting on his finger; he had not come there to kill,
but to be killed; and the Prince in his generous sympathy with his position
almost forgot the peril that still hung over himself and his friend.
The deal was coming round again, and still Dea=
th's
card had not come out. The pl=
ayers
held their respiration, and only breathed by gasps. The Prince received another club;
Geraldine had a diamond; but when Mr. Malthus turned up his card a horrible
noise, like that of something breaking, issued from his mouth; and he rose =
from
his seat and sat down again, with no sign of his paralysis. It was the ace of spades. The honorary member had trifled on=
ce too
often with his terrors.
Conversation broke out again almost at once. The players relaxed their rigid
attitudes, and began to rise from the table and stroll back by twos and thr=
ees
into the smoking-room. The
President stretched his arms and yawned, like a man who has finished his da=
y's
work. But Mr. Malthus sat in =
his
place, with his head in his hands, and his hands upon the table, drunk and
motionless - a thing stricken down.
The Prince and Geraldine made their escape at
once. In the cold night air t=
heir
horror of what they had witnessed was redoubled.
"Alas!" cried the Prince, "to be
bound by an oath in such a matter! to allow this wholesale trade in murder =
to
be continued with profit and impunity!&nbs=
p;
If I but dared to forfeit my pledge!"
"That is impossible for your Highness,&qu=
ot;
replied the Colonel, "whose honour is the honour of Bohemia. But I dare, and may with propriety,
forfeit mine."
"Geraldine," said the Prince, "=
if
your honour suffers in any of the adventures into which you follow me, not =
only
will I never pardon you, but - what I believe will much more sensibly affect
you - I should never forgive myself."
"I receive your Highness's commands,"
replied the Colonel. "Sh=
all we
go from this accursed spot?"
"Yes," said the Prince. "Call a cab in Heaven's name,= and let me try to forget in slumber the memory of this night's disgrace."<= o:p>
But it was notable that he carefully read the =
name
of the court before he left it.
The next morning, as soon as the Prince was
stirring, Colonel Geraldine brought him a daily newspaper, with the followi=
ng paragraph
marked:-
"MELANCHOLY ACCIDENT. - This morning, abo=
ut
two o'clock, Mr. Bartholomew Malthus, of 16 Chepstow Place, Westbourne Grov=
e,
on his way home from a party at a friend's house, fell over the upper parap=
et
in Trafalgar Square, fracturing his skull and breaking a leg and an arm.
"If ever a soul went straight to Hell,&qu=
ot;
said Geraldine solemnly, "it was that paralytic man's."
The Prince buried his face in his hands, and
remained silent.
"I am almost rejoiced," continued the
Colonel, "to know that he is dead.&nb=
sp;
But for our young man of the cream tarts I confess my heart bleeds.&=
quot;
"Geraldine," said the Prince, raising
his face, "that unhappy lad was last night as innocent as you and I; a=
nd
this morning the guilt of blood is on his soul. When I think of the President, my =
heart grows
sick within me. I do not know=
how
it shall be done, but I shall have that scoundrel at my mercy as there is a=
God
in heaven. What an experience, what a lesson, was that game of cards!"=
"One," said the Colonel, "never=
to
be repeated."
The Prince remained so long without replying, =
that
Geraldine grew alarmed.
"You cannot mean to return," he
said. "You have suffered=
too
much and seen too much horror already.&nbs=
p;
The duties of your high position forbid the repetition of the
hazard."
"There is much in what you say," rep=
lied
Prince Florizel, "and I am not altogether pleased with my own
determination. Alas! in the c=
lothes
of the greatest potentate, what is there but a man? I never felt my weakness more acut=
ely
than now, Geraldine, but it is stronger than I. Can I cease to interest myself in =
the
fortunes of the unhappy young man who supped with us some hours ago? Can I leave the President to follo=
w his
nefarious career unwatched? C=
an I
begin an adventure so entrancing, and not follow it to an end? No,
Geraldine: you ask of the Pri=
nce
more than the man is able to perform.
To-night, once more, we take our places at the table of the Suicide
Club."
Colonel Geraldine fell upon his knees.
"Will your Highness take my life?" he
cried. "It is his - his =
freely;
but do not, O do not! let him ask me to countenance so terrible a risk.&quo=
t;
"Colonel Geraldine," replied the Pri=
nce,
with some haughtiness of manner, "your life is absolutely your own.
The Master of the Horse regained his feet at o=
nce.
"Your Highness," he said, "may =
I be
excused in my attendance this afternoon?&n=
bsp;
I dare not, as an honourable man, venture a second time into that fa=
tal
house until I have perfectly ordered my affairs. Your Highness shall meet, I
promise him, with no more opposition from the most devoted and grateful of =
his
servants."
"My dear Geraldine," returned Prince
Florizel, "I always regret when you oblige me to remember my rank. Dispose of your day as you think f=
it, but
be here before eleven in the same disguise."
The club, on this second evening, was not so f=
ully
attended; and when Geraldine and the Prince arrived, there were not above
half-a- dozen persons in the smoking-room.=
His Highness took the President aside and congratulated him warmly on
the demise of Mr. Malthus.
"I like," he said, "to meet with
capacity, and certainly find much of it in you. Your profession is of a very delic=
ate
nature, but I see you are well qualified to conduct it with success and sec=
recy."
The President was somewhat affected by these
compliments from one of his Highness's superior bearing. He acknowledged them almost with
humility.
"Poor Malthy!" he added, "I sha=
ll
hardly know the club without him. The most of my patrons are boys, sir, and
poetical boys, who are not much company for me. Not but what Malthy had some poetr=
y,
too; but it was of a kind that I could understand."
"I can readily imagine you should find
yourself in sympathy with Mr. Malthus," returned the Prince. "He struck me as a man of a v=
ery
original disposition."
The young man of the cream tarts was in the ro=
om,
but painfully depressed and silent.
His late companions sought in vain to lead him into conversation.
"How bitterly I wish," he cried,
"that I had never brought you to this infamous abode! Begone, while you are clean-handed=
. If you could have heard the old man
scream as he fell, and the noise of his bones upon the pavement! Wish me, if you have any kindness =
to so
fallen a being - wish the ace of spades for me to-night!"
A few more members dropped in as the evening w=
ent
on, but the club did not muster more than the devil's dozen when they took
their places at the table. The
Prince was again conscious of a certain joy in his alarms; but he was
astonished to see Geraldine so much more self-possessed than on the night
before.
"It is extraordinary," thought the
Prince, "that a will, made or unmade, should so greatly influence a yo=
ung
man's spirit."
"Attention, gentlemen!" said the
President, and he began to deal.
Three times the cards went all round the table,
and neither of the marked cards had yet fallen from his hand. The excitement as he began the fou=
rth
distribution was overwhelming.
There were just cards enough to go once more entirely round. The Prince, who sat second from the
dealer's left, would receive, in the reverse mode of dealing practised at t=
he
club, the second last card. T=
he
third player turned up a black ace - it was the ace of clubs. The next received a diamond, the n=
ext a
heart, and so on; but the ace of spades was still undelivered. At last, Geraldine, who sat upon t=
he Prince's
left, turned his card; it was an ace, but the ace of hearts.
When Prince Florizel saw his fate upon the tab=
le
in front of him, his heart stood still.&nb=
sp;
He was a brave man, but the sweat poured off his face. There were exactly fifty chances o=
ut of
a hundred that he was doomed. He
reversed the card; it was the ace of spades. A loud roaring filled his brain, a=
nd the
table swam before his eyes. He
heard the player on his right break into a fit of laughter that sounded bet=
ween
mirth and disappointment; he saw the company rapidly dispersing, but his mi=
nd
was full of other thoughts. He
recognised how foolish, how criminal, had been his conduct. In perfect health, in the prime of=
his
years, the heir to a throne, he had gambled away his future and that of a b=
rave
and loyal country. "God,=
"
he cried, "God forgive me!"
And with that, the confusion of his senses passed away, and he regai=
ned
his self- possession in a moment.
To his surprise Geraldine had disappeared. There was no one in the card-room =
but
his destined butcher consulting with the President, and the young man of the
cream tarts, who slipped up to the Prince, and whispered in his ear:-
"I would give a million, if I had it, for
your luck."
His Highness could not help reflecting, as the
young man departed, that he would have sold his opportunity for a much more
moderate sum.
The whispered conference now came to an end. The holder of the ace of clubs lef=
t the
room with a look of intelligence, and the President, approaching the
unfortunate Prince, proffered him his hand.
"I am pleased to have met you, sir,"
said he, "and pleased to have been in a position to do you this trifli=
ng
service. At least, you cannot
complain of delay. On the sec=
ond
evening - what a stroke of luck!"
The Prince endeavoured in vain to articulate
something in response, but his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed paralyse=
d.
"You feel a little sickish?" asked t=
he
President, with some show of solicitude.&n=
bsp;
"Most gentlemen do.
Will you take a little brandy?"
The Prince signified in the affirmative, and t=
he
other immediately filled some of the spirit into a tumbler.
"Poor old Malthy!" ejaculated the
President, as the Prince drained the glass. "He drank near upon a pint, a=
nd
little enough good it seemed to do him!"
"I am more amenable to treatment," s=
aid
the Prince, a good deal revived.
"I am my own man again at once, as you perceive. And so, let me ask you, what are my
directions?"
"You will proceed along the Strand in the
direction of the City, and on the left-hand pavement, until you meet the
gentleman who has just left the room.
He will continue your instructions, and him you will have the kindne=
ss
to obey; the authority of the club is vested in his person for the night. And now," added the President=
, "I
wish you a pleasant walk."
Florizel acknowledged the salutation rather
awkwardly, and took his leave. He
passed through the smoking-room, where the bulk of the players were still
consuming champagne, some of which he had himself ordered and paid for; and=
he
was surprised to find himself cursing them in his heart. He put on his hat and greatcoat in=
the cabinet,
and selected his umbrella from a corner.&n=
bsp;
The familiarity of these acts, and the thought that he was about them
for the last time, betrayed him into a fit of laughter which sounded unplea=
santly
in his own ears. He conceived=
a
reluctance to leave the cabinet, and turned instead to the window. The sight of the lamps and the dar=
kness
recalled him to himself.
"Come, come, I must be a man," he
thought, "and tear myself away."
At the corner of Box Court three men fell upon
Prince Florizel and he was unceremoniously thrust into a carriage, which at
once drove rapidly away. Ther=
e was
already an occupant.
"Will your Highness pardon my zeal?"
said a well known voice.
The Prince threw himself upon the Colonel's ne=
ck
in a passion of relief.
"How can I ever thank you?" he
cried. "And how was this
effected?"
Although he had been willing to march upon his
doom, he was overjoyed to yield to friendly violence, and return once more =
to life
and hope.
"You can thank me effectually enough,&quo=
t;
replied the Colonel, "by avoiding all such dangers in the future. And as for your second question, a=
ll has
been managed by the simplest means.
I arranged this afternoon with a celebrated detective. Secrecy has been promised and paid
for. Your own servants have b=
een
principally engaged in the affair.
The house in Box Court has been surrounded since nightfall, and this,
which is one of your own carriages, has been awaiting you for nearly an
hour."
"And the miserable creature who was to ha=
ve
slain me - what of him?" inquired the Prince.
"He was pinioned as he left the club,&quo=
t;
replied the Colonel, "and now awaits your sentence at the Palace, wher=
e he
will soon be joined by his accomplices."
"Geraldine," said the Prince, "=
you
have saved me against my explicit orders, and you have done well. I owe you not only my life, but a
lesson; and I should be unworthy of my rank if I did not show myself gratef=
ul
to my teacher. Let it be your=
s to
choose the manner."
There was a pause, during which the carriage
continued to speed through the streets, and the two men were each buried in=
his
own reflections. The silence =
was
broken by Colonel Geraldine.
"Your Highness," said he, "has =
by
this time a considerable body of prisoners. There is at least one criminal amo=
ng the
number to whom justice should be dealt.&nb=
sp;
Our oath forbids us all recourse to law; and discretion would forbid=
it
equally if the oath were loosened. May I inquire your Highness's
intention?"
"It is decided," answered Florizel;
"the President must fall in duel.&nbs=
p;
It only remains to choose his adversary."
"Your Highness has permitted me to name m=
y own
recompense," said the Colonel.
"Will he permit me to ask the appointment of my brother? It is an honourable post, but I da=
re
assure your Highness that the lad will acquit himself with credit."
"You ask me an ungracious favour," s=
aid
the Prince, "but I must refuse you nothing."
The Colonel kissed his hand with the greatest
affection; and at that moment the carriage rolled under the archway of the
Prince's splendid residence.
An hour after, Florizel in his official robes,=
and
covered with all the orders of Bohemia, received the members of the Suicide
Club.
"Foolish and wicked men," said he,
"as many of you as have been driven into this strait by the lack of
fortune shall receive employment and remuneration from my officers. Those who suffer under a sense of =
guilt
must have recourse to a higher and more generous Potentate than I. I feel pity for all of you, deeper=
than you
can imagine; to-morrow you shall tell me your stories; and as you answer mo=
re
frankly, I shall be the more able to remedy your misfortunes. As for you," he added, turnin=
g to
the President, "I should only offend a person of your parts by any off=
er
of assistance; but I have instead a piece of diversion to propose to you. Here," laying his hand on the
shoulder of Colonel Geraldine's young brother, "is an officer of mine =
who
desires to make a little tour upon the Continent; and I ask you, as a favou=
r,
to accompany him on this excursion.
Do you," he went on, changing his tone, "do you shoot well
with the pistol? Because you =
may
have need of that accomplishment.
When two men go travelling together, it is best to be prepared for
all. Let me add that, if by a=
ny
chance you should lose young Mr. Geraldine upon the way, I shall always have
another member of my household to place at your disposal; and I am known, M=
r.
President, to have long eyesight, and as long an arm."
With these words, said with much sternness, the
Prince concluded his address. Next
morning the members of the club were suitably provided for by his munificen=
ce,
and the President set forth upon his travels, under the supervision of Mr.
Geraldine, and a pair of faithful and adroit lackeys, well trained in the
Prince's household. Not conte=
nt
with this, discreet agents were put in possession of the house in Box Court,
and all letters or visitors for the Suicide Club or its officials were to be
examined by Prince Florizel in person.
Here (says my Arabian author) ends THE STORY OF
THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE CREAM TARTS, who is now a comfortable householder in
Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square.
The number, for obvious reasons, I suppress. Those who care to pursue the
adventures of Prince Florizel and the President of the Suicide Club, may re=
ad
the HISTORY OF THE PHYSICIAN AND THE SARATOGA TRUNK.
MR. SILAS Q. SCUDDAMORE was a young American o=
f a
simple and harmless disposition, which was the more to his credit as he cam=
e from
New England - a quarter of the New World not precisely famous for those
qualities. Although he was ex=
ceedingly
rich, he kept a note of all his expenses in a little paper pocket-book; and=
he
had chosen to study the attractions of Paris from the seventh story of what=
is
called a furnished hotel, in the Latin Quarter. There was a great deal of habit in=
his
penuriousness; and his virtue, which was very remarkable among his associat=
es,
was principally founded upon diffidence and youth.
The next room to his was inhabited by a lady, =
very
attractive in her air and very elegant in toilette, whom, on his first arri=
val,
he had taken for a Countess. =
In
course of time he had learned that she was known by the name of Madame
Zephyrine, and that whatever station she occupied in life it was not that o=
f a
person of title. Madame Zephyrine, probably in the hope of enchanting the y=
oung
American, used to flaunt by him on the stairs with a civil inclination, a w=
ord
of course, and a knock-down look out of her black eyes, and disappear in a
rustle of silk, and with the revelation of an admirable foot and ankle. But these advances, so far from
encouraging Mr. Scuddamore, plunged him into the depths of depression and
bashfulness. She had come to =
him
several times for a light, or to apologise for the imaginary depredations of
her poodle; but his mouth was closed in the presence of so superior a being,
his French promptly left him, and he could only stare and stammer until she=
was
gone. The slenderness of their
intercourse did not prevent him from throwing out insinuations of a very gl=
orious
order when he was safely alone with a few males.
The room on the other side of the American's -=
for
there were three rooms on a floor in the hotel - was tenanted by an old Eng=
lish
physician of rather doubtful reputation.&n=
bsp;
Dr. Noel, for that was his name, had been forced to leave London, wh=
ere
he enjoyed a large and increasing practice; and it was hinted that the poli=
ce
had been the instigators of this change of scene. At least he, who had made somethin=
g of a
figure in earlier life, now dwelt in the Latin Quarter in great simplicity =
and
solitude, and devoted much of his time to study. Mr. Scuddamore had made his
acquaintance, and the pair would now and then dine together frugally in a
restaurant across the street.
Silas Q. Scuddamore had many little vices of t=
he
more respectable order, and was not restrained by delicacy from indulging t=
hem
in many rather doubtful ways. Chief
among his foibles stood curiosity.
He was a born gossip; and life, and especially those parts of it in
which he had no experience, interested him to the degree of passion. He was a pert, invincible question=
er,
pushing his inquiries with equal pertinacity and indiscretion; he had been =
observed,
when he took a letter to the post, to weigh it in his hand, to turn it over=
and
over, and to study the address with care; and when he found a flaw in the
partition between his room and Madame Zephyrine's, instead of filling it up=
, he
enlarged and improved the opening, and made use of it as a spy-hole on his =
neighbour's
affairs.
One day, in the end of March, his curiosity
growing as it was indulged, he enlarged the hole a little further, so that =
he
might command another corner of the room.&=
nbsp;
That evening, when he went as usual to inspect Madame Zephyrine's
movements, he was astonished to find the aperture obscured in an odd manner=
on
the other side, and still more abashed when the obstacle was suddenly withd=
rawn
and a titter of laughter reached his ears.=
Some of the plaster had evidently betrayed the secret of his spy-hol=
e,
and his neighbour had been returning the compliment in kind. Mr. Scuddamore was moved to a very=
acute
feeling of annoyance; he condemned Madame Zephyrine unmercifully; he even
blamed himself; but when he found, next day, that she had taken no means to
baulk him of his favourite pastime, he continued to profit by her carelessn=
ess,
and gratify his idle curiosity.
That next day Madame Zephyrine received a long
visit from a tall, loosely-built man of fifty or upwards, whom Silas had not
hitherto seen. His tweed suit=
and
coloured shirt, no less than his shaggy side-whiskers, identified him as a
Britisher, and his dull grey eye affected Silas with a sense of cold. He kept screwing his mouth from si=
de to
side and round and round during the whole colloquy, which was carried on in
whispers. More than once it s=
eemed
to the young New Englander as if their gestures indicated his own apartment;
but the only thing definite he could gather by the most scrupulous attention
was this remark made by the Englishman in a somewhat higher key, as if in
answer to some reluctance or opposition.
"I have studied his taste to a nicety, an=
d I
tell you again and again you are the only woman of the sort that I can lay =
my
hands on."
In answer to this, Madame Zephyrine sighed, and
appeared by a gesture to resign herself, like one yielding to unqualified a=
uthority.
That afternoon the observatory was finally
blinded, a wardrobe having been drawn in front of it upon the other side; a=
nd
while Silas was still lamenting over this misfortune, which he attributed to
the Britisher's malign suggestion, the concierge brought him up a letter in=
a
female handwriting. It was
conceived in French of no very rigorous orthography, bore no signature, and=
in
the most encouraging terms invited the young American to be present in a ce=
rtain
part of the Bullier Ball at eleven o'clock that night. Curiosity and timidi=
ty
fought a long battle in his heart; sometimes he was all virtue, sometimes a=
ll
fire and daring; and the result of it was that, long before ten, Mr. Silas =
Q.
Scuddamore presented himself in unimpeachable attire at the door of the Bul=
lier
Ball Rooms, and paid his entry money with a sense of reckless devilry that =
was
not without its charm.
It was Carnival time, and the Ball was very fu=
ll
and noisy. The lights and the=
crowd
at first rather abashed our young adventurer, and then, mounting to his bra=
in
with a sort of intoxication, put him in possession of more than his own sha=
re
of manhood. He felt ready to =
face
the devil, and strutted in the ballroom with the swagger of a cavalier. While he was thus parading, he bec=
ame
aware of Madame Zephyrine and her Britisher in conference behind a pillar.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The cat-like spirit of eaves-dropp=
ing
overcame him at once. He stole
nearer and nearer on the couple from behind, until he was within earshot.
"That is the man," the Britisher was
saying; "there - with the long blond hair - speaking to a girl in
green."
Silas identified a very handsome young fellow =
of
small stature, who was plainly the object of this designation.
"It is well," said Madame
Zephyrine. "I shall do my
utmost. But, remember, the be=
st of
us may fail in such a matter."
"Tut!" returned her companion; "=
;I
answer for the result. Have I=
not
chosen you from thirty? Go; b=
ut be
wary of the Prince. I cannot =
think
what cursed accident has brought him here to-night. As if there were not a
dozen balls in Paris better worth his notice than this riot of students and
counter-jumpers! See him wher=
e he sits,
more like a reigning Emperor at home than a Prince upon his holidays!"=
Silas was again lucky. He observed a person of rather a f=
ull build,
strikingly handsome, and of a very stately and courteous demeanour, seated =
at
table with another handsome young man, several years his junior, who addres=
sed
him with conspicuous deference. The name of Prince struck gratefully on Sil=
as's
Republican hearing, and the aspect of the person to whom that name was appl=
ied exercised
its usual charm upon his mind. He
left Madame Zephyrine and her Englishman to take care of each other, and
threading his way through the assembly, approached the table which the Prin=
ce
and his confidant had honoured with their choice.
"I tell you, Geraldine," the former =
was
saying, "the action is madness.
Yourself (I am glad to remember it) chose your brother for this peri=
lous
service, and you are bound in duty to have a guard upon his conduct. He has consented to delay so many =
days
in Paris; that was already an imprudence, considering the character of the =
man
he has to deal with; but now, when he is within eight-and- forty hours of h=
is
departure, when he is within two or three days of the decisive trial, I ask
you, is this a place for him to spend his time? He should be in a gallery at pract=
ice;
he should be sleeping long hours and taking moderate exercise on foot; he
should be on a rigorous diet, without white wines or brandy. Does the dog imagine we are all pl=
aying
comedy? The thing is deadly
earnest, Geraldine."
"I know the lad too well to interfere,&qu=
ot;
replied Colonel Geraldine, "and well enough not to be alarmed. He is more cautious than you fancy=
, and
of an indomitable spirit. If =
it had
been a woman I should not say so much, but I trust the President to him and=
the
two valets without an instant's apprehension."
"I am gratified to hear you say so,"
replied the Prince; "but my mind is not at rest. These servants are well-trained sp=
ies,
and already has not this miscreant succeeded three times in eluding their
observation and spending several hours on end in private, and most likely
dangerous, affairs? An amateur
might have lost him by accident, but if Rudolph and Jerome were thrown off =
the
scent, it must have been done on purpose, and by a man who had a cogent rea=
son
and exceptional resources."
"I believe the question is now one betwee=
n my
brother and myself," replied Geraldine, with a shade of offence in his=
tone.
"I permit it to be so, Colonel
Geraldine," returned Prince Florizel.=
"Perhaps, for that very reason, you should be all the more read=
y to
accept my counsels. But
enough. That girl in yellow d=
ances
well."
And the talk veered into the ordinary topics o=
f a
Paris ballroom in the Carnival.
Silas remembered where he was, and that the ho=
ur
was already near at hand when he ought to be upon the scene of his
assignation. The more he refl=
ected
the less he liked the prospect, and as at that moment an eddy in the crowd
began to draw him in the direction of the door, he suffered it to carry him
away without resistance. The =
eddy
stranded him in a corner under the gallery, where his ear was immediately
struck with the voice of Madame Zephyrine.=
She was speaking in French with the young man of the blond locks who=
had
been pointed out by the strange Britisher not half-an-hour before.
"I have a character at stake," she s=
aid,
"or I would put no other condition than my heart recommends. But you have only to say so much t=
o the
porter, and he will let you go by without a word."
"But why this talk of debt?" objected
her companion.
"Heavens!" said she, "do you th=
ink
I do not understand my own hotel?"
And she went by, clinging affectionately to her
companion's arm.
This put Silas in mind of his billet.
"Ten minutes hence," thought he,
"and I may be walking with as beautiful a woman as that, and even bett=
er
dressed - perhaps a real lady, possibly a woman or title."
And then he remembered the spelling, and was a
little downcast.
"But it may have been written by her
maid," he imagined.
The clock was only a few minutes from the hour,
and this immediate proximity set his heart beating at a curious and rather =
disagreeable
speed. He reflected with reli=
ef
that he was in no way bound to put in an appearance. Virtue and cowardice were together=
, and
he made once more for the door, but this time of his own accord, and battli=
ng
against the stream of people which was now moving in a contrary direction.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Perhaps this prolonged resistance =
wearied
him, or perhaps he was in that frame of mind when merely to continue in the
same determination for a certain number of minutes produces a reaction and a
different purpose. Certainly,=
at
least, he wheeled about for a third time, and did not stop until he had fou=
nd a
place of concealment within a few yards of the appointed place.
Here he went through an agony of spirit, in wh=
ich
he several times prayed to God for help, for Silas had been devoutly
educated. He had now not the =
least
inclination for the meeting; nothing kept him from flight but a silly fear =
lest
he should be thought unmanly; but this was so powerful that it kept head
against all other motives; and although it could not decide him to advance,
prevented him from definitely running away. At last the clock indicated ten mi=
nutes past
the hour. Young Scuddamore's =
spirit
began to rise; he peered round the corner and saw no one at the place of
meeting; doubtless his unknown correspondent had wearied and gone away. He became as bold as he had former=
ly
been timid. It seemed to him =
that
if he came at all to the appointment, however late, he was clear from the c=
harge
of cowardice. Nay, now he beg=
an to
suspect a hoax, and actually complimented himself on his shrewdness in havi=
ng
suspected and outmanoeuvred his mystifiers. So very idle a thing is a boy's mi=
nd!
Armed with these reflections, he advanced bold=
ly
from his corner; but he had not taken above a couple of steps before a hand=
was
laid upon his arm. He turned =
and
beheld a lady cast in a very large mould and with somewhat stately features,
but bearing no mark of severity in her looks.
"I see that you are a very self-confident
lady-killer," said she; "for you make yourself expected. But I was determined to meet you. =
When a
woman has once so far forgotten herself as to make the first advance, she h=
as
long ago left behind her all considerations of petty pride."
Silas was overwhelmed by the size and attracti=
ons
of his correspondent and the suddenness with which she had fallen upon him.=
But she soon set him at his ease.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> She was very towardly and lenient =
in her
behaviour; she led him on to make pleasantries, and then applauded him to t=
he
echo; and in a very short time, between blandishments and a liberal exhibit=
ion
of warm brandy, she had not only induced him to fancy himself in love, but =
to
declare his passion with the greatest vehemence.
"Alas!" she said; "I do not know
whether I ought not to deplore this moment, great as is the pleasure you gi=
ve
me by your words. Hitherto I was alone to suffer; now, poor boy, there will=
be
two. I am not my own mistress. I
dare not ask you to visit me at my own house, for I am watched by jealous
eyes. Let me see," she a=
dded; "I
am older than you, although so much weaker; and while I trust in your coura=
ge
and determination, I must employ my own knowledge of the world for our mutu=
al
benefit. Where do you live?&q=
uot;
He told her that he lodged in a furnished hote=
l,
and named the street and number.
She seemed to reflect for some minutes, with an
effort of mind.
"I see," she said at last. "You will be faithful and obe=
dient,
will you not?"
Silas assured her eagerly of his fidelity.
"To-morrow night, then," she continu=
ed,
with an encouraging smile, "you must remain at home all the evening; a=
nd
if any friends should visit you, dismiss them at once on any pretext that m=
ost
readily presents itself. Your=
door
is probably shut by ten?" she asked.
"By eleven," answered Silas.
"At a quarter past eleven," pursued =
the
lady, "leave the house. Merely cry for the door to be opened, and be s=
ure
you fall into no talk with the porter, as that might ruin everything. Go straight to the corner where the
Luxembourg Gardens join the Boulevard; there you will find me waiting you.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I trust you to follow my advice fr=
om
point to point: and remember,=
if
you fail me in only one particular, you will bring the sharpest trouble on a
woman whose only fault is to have seen and loved you."
"I cannot see the use of all these
instructions," said Silas.
"I believe you are already beginning to t=
reat
me as a master," she cried, tapping him with her fan upon the arm. "Patience, patience! that sho=
uld
come in time. A woman loves t=
o be
obeyed at first, although afterwards she finds her pleasure in obeying. Do as I ask you, for Heaven's sake=
, or I
will answer for nothing. Inde=
ed,
now I think of it," she added, with the manner of one who has just see=
n further
into a difficulty, "I find a better plan of keeping importunate visito=
rs
away. Tell the porter to admi=
t no
one for you, except a person who may come that night to claim a debt; and s=
peak
with some feeling, as though you feared the interview, so that he may take =
your
words in earnest."
"I think you may trust me to protect myse=
lf
against intruders," he said, not without a little pique.
"That is how I should prefer the thing
arranged," she answered coldly.
"I know you men; you think nothing of a woman's reputation.&quo=
t;
Silas blushed and somewhat hung his head; for =
the
scheme he had in view had involved a little vain-glorying before his acquai=
ntances.
"Above all," she added, "do not
speak to the porter as you come out."
"And why?" said he. "Of all your instructions, th=
at
seems to me the least important."
"You at first doubted the wisdom of some =
of
the others, which you now see to be very necessary," she replied. "Believe me, this also has its
uses; in time you will see them; and what am I to think of your affection, =
if
you refuse me such trifles at our first interview?"
Silas confounded himself in explanations and
apologies; in the middle of these she looked up at the clock and clapped her
hands together with a suppressed scream.
"Heavens!" she cried, "is it so
late? I have not an instant t=
o lose. Alas, we poor women, what slaves we
are! What have I not risked f=
or you
already?"
And after repeating her directions, which she
artfully combined with caresses and the most abandoned looks, she bade him
farewell and disappeared among the crowd.
The whole of the next day Silas was filled wit=
h a
sense of great importance; he was now sure she was a countess; and when eve=
ning
came he minutely obeyed her orders and was at the corner of the Luxembourg
Gardens by the hour appointed. No
one was there. He waited near=
ly
half-an-hour, looking in the face of every one who passed or loitered near =
the
spot; he even visited the neighbouring corners of the Boulevard and made a
complete circuit of the garden railings; but there was no beautiful countes=
s to
throw herself into his arms. =
At
last, and most reluctantly, he began to retrace his steps towards his
hotel. On the way he remember=
ed the
words he had heard pass between Madame Zephyrine and the blond young man, a=
nd they
gave him an indefinite uneasiness.
"It appears," he reflected, "th=
at
every one has to tell lies to our porter."
He rang the bell, the door opened before him, =
and
the porter in his bed-clothes came to offer him a light.
"Has he gone?" inquired the porter.<= o:p>
"He?&nbs=
p;
Whom do you mean?" asked Silas, somewhat sharply, for he was ir=
ritated
by his disappointment.
"I did not notice him go out," conti=
nued
the porter, "but I trust you paid him. We do not care, in this house, to =
have
lodgers who cannot meet their liabilities."
"What the devil do you mean?" demand=
ed
Silas rudely. "I cannot =
understand
a word of this farrago."
"The short blond young man who came for h=
is
debt," returned the other.
"Him it is I mean. Who
else should it be, when I had your orders to admit no one else?"
"Why, good God, of course he never
came," retorted Silas.
"I believe what I believe," returned=
the
porter, putting his tongue into his cheek with a most roguish air.
"You are an insolent scoundrel," cri=
ed
Silas, and, feeling that he had made a ridiculous exhibition of asperity, a=
nd
at the same time bewildered by a dozen alarms, he turned and began to run
upstairs.
"Do you not want a light then?" cried
the porter.
But Silas only hurried the faster, and did not
pause until he had reached the seventh landing and stood in front of his own
door. There he waited a moment to recover his breath, assailed by the worst=
forebodings
and almost dreading to enter the room.
When at last he did so he was relieved to find=
it
dark, and to all appearance, untenanted.&n=
bsp;
He drew a long breath. Here
he was, home again in safety, and this should be his last folly as certainl=
y as
it had been his first. The ma=
tches
stood on a little table by the bed, and he began to grope his way in that
direction. As he moved, his
apprehensions grew upon him once more, and he was pleased, when his foot
encountered an obstacle, to find it nothing more alarming than a chair. At last he touched curtains. From the position of the window, w=
hich
was faintly visible, he knew he must be at the foot of the bed, and had onl=
y to
feel his way along it in order to reach the table in question.
He lowered his hand, but what it touched was n=
ot
simply a counterpane - it was a counterpane with something underneath it li=
ke
the outline of a human leg. S=
ilas
withdrew his arm and stood a moment petrified.
"What, what," he thought, "can =
this
betoken?"
He listened intently, but there was no sound of
breathing. Once more, with a =
great
effort, he reached out the end of his finger to the spot he had already
touched; but this time he leaped back half a yard, and stood shivering and
fixed with terror. There was =
something
in his bed. What it was he kn=
ew
not, but there was something there.
It was some seconds before he could move. Then, guided by an instinct, he fe=
ll
straight upon the matches, and keeping his back towards the bed lighted a
candle. As soon as the flame =
had kindled,
he turned slowly round and looked for what he feared to see. Sure enough, there was the worst o=
f his
imaginations realised. The co=
verlid
was drawn carefully up over the pillow, but it moulded the outline of a hum=
an
body lying motionless; and when he dashed forward and flung aside the sheet=
s,
he beheld the blond young man whom he had seen in the Bullier Ball the night
before, his eyes open and without speculation, his face swollen and blacken=
ed,
and a thin stream of blood trickling from his nostrils.
Silas uttered a long, tremulous wail, dropped =
the
candle, and fell on his knees beside the bed.
Silas was awakened from the stupor into which =
his
terrible discovery had plunged him by a prolonged but discreet tapping at t=
he
door. It took him some second=
s to
remember his position; and when he hastened to prevent anyone from entering=
it
was already too late. Dr. Noe=
l, in
a tall night-cap, carrying a lamp which lighted up his long white countenan=
ce,
sidling in his gait, and peering and cocking his head like some sort of bir=
d,
pushed the door slowly open, and advanced into the middle of the room.
"I thought I heard a cry," began the
Doctor, "and fearing you might be unwell I did not hesitate to offer t=
his
intrusion."
Silas, with a flushed face and a fearful beati=
ng
heart, kept between the Doctor and the bed; but he found no voice to answer=
.
"You are in the dark," pursued the
Doctor; "and yet you have not even begun to prepare for rest. You will not easily persuade me ag=
ainst
my own eyesight; and your face declares most eloquently that you require ei=
ther
a friend or a physician - which is it to be? Let me feel your pulse, for that is
often a just reporter of the heart."
He advanced to Silas, who still retreated befo=
re
him backwards, and sought to take him by the wrist; but the strain on the y=
oung
American's nerves had become too great for endurance. He avoided the Doctor with a febri=
le
movement, and, throwing himself upon the floor, burst into a flood of weepi=
ng.
As soon as Dr. Noel perceived the dead man in =
the
bed his face darkened; and hurrying back to the door which he had left ajar=
, he
hastily closed and double-locked it.
"Up!" he cried, addressing Silas in
strident tones; "this is no time for weeping. What have you done? How came this body in your room? Speak freely to one who may be
helpful. Do you imagine I wou=
ld
ruin you? Do you think this p=
iece
of dead flesh on your pillow can alter in any degree the sympathy with which
you have inspired me? Credulo=
us
youth, the horror with which blind and unjust law regards an action never
attaches to the doer in the eyes of those who love him; and if I saw the fr=
iend
of my heart return to me out of seas of blood he would be in no way changed=
in
my affection. Raise yourself,=
"
he said; "good and ill are a chimera; there is nought in life except
destiny, and however you may be circumstanced there is one at your side who
will help you to the last."
Thus encouraged, Silas gathered himself togeth=
er,
and in a broken voice, and helped out by the Doctor's interrogations, contr=
ived
at last to put him in possession of the facts. But the conversation between the P=
rince
and Geraldine he altogether omitted, as he had understood little of its
purport, and had no idea that it was in any way related to his own misadven=
ture.
"Alas!" cried Dr. Noel, "I am m=
uch
abused, or you have fallen innocently into the most dangerous hands in
Europe. Poor boy, what a pit =
has
been dug for your simplicity! into what a deadly peril have your unwary feet
been conducted! This man,&quo=
t; he
said, "this Englishman, whom you twice saw, and whom I suspect to be t=
he
soul of the contrivance, can you describe him? Was he young or old? tall or
short?"
But Silas, who, for all his curiosity, had not=
a
seeing eye in his head, was able to supply nothing but meagre generalities,
which it was impossible to recognise.
"I would have it a piece of education in =
all
schools!" cried the Doctor angrily.&n=
bsp;
"Where is the use of eyesight and articulate speech if a man ca=
nnot
observe and recollect the features of his enemy? I, who know all the gangs of Europ=
e,
might have identified him, and gained new weapons for your defence. Cultivate this art in future, my p=
oor
boy; you may find it of momentous service."
"The future!" repeated Silas. "What future is there left fo=
r me except
the gallows?"
"Youth is but a cowardly season,"
returned the Doctor; "and a man's own troubles look blacker than they
are. I am old, and yet I neve=
r despair."
"Can I tell such a story to the police?&q=
uot;
demanded Silas.
"Assuredly not," replied the
Doctor. "From what I see
already of the machination in which you have been involved, your case is de=
sperate
upon that side; and for the narrow eye of the authorities you are infallibly
the guilty person. And rememb=
er
that we only know a portion of the plot; and the same infamous contrivers h=
ave doubtless
arranged many other circumstances which would be elicited by a police inqui=
ry,
and help to fix the guilt more certainly upon your innocence."
"I am then lost, indeed!" cried Sila=
s.
"I have not said so," answered Dr. N=
oel
"for I am a cautious man."
"But look at this!" objected Silas,
pointing to the body. "H=
ere is
this object in my bed; not to be explained, not to be disposed of, not to be
regarded without horror."
"Horror?" replied the Doctor. "No. When this sort of clock has run do=
wn, it
is no more to me than an ingenious piece of mechanism, to be investigated w=
ith
the bistoury. When blood is o=
nce
cold and stagnant, it is no longer human blood; when flesh is once dead, it=
is
no longer that flesh which we desire in our lovers and respect in our
friends. The grace, the attra=
ction,
the terror, have all gone from it with the animating spirit. Accustom yourself to look upon it =
with
composure; for if my scheme is practicable you will have to live some days =
in
constant proximity to that which now so greatly horrifies you."
"Your scheme?" cried Silas. "What is that? Tell me speedily, Doctor; for I ha=
ve
scarcely courage enough to continue to exist."
Without replying, Doctor Noel turned towards t=
he
bed, and proceeded to examine the corpse.
"Quite dead," he murmured. "Yes, as I had supposed, the
pockets empty. Yes, and the n=
ame
cut off the shirt. Their work=
has
been done thoroughly and well.
Fortunately, he is of small stature."
Silas followed these words with an extreme
anxiety. At last the Doctor, =
his
autopsy completed, took a chair and addressed the young American with a smi=
le.
"Since I came into your room," said =
he,
"although my ears and my tongue have been so busy, I have not suffered=
my
eyes to remain idle. I noted a
little while ago that you have there, in the corner, one of those monstrous
constructions which your fellow- countrymen carry with them into all quarte=
rs
of the globe - in a word, a Saratoga trunk. Until this moment I have never bee=
n able
to conceive the utility of these erections; but then I began to have a
glimmer. Whether it was for
convenience in the slave trade, or to obviate the results of too ready an
employment of the bowie- knife, I cannot bring myself to decide. But one thing I see plainly - the =
object
of such a box is to contain a human body.
"Surely," cried Silas, "surely =
this
is not a time for jesting."
"Although I may express myself with some
degree of pleasantry," replied the Doctor, "the purport of my wor=
ds
is entirely serious. And the first thing we have to do, my young friend, is=
to
empty your coffer of all that it contains."
Silas, obeying the authority of Doctor Noel, p=
ut
himself at his disposition. T=
he
Saratoga trunk was soon gutted of its contents, which made a considerable
litter on the floor; and then - Silas taking the heels and the Doctor
supporting the shoulders - the body of the murdered man was carried from the
bed, and, after some difficulty, doubled up and inserted whole into the emp=
ty
box. With an effort on the pa=
rt of
both, the lid was forced down upon this unusual baggage, and the trunk was
locked and corded by the Doctor's own hand, while Silas disposed of what had
been taken out between the closet and a chest of drawers.
"Now," said the Doctor, "the fi=
rst
step has been taken on the way to your deliverance. To-morrow, or rather to-day, it mu=
st be
your task to allay the suspicions of your porter, paying him all that you o=
we;
while you may trust me to make the arrangements necessary to a safe
conclusion. Meantime, follow =
me to
my room, where I shall give you a safe and powerful opiate; for, whatever y=
ou
do, you must have rest."
The next day was the longest in Silas's memory=
; it
seemed as if it would never be done.
He denied himself to his friends, and sat in a corner with his eyes
fixed upon the Saratoga trunk in dismal contemplation. His own former indiscretions were =
now
returned upon him in kind; for the observatory had been once more opened, a=
nd
he was conscious of an almost continual study from Madame Zephyrine's apart=
ment. So distressing did this become, th=
at he
was at last obliged to block up the spy-hole from his own side; and when he=
was
thus secured from observation he spent a considerable portion of his time in
contrite tears and prayer.
Late in the evening Dr. Noel entered the room
carrying in his hand a pair of sealed envelopes without address, one somewh=
at
bulky, and the other so slim as to seem without enclosure.
"Silas," he said, seating himself at=
the
table, "the time has now come for me to explain my plan for your
salvation. To-morrow morning,=
at an
early hour, Prince Florizel of Bohemia returns to London, after having dive=
rted
himself for a few days with the Parisian Carnival. It was my fortune, a good while ag=
o, to
do Colonel Geraldine, his Master of the Horse, one of those services, so co=
mmon
in my profession, which are never forgotten upon either side. I have no need to explain to you t=
he
nature of the obligation under which he was laid; suffice it to say that I =
knew
him ready to serve me in any practicable manner. Now, it was necessary for you to g=
ain
London with your trunk unopened. To
this the Custom House seemed to oppose a fatal difficulty; but I bethought =
me
that the baggage of so considerable a person as the Prince, is, as a matter=
of
courtesy, passed without examination by the officers of Custom. I applied to Colonel Geraldine, an=
d succeeded
in obtaining a favourable answer.
To-morrow, if you go before six to the hotel where the Prince lodges,
your baggage will be passed over as a part of his, and you yourself will ma=
ke
the journey as a member of his suite."
"It seems to me, as you speak, that I have
already seen both the Prince and Colonel Geraldine; I even overheard some of
their conversation the other evening at the Bullier Ball."
"It is probable enough; for the Prince lo=
ves
to mix with all societies," replied the Doctor. "Once arrived in London,"=
; he pursued,
"your task is nearly ended. In
this more bulky envelope I have given you a letter which I dare not address;
but in the other you will find the designation of the house to which you mu=
st
carry it along with your box, which will there be taken from you and not tr=
ouble
you any more."
"Alas!" said Silas, "I have eve=
ry
wish to believe you; but how is it possible? You open up to me a bright prospec=
t,
but, I ask you, is my mind capable of receiving so unlikely a solution? Be more generous, and let me furth=
er
understand your meaning."
The Doctor seemed painfully impressed.
"Boy," he answered, "you do not
know how hard a thing you ask of me.
But be it so. I am now
inured to humiliation; and it would be strange if I refused you this, after
having granted you so much. Know, then, that although I now make so quiet an
appearance - frugal, solitary, addicted to study - when I was younger, my n=
ame was
once a rallying-cry among the most astute and dangerous spirits of London; =
and
while I was outwardly an object for respect and consideration, my true power
resided in the most secret, terrible, and criminal relations. It is to one of the persons who th=
en obeyed
me that I now address myself to deliver you from your burden. They were men of many different na=
tions
and dexterities, all bound together by a formidable oath, and working to the
same purposes; the trade of the association was in murder; and I who speak =
to
you, innocent as I appear, was the chieftain of this redoubtable crew."=
;
"What?" cried Silas. "A murderer? And one with whom murder was a tra=
de? Can I take your hand? Ought I so much as to accept your =
services? Dark and criminal old man, would y=
ou
make an accomplice of my youth and my distress?"
The Doctor bitterly laughed.
"You are difficult to please, Mr.
Scuddamore," said he; "but I now offer you your choice of company
between the murdered man and the murderer.=
If your conscience is too nice to accept my aid, say so, and I will
immediately leave you.
Thenceforward you can deal with your trunk and its belongings as best
suits your upright conscience."
"I own myself wrong," replied Silas.=
"I should have remembered how =
generously
you offered to shield me, even before I had convinced you of my innocence, =
and
I continue to listen to your counsels with gratitude."
"That is well," returned the Doctor;
"and I perceive you are beginning to learn some of the lessons of
experience."
"At the same time," resumed the
New-Englander, "as you confess yourself accustomed o this tragical
business, and the people to whom you recommend me are your own former
associates and friends, could you not yourself undertake the transport of t=
he
box, and rid me at once of its detested presence?"
"Upon my word," replied the Doctor,
"I admire you cordially. If you
do not think I have already meddled sufficiently in your concerns, believe =
me,
from my heart I think the contrary.
Take or leave my services as I offer them; and trouble me with no mo=
re words
of gratitude, for I value your consideration even more lightly than I do yo=
ur
intellect. A time will come, =
if you
should be spared to see a number of years in health of mind, when you will =
think
differently of all this, and blush for your to-night's behaviour."
So saying, the Doctor arose from his chair,
repeated his directions briefly and clearly, and departed from the room wit=
hout
permitting Silas any time to answer.
The next morning Silas presented himself at the
hotel, where he was politely received by Colonel Geraldine, and relieved, f=
rom
that moment, of all immediate alarm about his trunk and its grisly contents=
. The journey passed over without mu=
ch
incident, although the young man was horrified to overhear the sailors and
railway porters complaining among themselves about the unusual weight of the
Prince's baggage. Silas trave=
lled
in a carriage with the valets, for Prince Florizel chose to be alone with h=
is
Master of the Horse. On board=
the
steamer, however, Silas attracted his Highness's attention by the melanchol=
y of
his air and attitude as he stood gazing at the pile of baggage; for he was
still full of disquietude about the future.
"There is a young man," observed the
Prince, "who must have some cause for sorrow."
"That," replied Geraldine, "is =
the
American for whom I obtained permission to travel with your suite."
"You remind me that I have been remiss in
courtesy," said Prince Florizel, and advancing to Silas, he addressed =
him
with the most exquisite condescension in these words:- "I was charmed,
young sir, to be able to gratify the desire you made known to me through Co=
lonel
Geraldine. Remember, if you p=
lease,
that I shall be glad at any future time to lay you under a more serious
obligation."
And he then put some questions as to the polit=
ical
condition of America, which Silas answered with sense and propriety.
"You are still a young man," said the
Prince; "but I observe you to be very serious for your years. Perhaps you allow your attention t=
o be
too much occupied with grave studies.
But, perhaps, on the other hand, I am myself indiscreet and touch up=
on a
painful subject."
"I have certainly cause to be the most
miserable of men," said Silas; "never has a more innocent person =
been
more dismally abused."
"I will not ask you for your
confidence," returned Prince Florizel. "But do not forget that
Colonel Geraldine's recommendation is an unfailing passport; and that I am =
not
only willing, but possibly more able than many others, to do you a
service."
Silas was delighted with the amiability of this
great personage; but his mind soon returned upon its gloomy preoccupations;=
for
not even the favour of a Prince to a Republican can discharge a brooding sp=
irit
of its cares.
The train arrived at Charing Cross, where the
officers of the Revenue respected the baggage of Prince Florizel in the usu=
al manner. The most elegant equipages were in
waiting; and Silas was driven, along with the rest, to the Prince's residen=
ce. There Colonel Geraldine sought him=
out,
and expressed himself pleased to have been of any service to a friend of the
physician's, for whom he professed a great consideration.
"I hope," he added, "that you w=
ill
find none of your porcelain injured. Special orders were given along the=
line
to deal tenderly with the Prince's effects."
And then, directing the servants to place one =
of
the carriages at the young gentleman's disposal, and at once to charge the
Saratoga trunk upon the dickey, the Colonel shook hands and excused himself=
on
account of his occupations in the princely household.
Silas now broke the seal of the envelope
containing the address, and directed the stately footman to drive him to Box
Court, opening off the Strand. It
seemed as if the place were not at all unknown to the man, for he looked
startled and begged a repetition of the order. It was with a heart full of alarms=
, that
Silas mounted into the luxurious vehicle, and was driven to his
destination. The entrance to =
Box
Court was too narrow for the passage of a coach; it was a mere footway betw=
een
railings, with a post at either end.
On one of these posts was seated a man, who at once jumped down and =
exchanged
a friendly sign with the driver, while the footman opened the door and inqu=
ired
of Silas whether he should take down the Saratoga trunk, and to what number=
it
should be carried.
"If you please," said Silas. "To number three."
The footman and the man who had been sitting on
the post, even with the aid of Silas himself, had hard work to carry in the
trunk; and before it was deposited at the door of the house in question, th=
e young
American was horrified to find a score of loiterers looking on. But he knocked with as good a
countenance as he could muster up, and presented the other envelope to him =
who
opened.
"He is not at home," said he, "=
but
if you will leave your letter and return to-morrow early, I shall be able to
inform you whether and when he can receive your visit. Would you like to leave your box?&=
quot;
he added.
"Dearly," cried Silas; and the next
moment he repented his precipitation, and declared, with equal emphasis, th=
at
he would rather carry the box along with him to the hotel.
The crowd jeered at his indecision and followed
him to the carriage with insulting remarks; and Silas, covered with shame a=
nd
terror, implored the servants to conduct him to some quiet and comfortable =
house
of entertainment in the immediate neighbourhood.
The Prince's equipage deposited Silas at the
Craven Hotel in Craven Street, and immediately drove away, leaving him alone
with the servants of the inn. The
only vacant room, it appeared, was a little den up four pairs of stairs, and
looking towards the back. To this hermitage, with infinite trouble and
complaint, a pair of stout porters carried the Saratoga trunk. It is needless to mention that Sil=
as
kept closely at their heels throughout the ascent, and had his heart in his
mouth at every corner. A sing=
le false
step, he reflected, and the box might go over the banisters and land its fa=
tal
contents, plainly discovered, on the pavement of the hall.
Arrived in the room, he sat down on the edge of
his bed to recover from the agony that he had just endured; but he had hard=
ly
taken his position when he was recalled to a sense of his peril by the acti=
on
of the boots, who had knelt beside the trunk, and was proceeding officiousl=
y to
undo its elaborate fastenings.
"Let it be!" cried Silas. "I shall want nothing from it=
while
I stay here."
"You might have let it lie in the hall,
then," growled the man; "a thing as big and heavy as a church.
"Money?" repeated Silas, in a sudden
perturbation. "What do y=
ou mean
by money? I have no money, an=
d you
are speaking like a fool."
"All right, captain," retorted the b=
oots
with a wink. "There's no=
body
will touch your lordship's money.
I'm as safe as the bank," he added; "but as the box is hea=
vy,
I shouldn't mind drinking something to your lordship's health."
Silas pressed two Napoleons upon his acceptanc=
e,
apologising, at the same time, for being obliged to trouble him with foreign
money, and pleading his recent arrival for excuse. And the man, grumbling with even g=
reater
fervour, and looking contemptuously from the money in his hand to the Sarat=
oga
trunk and back again from the one to the other, at last consented to withdr=
aw.
For nearly two days the dead body had been pac=
ked
into Silas's box; and as soon as he was alone the unfortunate New-Englander
nosed all the cracks and openings with the most passionate attention. But the weather was cool, and the =
trunk
still managed to contain his shocking secret.
He took a chair beside it, and buried his face=
in
his hands, and his mind in the most profound reflection. If he were not speedily relieved, =
no
question but he must be speedily discovered. Alone in a strange city, without f=
riends
or accomplices, if the Doctor's introduction failed him, he was indubitably=
a
lost New-Englander. He reflected pathetically over his ambitious designs for
the future; he should not now become the hero and spokesman of his native p=
lace
of Bangor, Maine; he should not, as he had fondly anticipated, move on from
office to office, from honour to honour; he might as well divest himself at
once of all hope of being acclaimed President of the United States, and lea=
ving
behind him a statue, in the worst possible style of art, to adorn the Capit=
ol
at Washington. Here he was, c=
hained
to a dead Englishman doubled up inside a Saratoga trunk; whom he must get r=
id
of, or perish from the rolls of national glory!
I should be afraid to chronicle the language
employed by this young man to the Doctor, to the murdered man, to Madame
Zephyrine, to the boots of the hotel, to the Prince's servants, and, in a w=
ord,
to all who had been ever so remotely connected with his horrible misfortune=
.
He slunk down to dinner about seven at night; =
but
the yellow coffee-room appalled him, the eyes of the other diners seemed to=
rest
on his with suspicion, and his mind remained upstairs with the Saratoga
trunk. When the waiter came to
offer him cheese, his nerves were already so much on edge that he leaped
half-way out of his chair and upset the remainder of a pint of ale upon the
table- cloth.
The fellow offered to show him to the smoking-=
room
when he had done; and although he would have much preferred to return at on=
ce to
his perilous treasure, he had not the courage to refuse, and was shown
downstairs to the black, gas-lit cellar, which formed, and possibly still
forms, the divan of the Craven Hotel.
Two very sad betting men were playing billiard=
s,
attended by a moist, consumptive marker; and for the moment Silas imagined =
that
these were the only occupants of the apartment. But at the next glance his eye fel=
l upon
a person smoking in the farthest corner, with lowered eyes and a most
respectable and modest aspect. He knew
at once that he had seen the face before; and, in spite of the entire chang=
e of
clothes, recognised the man whom he had found seated on a post at the entra=
nce
to Box Court, and who had helped him to carry the trunk to and from the
carriage. The New-Englander s=
imply
turned and ran, nor did he pause until he had locked and bolted himself into
his bedroom.
There, all night long, a prey to the most terr=
ible
imaginations, he watched beside the fatal boxful of dead flesh. The suggestion of the boots that h=
is
trunk was full of gold inspired him with all manner of new terrors, if he so
much as dared to close an eye; and the presence in the smoking-room, and un=
der
an obvious disguise, of the loiterer from Box Court convinced him that he w=
as
once more the centre of obscure machinations.
Midnight had sounded some time, when, impelled=
by
uneasy suspicions, Silas opened his bedroom door and peered into the passag=
e. It was dimly illuminated by a sing=
le jet
of gas; and some distance off he perceived a man sleeping on the floor in t=
he costume
of an hotel under-servant. Si=
las
drew near the man on tiptoe. =
He lay
partly on his back, partly on his side, and his right forearm concealed his
face from recognition. Sudden=
ly,
while the American was still bending over him, the sleeper removed his arm =
and
opened his eyes, and Silas found himself once more face to face with the
loiterer of Box Court.
"Good-night, sir," said the man,
pleasantly.
But Silas was too profoundly moved to find an
answer, and regained his room in silence.
Towards morning, worn out by apprehension, he =
fell
asleep on his chair, with his head forward on the trunk. In spite of so constrained an atti=
tude
and such a grisly pillow, his slumber was sound and prolonged, and he was o=
nly
awakened at a late hour and by a sharp tapping at the door.
He hurried to open, and found the boots withou=
t.
"You are the gentleman who called yesterd=
ay
at Box Court?" he asked.
Silas, with a quaver, admitted that he had done
so.
"Then this note is for you," added t=
he
servant, proffering a sealed envelope.
Silas tore it open, and found inside the
words: "Twelve o'clock.&=
quot;
He was punctual to the hour; the trunk was car=
ried
before him by several stout servants; and he was himself ushered into a roo=
m, where
a man sat warming himself before the fire with his back towards the door. The sound of so many persons enter=
ing
and leaving, and the scraping of the trunk as it was deposited upon the bare
boards, were alike unable to attract the notice of the occupant; and Silas
stood waiting, in an agony of fear, until he should deign to recognise his
presence.
Perhaps five minutes had elapsed before the man
turned leisurely about, and disclosed the features of Prince Florizel of
Bohemia.
"So, sir," he said, with great sever=
ity,
"this is the manner in which you abuse my politeness. You join yourselves to persons of =
condition,
I perceive, for no other purpose than to escape the consequences of your
crimes; and I can readily understand your embarrassment when I addressed my=
self
to you yesterday."
"Indeed," cried Silas, "I am
innocent of everything except misfortune."
And in a hurried voice, and with the greatest
ingenuousness, he recounted to the Prince the whole history of his calamity=
.
"I see I have been mistaken," said h=
is
Highness, when he had heard him to an end.=
"You are no other than a victim, and since I am not to punish y=
ou
may be sure I shall do my utmost to help.&=
nbsp;
And now," he continued, "to business. Open your box at once, and let me =
see what
it contains."
Silas changed colour.
"I almost fear to look upon it," he
exclaimed.
"Nay," replied the Prince, "have
you not looked at it already? This is a form of sentimentality to be resist=
ed. The sight of a sick man, whom we c=
an
still help, should appeal more directly to the feelings than that of a dead=
man
who is equally beyond help or harm, love or hatred. Nerve yourself, Mr. Scuddamore,&qu=
ot;
and then, seeing that Silas still hesitated, "I do not desire to give
another name to my request," he added.
The young American awoke as if out of a dream,=
and
with a shiver of repugnance addressed himself to loose the straps and open =
the
lock of the Saratoga trunk. T=
he
Prince stood by, watching with a composed countenance and his hands behind =
his
back. The body was quite stif=
f, and
it cost Silas a great effort, both moral and physical, to dislodge it from =
its
position, and discover the face.
Prince Florizel started back with an exclamati=
on
of painful surprise.
"Alas!" he cried, "you little k=
now,
Mr. Scuddamore, what a cruel gift you have brought me. This is a young man of my own suit=
e, the
brother of my trusted friend; and it was upon matters of my own service tha=
t he
has thus perished at the hands of violent and treacherous men. Poor Geraldine," he went on, =
as if
to himself, "in what words am I to tell you of your brother's fate?
Silas was moved at the sight of his emotion. He tried to murmur some consolatory
words, and burst into tears.
The Prince, touched by his obvious intention, =
came
up to him and took him by the hand.
"Command yourself," said he. "We have both much to learn, =
and we
shall both be better men for to-day's meeting."
Silas thanked him in silence with an affection=
ate
look.
"Write me the address of Doctor Noel on t=
his
piece of paper," continued the Prince, leading him towards the table;
"and let me recommend you, when you are again in Paris, to avoid the
society of that dangerous man. He
has acted in this matter on a generous inspiration; that I must believe; ha=
d he
been privy to young Geraldine's death he would never have despatched the bo=
dy
to the care of the actual criminal."
"The actual criminal!" repeated Sila=
s in
astonishment.
"Even so," returned the Prince. "This letter, which the dispo=
sition
of Almighty Providence has so strangely delivered into my hands, was addres=
sed
to no less a person than the criminal himself, the infamous President of the
Suicide Club. Seek to pry no
further in these perilous affairs, but content yourself with your own
miraculous escape, and leave this house at once. I have pressing affairs, and must
arrange at once about this poor clay, which was so lately a gallant and
handsome youth."
Silas took a grateful and submissive leave of
Prince Florizel, but he lingered in Box Court until he saw him depart in a
splendid carriage on a visit to Colonel Henderson of the police. Republican as he was, the young Am=
erican
took off his hat with almost a sentiment of devotion to the retreating
carriage. And the same night =
he
started by rail on his return to Paris.
=
Here
(observes my Arabian author) is the end of THE HISTORY OF THE PHYSICIAN AND=
THE
SARATOGA TRUNK. Omitting some
reflections on the power of Providence, highly pertinent in the original, b=
ut
little suited to our occiddental taste, I shall only add that Mr. Scuddamore
has already begun to mount the ladder of political fame, and by last advices
was the Sheriff of his native town.
Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich had greatly
distinguished himself in one of the lesser Indian hill wars. He it was who took the chieftain
prisoner with his own hand; his gallantry was universally applauded; and wh=
en
he came home, prostrated by an ugly sabre cut and a protracted jungle fever,
society was prepared to welcome the Lieutenant as a celebrity of minor
lustre. But his was a charact=
er remarkable
for unaffected modesty; adventure was dear to his heart, but he cared little
for adulation; and he waited at foreign watering-places and in Algiers until
the fame of his exploits had run through its nine days' vitality and begun =
to
be forgotten. He arrived in L=
ondon
at last, in the early season, with as little observation as he could desire;
and as he was an orphan and had none but distant relatives who lived in the
provinces, it was almost as a foreigner that he installed himself in the
capital of the country for which he had shed his blood.
On the day following his arrival he dined alon=
e at
a military club. He shook hands with a few old comrades, and received their
warm congratulations; but as one and all had some engagement for the evenin=
g,
he found himself left entirely to his own resources. He was in dress, for he had entert=
ained
the notion of visiting a theatre.
But the great city was new to him; he had gone from a provincial sch=
ool
to a military college, and thence direct to the Eastern Empire; and he prom=
ised
himself a variety of delights in this world for exploration. Swinging his cane, he took his way=
westward. It was a mild evening, already dar=
k, and
now and then threatening rain. The
succession of faces in the lamplight stirred the Lieutenant's imagination; =
and
it seemed to him as if he could walk for ever in that stimulating city
atmosphere and surrounded by the mystery of four million private lives. He glanced at the houses, and marv=
elled
what was passing behind those warmly-lighted windows; he looked into face a=
fter
face, and saw them each intent upon some unknown interest, criminal or kind=
ly.
"They talk of war," he thought,
"but this is the great battlefield of mankind."
And then he began to wonder that he should wal=
k so
long in this complicated scene, and not chance upon so much as the shadow o=
f an
adventure for himself.
"All in good time," he reflected.
The night was already well advanced when a plu=
mp
of cold rain fell suddenly out of the darkness. Brackenbury paused under some tree=
s, and
as he did so he caught sight of a hansom cabman making him a sign that he w=
as disengaged. The circumstance fell in so happil=
y to
the occasion that he at once raised his cane in answer, and had soon enscon=
ced
himself in the London gondola.
"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.
"Where you please," said Brackenbury=
.
And immediately, at a pace of surprising
swiftness, the hansom drove off through the rain into a maze of villas. One villa was so like another, eac=
h with
its front garden, and there was so little to distinguish the deserted lamp-=
lit
streets and crescents through which the flying hansom took its way, that
Brackenbury soon lost all idea of direction.
He would have been tempted to believe that the
cabman was amusing himself by driving him round and round and in and out ab=
out
a small quarter, but there was something business-like in the speed which c=
onvinced
him of the contrary. The man =
had an
object in view, he was hastening towards a definite end; and Brackenbury wa=
s at
once astonished at the fellow's skill in picking a way through such a labyr=
inth,
and a little concerned to imagine what was the occasion of his hurry. He had heard tales of strangers fa=
lling
ill in London. Did the driver
belong to some bloody and treacherous association? and was he himself being
whirled to a murderous death?
The thought had scarcely presented itself, when
the cab swung sharply round a corner and pulled up before the garden gate o=
f a villa
in a long and wide road. The =
house
was brilliantly lighted up. A=
nother
hansom had just driven away, and Brackenbury could see a gentleman being
admitted at the front door and received by several liveried servants. He was surprised that the cabman s=
hould have
stopped so immediately in front of a house where a reception was being held;
but he did not doubt it was the result of accident, and sat placidly smoking
where he was, until he heard the trap thrown open over his head.
"Here we are, sir," said the driver.=
"Here!" repeated Brackenbury. "Where?"
"You told me to take you where I pleased,
sir," returned the man with a chuckle, "and here we are."
It struck Brackenbury that the voice was
wonderfully smooth and courteous for a man in so inferior a position; he
remembered the speed at which he had been driven; and now it occurred to him
that the hansom was more luxuriously appointed than the common run of public
conveyances.
"I must ask you to explain," said
he. "Do you mean to turn=
me
out into the rain? My good ma=
n, I
suspect the choice is mine."
"The choice is certainly yours," rep=
lied
the driver; "but when I tell you all, I believe I know how a gentleman=
of
your figure will decide. Ther=
e is a
gentlemen's party in this house. I
do not know whether the master be a stranger to London and without acquaint=
ances
of his own; or whether he is a man of odd notions. But certainly I was hire=
d to
kidnap single gentlemen in evening dress, as many as I pleased, but military
officers by preference. You have simply to go in and say that Mr. Morris
invited you."
"Are you Mr. Morris?" inquired the
Lieutenant.
"Oh, no," replied the cabman. "Mr. Morris is the person of =
the house."
"It is not a common way of collecting
guests," said Brackenbury: "but an eccentric man might very well
indulge the whim without any intention to offend. And suppose that I refuse Mr. Morr=
is's invitation,"
he went on, "what then?"
"My orders are to drive you back where I = took you from," replied the man, "and set out to look for others up to midnight. Those who have no f= ancy for such an adventure, Mr. Morris said, were not the guests for him."<= o:p>
These words decided the Lieutenant on the spot=
.
"After all," he reflected, as he
descended from the hansom, "I have not had long to wait for my
adventure."
He had hardly found footing on the side-walk, =
and
was still feeling in his pocket for the fare, when the cab swung about and
drove off by the way it came at the former break-neck velocity. Brackenbury shouted after the man,=
who
paid no heed, and continued to drive away; but the sound of his voice was
overheard in the house, the door was again thrown open, emitting a flood of
light upon the garden, and a servant ran down to meet him holding an umbrel=
la.
"The cabman has been paid," observed=
the
servant in a very civil tone; and he proceeded to escort Brackenbury along =
the
path and up the steps. In the=
hall
several other attendants relieved him of his hat, cane, and paletot, gave h=
im a
ticket with a number in return, and politely hurried him up a stair adorned
with tropical flowers, to the door of an apartment on the first storey. Here a grave butler inquired his n=
ame,
and announcing "Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich," ushered him into the
drawing-room of the house.
A young man, slender and singularly handsome, =
came
forward and greeted him with an air at once courtly and affectionate. Hundreds of candles, of the finest=
wax,
lit up a room that was perfumed, like the staircase, with a profusion of ra=
re
and beautiful flowering shrubs. A
side-table was loaded with tempting viands. Several servants went to and fro
with fruits and goblets of champagne.
The company was perhaps sixteen in number, all men, few beyond the p=
rime
of life, and with hardly an exception, of a dashing and capable exterior. They were divided into two groups,=
one
about a roulette board, and the other surrounding a table at which one of t=
heir
number held a bank of baccarat.
"I see," thought Brackenbury, "=
I am
in a private gambling saloon, and the cabman was a tout."
His eye had embraced the details, and his mind
formed the conclusion, while his host was still holding him by the hand; an=
d to
him his looks returned from this rapid survey. At a second view Mr. Morris surpri=
sed
him still more than on the first.
The easy elegance of his manners, the distinction, amiability, and
courage that appeared upon his features, fitted very ill with the Lieutenan=
t's
preconceptions on the subject of the proprietor of a hell; and the tone of =
his
conversation seemed to mark him out for a man of position and merit. Brackenbury found he had an instin=
ctive liking
for his entertainer; and though he chid himself for the weakness, he was un=
able
to resist a sort of friendly attraction for Mr. Morris's person and charact=
er.
"I have heard of you, Lieutenant Rich,&qu=
ot;
said Mr. Morris, lowering his tone; "and believe me I am gratified to =
make
your acquaintance. Your looks accord with the reputation that has preceded =
you
from India. And if you will f=
orget
for a while the irregularity of your presentation in my house, I shall feel=
it
not only an honour, but a genuine pleasure besides. A man who makes a mouthful of barb=
arian cavaliers,"
he added with a laugh, "should not be appalled by a breach of etiquett=
e,
however serious."
And he led him towards the sideboard and press=
ed
him to partake of some refreshment.
"Upon my word," the Lieutenant
reflected, "this is one of the pleasantest fellows and, I do not doubt,
one of the most agreeable societies in London."
He partook of some champagne, which he found
excellent; and observing that many of the company were already smoking, he =
lit
one of his own Manillas, and strolled up to the roulette board, where he
sometimes made a stake and sometimes looked on smilingly on the fortune of
others. It was while he was t=
hus
idling that he became aware of a sharp scrutiny to which the whole of the
guests were subjected. Mr. Mo=
rris
went here and there, ostensibly busied on hospitable concerns; but he had e=
ver
a shrewd glance at disposal; not a man of the party escaped his sudden,
searching looks; he took stock of the bearing of heavy losers, he valued the
amount of the stakes, he paused behind couples who were deep in conversatio=
n; and,
in a word, there was hardly a characteristic of any one present but he seem=
ed
to catch and make a note of it.
Brackenbury began to wonder if this were indeed a gambling hell: it had so much the air of a private
inquisition. He followed Mr. =
Morris
in all his movements; and although the man had a ready smile, he seemed to
perceive, as it were under a mask, a haggard, careworn, and preoccupied
spirit. The fellows around him
laughed and made their game; but Brackenbury had lost interest in the guest=
s.
"This Morris," thought he, "is =
no
idler in the room. Some deep =
purpose
inspires him; let it be mine to fathom it."
Now and then Mr. Morris would call one of his
visitors aside; and after a brief colloquy in an ante-room, he would return
alone, and the visitors in question reappeared no more. After a certain number of repetiti=
ons,
this performance excited Brackenbury's curiosity to a high degree. He determined to be at the bottom =
of this
minor mystery at once; and strolling into the ante-room, found a deep window
recess concealed by curtains of the fashionable green. Here he hurriedly ensconced himsel=
f; nor
had he to wait long before the sound of steps and voices drew near him from=
the
principal apartment. Peering
through the division, he saw Mr. Morris escorting a fat and ruddy personage,
with somewhat the look of a commercial traveller, whom Brackenbury had alre=
ady
remarked for his coarse laugh and under-bred behaviour at the table. The pair halted immediately before=
the
window, so that Brackenbury lost not a word of the following discourse:-
"I beg you a thousand pardons!" began
Mr. Morris, with the most conciliatory manner; "and, if I appear rude,=
I
am sure you will readily forgive me.
In a place so great as London accidents must continually happen; and=
the
best that we can hope is to remedy them with as small delay as possible.
"That of Mr. Morris," replied the ot=
her,
with a prodigious display of confusion, which had been visibly growing upon=
him
throughout the last few words.
"Mr. John or Mr. James Morris?" inqu=
ired
the host.
"I really cannot tell you," returned=
the
unfortunate guest. "I am=
not
personally acquainted with the gentleman, any more than I am with
yourself."
"I see," said Mr. Morris. "There is another person of t=
he
same name farther down the street; and I have no doubt the policeman will be
able to supply you with his number.
Believe me, I felicitate myself on the misunderstanding which has
procured me the pleasure of your company for so long; and let me express a =
hope
that we may meet again upon a more regular footing. Meantime, I would not for the world
detain you longer from your friends. John," he added, raising his voic=
e,
"will you see that this gentleman finds his great-coat?"
And with the most agreeable air Mr. Morris
escorted his visitor as far as the ante-room door, where he left him under
conduct of the butler. As he =
passed
the window, on his return to the drawing- room, Brackenbury could hear him
utter a profound sigh, as though his mind was loaded with a great anxiety, =
and
his nerves already fatigued with the task on which he was engaged.
For perhaps an hour the hansoms kept arriving =
with
such frequency, that Mr. Morris had to receive a new guest for every old one
that he sent away, and the company preserved its number undiminished. But
towards the end of that time the arrivals grew few and far between, and at
length ceased entirely, while the process of elimination was continued with
unimpaired activity. The draw=
ing- room
began to look empty: the bacc=
arat
was discontinued for lack of a banker; more than one person said good-night=
of
his own accord, and was suffered to depart without expostulation; and in the
meanwhile Mr. Morris redoubled in agreeable attentions to those who stayed
behind. He went from group to=
group
and from person to person with looks of the readiest sympathy and the most
pertinent and pleasing talk; he was not so much like a host as like a hoste=
ss,
and there was a feminine coquetry and condescension in his manner which cha=
rmed
the hearts of all.
As the guests grew thinner, Lieutenant Rich
strolled for a moment out of the drawing-room into the hall in quest of fre=
sher
air. But he had no sooner pas=
sed
the threshold of the ante-chamber than he was brought to a dead halt by a
discovery of the most surprising nature.&n=
bsp;
The flowering shrubs had disappeared from the staircase; three large
furniture waggons stood before the garden gate; the servants were busy
dismantling the house upon all sides; and some of them had already donned t=
heir
great-coats and were preparing to depart.&=
nbsp;
It was like the end of a country ball, where everything has been
supplied by contract. Bracken=
bury
had indeed some matter for reflection.&nbs=
p;
First, the guests, who were no real guests after all, had been
dismissed; and now the servants, who could hardly be genuine servants, were
actively dispersing.
'"Was the whole establishment a sham?&quo=
t;
he asked himself. "The m=
ushroom
of a single night which should disappear before morning?"
Watching a favourable opportunity, Brackenbury dashed upstairs to the highest regions of the house. It was as he had expected. He ran from room to room, and saw = not a stick of furniture nor so much as a picture on the walls. Although the house had been painte= d and papered, it was not only uninhabited at present, but plainly had never been inhabite= d at all. The young officer rememb= ered with astonishment its specious, settled, and hospitable air on his arrival<= o:p>
It was only at a prodigious cost that the
imposture could have been carried out upon so great a scale.
Who, then, was Mr. Morris? What was his intention in thus pla=
ying the
householder for a single night in the remote west of London? And why did he
collect his visitors at hazard from the streets?
Brackenbury remembered that he had already del=
ayed
too long, and hastened to join the company. Many had left during his absence; =
and
counting the Lieutenant and his host, there were not more than five persons=
in
the drawing-room - recently so thronged.&n=
bsp;
Mr. Morris greeted him, as he re-entered the apartment, with a smile=
, and
immediately rose to his feet.
"It is now time, gentlemen," said he,
"to explain my purpose in decoying you from your amusements. I trust you did not find the eveni=
ng
hang very dully on your hands; but my object, I will confess it, was not to
entertain your leisure, but to help myself in an unfortunate necessity. You are all gentlemen," he
continued, "your appearance does you that much justice, and I ask for =
no better
security. Hence, I speak it w=
ithout
concealment, I ask you to render me a dangerous and delicate service; dange=
rous
because you may run the hazard of your lives, and delicate because I must a=
sk
an absolute discretion upon all that you shall see or hear. From an utter
stranger the request is almost comically extravagant; I am well aware of th=
is;
and I would add at once, if there be any one present who has heard enough, =
if
there be one among the party who recoils from a dangerous confidence and a
piece of Quixotic devotion to he knows not whom - here is my hand ready, an=
d I
shall wish him good-night and God-speed with all the sincerity in the world=
."
A very tall, black man, with a heavy stoop,
immediately responded to this appeal.
"I commend your frankness, Sir," said
he; "and, for my part, I go. I make no reflections; but I cannot deny =
that
you fill me with suspicious thoughts.
I go myself, as I say; and perhaps you will think I have no right to=
add
words to my example."
"On the contrary," replied Mr. Morri=
s,
"I am obliged to you for all you say.=
It would be impossible to exaggerate the gravity of my proposal.&quo=
t;
"Well, gentlemen, what do you say?" =
said
the tall man, addressing the others.
"We have had our evening's frolic; shall we all go homeward
peaceably in a body? You will=
think
well of my suggestion in the morning, when you see the sun again in innocen=
ce
and safety."
The speaker pronounced the last words with an intonation which added to their force; and his face wore a singular express= ion, full of gravity and significance. Another of the company rose hastily, and, with some appearance of al= arm, prepared to take his leave. There were only two who held their ground, Brackenbury and an old red-nosed cavalry Major; but these two preserved a nonchalant demeanour, and, beyond a look of intelligence which they rapidly= exchanged, appeared entirely foreign to the discussion that had just been terminated.<= o:p>
Mr. Morris conducted the deserters as far as t=
he
door, which he closed upon their heels; then he turned round, disclosing a =
countenance
of mingled relief and animation, and addressed the two officers as follows.=
"I have chosen my men like Joshua in the
Bible," said Mr. Morris, "and I now believe I have the pick of
London. Your appearance pleas=
ed my
hansom cabmen; then it delighted me; I have watched your behaviour in a str=
ange
company, and under the most unusual circumstances: I have studied how you played and =
how
you bore your losses; lastly, I have put you to the test of a staggering an=
nouncement,
and you received it like an invitation to dinner. It is not for nothing," he cr=
ied,
"that I have been for years the companion and the pupil of the bravest=
and
wisest potentate in Europe."
"At the affair of Bunderchang," obse=
rved
the Major, "I asked for twelve volunteers, and every trooper in the ra=
nks
replied to my appeal. But a g=
aming
party is not the same thing as a regiment under fire. You may be pleased, I suppose, to =
have
found two, and two who will not fail you at a push. As for the pair who ran away, I co=
unt them
among the most pitiful hounds I ever met with. Lieutenant Rich," he ad=
ded,
addressing Brackenbury, "I have heard much of you of late; and I cannot
doubt but you have also heard of me.
I am Major O'Rooke."
And the veteran tendered his hand, which was r=
ed
and tremulous, to the young Lieutenant.
"Who has not?" answered Brackenbury.=
"When this little matter is settled,"
said Mr. Morris, "you will think I have sufficiently rewarded you; for=
I
could offer neither a more valuable service than to make him acquainted with
the other."
"And now," said Major O'Rooke, "=
;is
it a duel?"
"A duel after a fashion," replied Mr.
Morris, "a duel with unknown and dangerous enemies, and, as I gravely
fear, a duel to the death. I must ask you," he continued, "to cal=
l me
Morris no longer; call me, if you please, Hammersmith; my real name, as wel=
l as
that of another person to whom I hope to present you before long, you will =
gratify
me by not asking and not seeking to discover for yourselves. Three days ago the person of whom I
speak disappeared suddenly from home; and, until this morning, I received no
hint of his situation. You wi=
ll
fancy my alarm when I tell you that he is engaged upon a work of private
justice. Bound by an unhappy =
oath, too
lightly sworn, he finds it necessary, without the help of law, to rid the e=
arth
of an insidious and bloody villain.
Already two of our friends, and one of them my own born brother, have
perished in the enterprise. He
himself, or I am much deceived, is taken in the same fatal toils. But at least he still lives and sti=
ll
hopes, as this billet sufficiently proves."
And the speaker, no other than Colonel Geraldi=
ne,
proffered a letter, thus conceived:-
=
"Major
Hammersmith, - On Wednesday, at 3 A.M., you will be admitted by the small d=
oor
to the gardens of Rochester House, Regent's Park, by a man who is entirely =
in
my interest. I must request y=
ou not
to fail me by a second. Pray =
bring
my case of swords, and, if you can find them, one or two gentlemen of condu=
ct
and discretion to whom my person is unknown. My name must not be used in this a=
ffair.
T. GODALL."
=
"From
his wisdom alone, if he had no other title," pursued Colonel Geraldine,
when the others had each satisfied his curiosity, "my friend is a man
whose directions should implicitly be followed. I need not tell you, therefore, th=
at I
have not so much as visited the neighbourhood of Rochester House; and that =
I am
still as wholly in the dark as either of yourselves as to the nature of my
friend's dilemma. I betook my=
self,
as soon as I had received this order, to a furnishing contractor, and, in a=
few
hours, the house in which we now are had assumed its late air of festival.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> My scheme was at least original; a=
nd I
am far from regretting an action which has procured me the services of Major
O'Rooke and Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich.&n=
bsp;
But the servants in the street will have a strange awakening. The house which this evening was f=
ull of
lights and visitors they will find uninhabited and for sale to-morrow morni=
ng. Thus even the most serious
concerns," added the Colonel, "have a merry side."
"And let us add a merry ending," said
Brackenbury.
The Colonel consulted his watch.
"It is now hard on two," he said.
"During a long life," replied Major
O'Rooke, "I never took back my hand from anything, nor so much as hedg=
ed a
bet."
Brackenbury signified his readiness in the most
becoming terms; and after they had drunk a glass or two of wine, the Colonel
gave each of them a loaded revolver, and the three mounted into the cab and=
drove
off for the address in question.
Rochester House was a magnificent residence on=
the
banks of the canal. The large
extent of the garden isolated it in an unusual degree from the annoyances of
neighbourhood. It seemed the =
PARC AUX
CERFS of some great nobleman or millionaire. As far as could be seen from the s=
treet,
there was not a glimmer of light in any of the numerous windows of the mans=
ion;
and the place had a look of neglect, as though the master had been long from
home.
The cab was discharged, and the three gentlemen
were not long in discovering the small door, which was a sort of postern in=
a
lane between two garden walls. It
still wanted ten or fifteen minutes of the appointed time; the rain fell
heavily, and the adventurers sheltered themselves below some pendant ivy, a=
nd
spoke in low tones of the approaching trial.
Suddenly Geraldine raised his finger to command
silence, and all three bent their hearing to the utmost. Through the continuous noise of the
rain, the steps and voices of two men became audible from the other side of=
the
wall; and, as they drew nearer, Brackenbury, whose sense of hearing was
remarkably acute, could even distinguish some fragments of their talk.
"Is the grave dug?" asked one.
"It is," replied the other; "be=
hind
the laurel hedge. When the jo=
b is
done, we can cover it with a pile of stakes."
The first speaker laughed, and the sound of his
merriment was shocking to the listeners on the other side.
"In an hour from now," he said.
And by the sound of the steps it was obvious t=
hat
the pair had separated, and were proceeding in contrary directions.
Almost immediately after the postern door was
cautiously opened, a white face was protruded into the lane, and a hand was
seen beckoning to the watchers. In
dead silence the three passed the door, which was immediately locked behind
them, and followed their guide through several garden alleys to the kitchen
entrance of the house. A sing=
le
candle burned in the great paved kitchen, which was destitute of the custom=
ary
furniture; and as the party proceeded to ascend from thence by a flight of
winding stairs, a prodigious noise of rats testified still more plainly to =
the dilapidation
of the house.
Their conductor preceded them, carrying the
candle. He was a lean man, mu=
ch
bent, but still agile; and he turned from time to time and admonished silen=
ce
and caution by his gestures.
Colonel Geraldine followed on his heels, the case of swords under one
arm, and a pistol ready in the other.
Brackenbury's heart beat thickly. He perceived that they were still =
in
time; but he judged from the alacrity of the old man that the hour of action
must be near at hand; and the circumstances of this adventure were so obscu=
re
and menacing, the place seemed so well chosen for the darkest acts, that an
older man than Brackenbury might have been pardoned a measure of emotion as=
he
closed the procession up the winding stair.
At the top the guide threw open a door and ush=
ered
the three officers before him into a small apartment, lighted by a smoky la=
mp and
the glow of a modest fire. At=
the
chimney corner sat a man in the early prime of life, and of a stout but cou=
rtly
and commanding appearance. His
attitude and expression were those of the most unmoved composure; he was
smoking a cheroot with much enjoyment and deliberation, and on a table by h=
is
elbow stood a long glass of some effervescing beverage which diffused an
agreeable odour through the room.
"Welcome," said he, extending his ha=
nd
to Colonel Geraldine. "I=
knew
I might count on your exactitude."
"On my devotion," replied the Colone=
l,
with a bow.
"Present me to your friends," contin=
ued
the first; and, when that ceremony had been performed, "I wish, gentle=
men,"
he added, with the most exquisite affability, "that I could offer you a
more cheerful programme; it is ungracious to inaugurate an acquaintance upon
serious affairs; but the compulsion of events is stronger than the obligati=
ons
of good-fellowship. I hope and
believe you will be able to forgive me this unpleasant evening; and for men=
of
your stamp it will be enough to know that you are conferring a considerable
favour."
"Your Highness," said the Major,
"must pardon my bluntness. I
am unable to hide what I know. For
some time back I have suspected Major Hammersmith, but Mr. Godall is
unmistakable. To seek two men=
in
London unacquainted with Prince Florizel of Bohemia was to ask too much at
Fortune's hands."
"Prince Florizel!" cried Brackenbury=
in
amazement.
And he gazed with the deepest interest on the
features of the celebrated personage before him.
"I shall not lament the loss of my
incognito," remarked the Prince, "for it enables me to thank you =
with
the more authority. You would=
have
done as much for Mr. Godall, I feel sure, as for the Prince of Bohemia; but=
the
latter can perhaps do more for you.
The gain is mine," he added, with a courteous gesture.
And the next moment he was conversing with the=
two
officers about the Indian army and the native troops, a subject on which, a=
s on
all others, he had a remarkable fund of information and the soundest views.=
There was something so striking in this man's
attitude at a moment of deadly peril that Brackenbury was overcome with
respectful admiration; nor was he less sensible to the charm of his convers=
ation
or the surprising amenity of his address.&=
nbsp;
Every gesture, every intonation, was not only noble in itself, but
seemed to ennoble the fortunate mortal for whom it was intended; and Bracke=
nbury
confessed to himself with enthusiasm that this was a sovereign for whom a b=
rave
man might thankfully lay down his life.
Many minutes had thus passed, when the person =
who
had introduced them into the house, and who had sat ever since in a corner,=
and
with his watch in his hand, arose and whispered a word into the Prince's ea=
r.
"It is well, Dr. Noel," replied
Florizel, aloud; and then addressing the others, "You will excuse me,
gentlemen," he added, "if I have to leave you in the dark. The moment now approaches."
Dr. Noel extinguished the lamp. A faint, grey light, premonitory o=
f the
dawn, illuminated the window, but was not sufficient to illuminate the room;
and when the Prince rose to his feet, it was impossible to distinguish his
features or to make a guess at the nature of the emotion which obviously
affected him as he spoke. He =
moved
towards the door, and placed himself at one side of it in an attitude of the
wariest attention.
"You will have the kindness," he sai=
d,
"to maintain the strictest silence, and to conceal yourselves in the
densest of the shadow."
The three officers and the physician hastened =
to
obey, and for nearly ten minutes the only sound in Rochester House was
occasioned by the excursions of the rats behind the woodwork. At the end of that period, a loud =
creak
of a hinge broke in with surprising distinctness on the silence; and shortly
after, the watchers could distinguish a slow and cautious tread approaching=
up
the kitchen stair. At every s=
econd
step the intruder seemed to pause and lend an ear, and during these interva=
ls,
which seemed of an incalculable duration, a profound disquiet possessed the
spirit of the listeners. Dr. =
Noel,
accustomed as he was to dangerous emotions, suffered an almost pitiful phys=
ical
prostration; his breath whistled in his lungs, his teeth grated one upon
another, and his joints cracked aloud as he nervously shifted his position.=
At last a hand was laid upon the door, and the
bolt shot back with a slight report.
There followed another pause, during which Brackenbury could see the
Prince draw himself together noiselessly as if for some unusual exertion. Then the door opened, letting in a
little more of the light of the morning; and the figure of a man appeared u=
pon
the threshold and stood motionless.
He was tall, and carried a knife in his hand. Even in the twilight they could se=
e his
upper teeth bare and glistening, for his mouth was open like that of a hound
about to leap. The man had
evidently been over the head in water but a minute or two before; and even
while he stood there the drops kept falling from his wet clothes and patter=
ed
on the floor.
The next moment he crossed the threshold. There was a leap, a stifled cry, an
instantaneous struggle; and before Colonel Geraldine could spring to his ai=
d, the
Prince held the man disarmed and helpless, by the shoulders
"Dr. Noel," he said, "you will =
be
so good as to re-light the lamp."
And relinquishing the charge of his prisoner to
Geraldine and Brackenbury, he crossed the room and set his back against the=
chimney-piece. As soon as the lamp had kindled, t=
he
party beheld an unaccustomed sternness on the Prince's features. It was no longer Florizel, the car=
eless
gentleman; it was the Prince of Bohemia, justly incensed and full of deadly
purpose, who now raised his head and addressed the captive President of the
Suicide Club.
"President," he said, "you have
laid your last snare, and your own feet are taken in it. The day is beginning; it is your l=
ast morning. You have just swum the Regent's Ca=
nal;
it is your last bathe in this world.
Your old accomplice, Dr. Noel, so far from betraying me, has deliver=
ed
you into my hands for judgment. And
the grave you had dug for me this afternoon shall serve, in God's almighty
providence, to hide your own just doom from the curiosity of mankind. Kneel and pray, sir, if you have a=
mind
that way; for your time is short, and God is weary of your iniquities."=
;
The President made no answer either by word or
sign; but continued to hang his head and gaze sullenly on the floor, as tho=
ugh
he were conscious of the Prince's prolonged and unsparing regard.
"Gentlemen," continued Florizel,
resuming the ordinary tone of his conversation, "this is a fellow who =
has
long eluded me, but whom, thanks to Dr. Noel, I now have tightly by the
heels. To tell the story of h=
is
misdeeds would occupy more time than we can now afford; but if the canal had
contained nothing but the blood of his victims, I believe the wretch would =
have
been no drier than you see him.
Even in an affair of this sort I desire to preserve the forms of
honour. But I make you the ju=
dges,
gentlemen - this is more an execution than a duel and to give the rogue his
choice of weapons would be to push too far a point of etiquette. I cannot afford to lose my life in=
such
a business," he continued, unlocking the case of swords; "and as a
pistol-bullet travels so often on the wings of chance, and skill and courage
may fall by the most trembling marksman, I have decided, and I feel sure you
will approve my determination, to put this question to the touch of
swords."
When Brackenbury and Major O'Rooke, to whom th=
ese
remarks were particularly addressed, had each intimated his approval,
"Quick, sir," added Prince Florizel to the President, "choos=
e a
blade and do not keep me waiting; I have an impatience to be done with you =
for
ever."
For the first time since he was captured and
disarmed the President raised his head, and it was plain that he began
instantly to pluck up courage.
"Is it to be stand up?" he asked
eagerly, "and between you and me?"
"I mean so far to honour you," repli=
ed
the Prince.
"Oh, come!" cried the President. "With a fair field, who knows=
how things
may happen? I must add that I
consider it handsome behaviour on your Highness's part; and if the worst co=
mes
to the worst I shall die by one of the most gallant gentlemen in Europe.&qu=
ot;
And the President, liberated by those who had
detained him, stepped up to the table and began, with minute attention, to
select a sword. He was highly
elated, and seemed to feel no doubt that he should issue victorious from the
contest. The spectators grew =
alarmed
in the face of so entire a confidence, and adjured Prince Florizel to
reconsider his intention.
"It is but a farce," he answered;
"and I think I can promise you, gentlemen, that it will not be long
a-playing."
"Your Highness will be careful not to
over-reach," said Colonel Geraldine.
"Geraldine," returned the Prince,
"did you ever know me fail in a debt of honour? I owe you this man's death, and you
shall have it."
The President at last satisfied himself with o=
ne
of the rapiers, and signified his readiness by a gesture that was not devoi=
d of
a rude nobility. The nearness=
of
peril, and the sense of courage, even to this obnoxious villain, lent an ai=
r of
manhood and a certain grace.
The Prince helped himself at random to a sword=
.
"Colonel Geraldine and Doctor Noel,"=
he
said, "will have the goodness to await me in this room. I wish no personal friend of mine =
to be
involved in this transaction. Major
O'Rooke, you are a man of some years and a settled reputation - let me
recommend the President to your good graces. Lieutenant Rich will be so good as=
lend
me his attentions: a young man
cannot have too much experience in such affairs."
"Your Highness," replied Brackenbury,
"it is an honour I shall prize extremely."
"It is well," returned Prince Floriz=
el;
"I shall hope to stand your friend in more important circumstances.&qu=
ot;
And so saying he led the way out of the apartm=
ent
and down the kitchen stairs.
The two men who were thus left alone threw open
the window and leaned out, straining every sense to catch an indication of =
the tragical
events that were about to follow.
The rain was now over; day had almost come, and the birds were pipin=
g in
the shrubbery and on the forest trees of the garden. The Prince and his companions were
visible for a moment as they followed an alley between two flowering thicke=
ts;
but at the first corner a clump of foliage intervened, and they were again
concealed from view. This was=
all that
the Colonel and the Physician had an opportunity to see, and the garden was=
so
vast, and the place of combat evidently so remote from the house, that not =
even
the noise of sword-play reached their ears.
"He has taken him towards the grave,"
said Dr. Noel, with a shudder.
"God," cried the Colonel, "God
defend the right!"
And they awaited the event in silence, the Doc=
tor
shaking with fear, the Colonel in an agony of sweat. Many minutes must have elapsed, th=
e day
was sensibly broader, and the birds were singing more heartily in the garden
before a sound of returning footsteps recalled their glances towards the
door. It was the Prince and t=
he two
Indian officers who entered. =
God
had defended the right.
"I am ashamed of my emotion," said
Prince Florizel; "I feel it is a weakness unworthy of my station, but =
the
continued existence of that hound of hell had begun to prey upon me like a
disease, and his death has more refreshed me than a night of slumber. Look, Geraldine," he continue=
d,
throwing his sword upon the floor, "there is the blood of the man who
killed your brother. It shoul=
d be a
welcome sight. And yet,"=
he
added, "see how strangely we men are made! my revenge is not yet five
minutes old, and already I am beginning to ask myself if even revenge be
attainable on this precarious stage of life. The ill he did, who can undo it? The career in which he amassed a h=
uge
fortune (for the house itself in which we stand belonged to him) - that car=
eer
is now a part of the destiny of mankind for ever; and I might weary myself
making thrusts in carte until the crack of judgment, and Geraldine's brother
would be none the less dead, and a thousand other innocent persons would be
none the less dishonoured and debauched!&n=
bsp;
The existence of a man is so small a thing to take, so mighty a thin=
g to
employ! Alas!" he cried,
"is there anything in life so disenchanting as attainment?"
"God's justice has been done," repli=
ed
the Doctor. "So much I b=
ehold. The lesson, your Highness, has bee=
n a
cruel one for me; and I await my own turn with deadly apprehension."
"What was I saying?" cried the Princ=
e.
"I have punished, and here is the man beside us who can help me to
undo. Ah, Dr. Noel! you and I=
have
before us many a day of hard and honourable toil; and perhaps, before we ha=
ve
none, you may have more than redeemed your early errors."
"And in the meantime," said the Doct=
or,
"let me go and bury my oldest friend."
(And this, observes the erudite Arabian, is the
fortunate conclusion of the tale.
The Prince, it is superfluous to mention, forgot none of those who
served him in this great exploit; and to this day his authority and influen=
ce
help them forward in their public career, while his condescending friendship
adds a charm to their private life.
To collect, continues my author, all the strange events in which this
Prince has played the part of Providence were to fill the habitable globe w=
ith
books. But the stories which =
relate
to the fortunes of THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND are of too entertaining a descriptio=
n,
says he, to be omitted. Follo=
wing prudently
in the footsteps of this Oriental, we shall now begin the series to which he
refers with the STORY OF THE BANDBOX.)
=
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>STORY OF THE BANDBOX<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
UP to the age of sixteen, at a private school =
and
afterwards at one of those great institutions for which England is justly
famous, Mr. Harry Hartley had received the ordinary education of a gentlema=
n. At
that period, he manifested a remarkable distaste for study; and his only
surviving parent being both weak and ignorant, he was permitted thenceforwa=
rd
to spend his time in the attainment of petty and purely elegant
accomplishments. Two years la=
ter,
he was left an orphan and almost a beggar.=
For all active and industrious pursuits, Harry was unfitted alike by
nature and training. He could=
sing
romantic ditties, and accompany himself with discretion on the piano; he wa=
s a
graceful although a timid cavalier; he had a pronounced taste for chess; and
nature had sent him into the world with one of the most engaging exteriors =
that
can well be fancied. Blond and pink, with dove's eyes and a gentle smile, he
had an air of agreeable tenderness and melancholy, and the most submissive =
and caressing
manners. But when all is said=
, he
was not the man to lead armaments of war, or direct the councils of a State=
.
A fortunate chance and some influence obtained=
for
Harry, at the time of his bereavement, the position of private secretary to=
Major-General
Sir Thomas Vandeleur, C.B. Sir
Thomas was a man of sixty, loud-spoken, boisterous, and domineering. For some reason, some service the =
nature
of which had been often whispered and repeatedly denied, the Rajah of Kashg=
ar
had presented this officer with the sixth known diamond of the world. The gift transformed General Vande=
leur
from a poor into a wealthy man, from an obscure and unpopular soldier into =
one
of the lions of London society; the possessor of the Rajah's Diamond was
welcome in the most exclusive circles; and he had found a lady, young,
beautiful, and well-born, who was willing to call the diamond hers even at =
the
price of marriage with Sir Thomas Vandeleur. It was commonly said at the time t=
hat,
as like draws to like, one jewel had attracted another; certainly Lady
Vandeleur was not only a gem of the finest water in her own person, but she
showed herself to the world in a very costly setting; and she was considere=
d by
many respectable authorities, as one among the three or four best dressed w=
omen
in England.
Harry's duty as secretary was not particularly
onerous; but he had a dislike for all prolonged work; it gave him pain to i=
nk
his lingers; and the charms of Lady Vandeleur and her toilettes drew him of=
ten
from the library to the boudoir. He
had the prettiest ways among women, could talk fashions with enjoyment, and=
was
never more happy than when criticising a shade of ribbon, or running on an
errand to the milliner's. In =
short,
Sir Thomas's correspondence fell into pitiful arrears, and my Lady had anot=
her
lady's maid.
At last the General, who was one of the least
patient of military commanders, arose from his place in a violent access of
passion, and indicated to his secretary that he had no further need for his=
services,
with one of those explanatory gestures which are most rarely employed betwe=
en
gentlemen. The door being unf=
ortunately
open, Mr. Hartley fell downstairs head foremost.
He arose somewhat hurt and very deeply
aggrieved. The life in the Ge=
neral's
house precisely suited him; he moved, on a more or less doubtful footing, in
very genteel company, he did little, he ate of the best, and he had a lukew=
arm
satisfaction in the presence of Lady Vandeleur, which, in his own heart, he
dubbed by a more emphatic name.
Immediately after he had been outraged by the
military foot, he hurried to the boudoir and recounted his sorrows.
"You know very well, my dear Harry,"
replied Lady Vandeleur, for she called him by name like a child or a domest=
ic
servant, "that you never by any chance do what the General tells you.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> No more do I, you may say. But that is different. A woman can earn her pardon for a =
good
year of disobedience by a single adroit submission; and, besides, no one is
married to his private secretary. =
span>I
shall be sorry to lose you; but since you cannot stay longer in a house whe=
re
you have been insulted, I shall wish you good-bye, and I promise you to make
the General smart for his behaviour."
Harry's countenance fell; tears came into his
eyes, and he gazed on Lady Vandeleur with a tender reproach.
"My Lady," said he, "what is an
insult? I should think little=
indeed
of any one who could not forgive them by the score. But to leave one's friends; to tea=
r up
the bonds of affection - "
He was unable to continue, for his emotion cho=
ked
him, and he began to weep.
Lady Vandeleur looked at him with a curious
expression. "This little
fool," she thought, "imagines himself to be in love with me. Why
should he not become my servant instead of the General's? He is good-natured, obliging, and
understands dress; and besides it will keep him out of mischief. He is positively too pretty to be =
unattached." That night she talked over the Gen=
eral,
who was already somewhat ashamed of his vivacity; and Harry was transferred=
to
the feminine department, where his life was little short of heavenly. He was always dressed with uncommon
nicety, wore delicate flowers in his button-hole, and could entertain a vis=
itor
with tact and pleasantry. He =
took a
pride in servility to a beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur's commands=
as
so many marks of favour; and was pleased to exhibit himself before other me=
n,
who derided and despised him, in his character of male lady's- maid and man
milliner. Nor could he think =
enough
of his existence from a moral point of view. Wickedness seemed to him an essent=
ially
male attribute, and to pass one's days with a delicate woman, and principal=
ly
occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit an enchanted isle among the storms=
of
life.
One fine morning he came into the drawing-room=
and
began to arrange some music on the top of the piano. Lady Vandeleur, at the other end o=
f the
apartment, was speaking somewhat eagerly with her brother, Charlie Pendrago=
n,
an elderly young man, much broken with dissipation, and very lame of one
foot. The private secretary, =
to whose
entrance they paid no regard, could not avoid overhearing a part of their
conversation.
"To-day or never," said the lady.
"To-day, if it must be," replied the
brother, with a sigh. "B=
ut it is
a false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shall live to repent it dismall=
y."
Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and
somewhat strangely in the face.
"You forget," she said; "the man
must die at last."
"Upon my word, Clara," said Pendrago=
n,
"I believe you are the most heartless rascal in England."
"You men," she returned, "are so
coarsely built, that you can never appreciate a shade of meaning. You are yourselves rapacious, viol=
ent,
immodest, careless of distinction; and yet the least thought for the future
shocks you in a woman. I have=
no
patience with such stuff. You=
would
despise in a common banker the imbecility that you expect to find in us.&qu=
ot;
"You are very likely right," replied=
her
brother; "you were always cleverer than I. And, anyway, you know my motto:
"Yes, Charlie," she returned, taking=
his
hand in hers, "I know your motto better than you know it yourself. 'And Clara before the family!' Is not that the second part of it?=
Indeed, you are the best of brothe=
rs,
and I love you dearly."
Mr. Pendragon got up, looking a little confuse=
d by
these family endearments.
"I had better not be seen," said
he. "I understand my par=
t to a
miracle, and I'll keep an eye on the Tame Cat."
"Do," she replied. "He is an abject creature, and
might ruin all."
She kissed the tips of her fingers to him
daintily; and the brother withdrew by the boudoir and the back stair.
"Harry," said Lady Vandeleur, turning
towards the secretary as soon as they were alone, "I have a commission=
for
you this morning. But you sha=
ll
take a cab; I cannot have my secretary freckled."
She spoke the last words with emphasis and a l=
ook
of half-motherly pride that caused great contentment to poor Harry; and he
professed himself charmed to find an opportunity of serving her.
"It is another of our great secrets,"
she went on archly, "and no one must know of it but my secretary and
me. Sir Thomas would make the
saddest disturbance; and if you only knew how weary I am of these scenes! Oh, Harry, Harry, can you explain =
to me
what makes you men so violent and unjust?&=
nbsp;
But, indeed, I know you cannot; you are the only man in the world who
knows nothing of these shameful passions; you are so good, Harry, and so ki=
nd;
you, at least, can be a woman's friend; and, do you know? I think you make the others more u=
gly by
comparison."
"It is you," said Harry gallantly,
"who are so kind to me. =
You treat
me like - "
"Like a mother," interposed Lady
Vandeleur; "I try to be a mother to you. Or, at least," she corrected
herself with a smile, "almost a mother. I am afraid I am too young to be y=
our
mother really. Let us say a friend - a dear friend."
She paused long enough to let her words take
effect in Harry's sentimental quarters, but not long enough to allow him a
reply.
"But all this is beside our purpose,"
she resumed. "You will f=
ind a
bandbox in the left-hand side of the oak wardrobe; it is underneath the pink
slip that I wore on Wednesday with my Mechlin. You will take it immediately=
to
this address," and she gave him a paper, "but do not, on any acco=
unt,
let it out of your hands until you have received a receipt written by
myself. Do you understand? An=
swer,
if you please - answer! This =
is
extremely important, and I must ask you to pay some attention."
Harry pacified her by repeating her instructio=
ns
perfectly; and she was just going to tell him more when General Vandeleur f=
lung
into the apartment, scarlet with anger, and holding a long and elaborate mi=
lliner's
bill in his hand.
"Will you look at this, madam?" cried
he. "Will you have the g=
oodness
to look at this document? I k=
now
well enough you married me for my money, and I hope I can make as great
allowances as any other man in the service; but, as sure as God made me, I =
mean
to put a period to this disreputable prodigality."
"Mr. Hartley," said Lady Vandeleur,
"I think you understand what you have to do. May I ask you to see to it at
once?"
"Stop," said the General, addressing
Harry, "one word before you go."=
And then, turning again to Lady Vandeleur, "What is this precio=
us
fellow's errand?" he demanded.
"I trust him no further than I do yourself, let me tell you.
"I supposed you had something to say to m=
e in
private," replied the lady.
"You spoke about an errand," insisted
the General. "Do not att=
empt to
deceive me in my present state of temper.&=
nbsp;
You certainly spoke about an errand."
"If you insist on making your servants pr=
ivy
to our humiliating dissensions," replied Lady Vandeleur, "perhaps=
I
had better ask Mr. Hartley to sit down.&nb=
sp;
No?" she continued; "then you may go, Mr. Hartley. I trust you may remember all that =
you
have heard in this room; it may be useful to you."
Harry at once made his escape from the
drawing-room; and as he ran upstairs he could hear the General's voice upra=
ised
in declamation, and the thin tones of Lady Vandeleur planting icy repartees=
at every
opening. How cordially he adm=
ired
the wife! How skilfully she c=
ould
evade an awkward question! with what secure effrontery she repeated her
instructions under the very guns of the enemy! and on the other hand, how he
detested the husband!
There had been nothing unfamiliar in the morni=
ng's
events, for he was continually in the habit of serving Lady Vandeleur on se=
cret
missions, principally connected with millinery. There was a skeleton in the house,=
as he
well knew. The bottomless ext=
ravagance
and the unknown liabilities of the wife had long since swallowed her own
fortune, and threatened day by day to engulph that of the husband. Once or twice in every year exposu=
re and
ruin seemed imminent, and Harry kept trotting round to all sorts of furnish=
ers'
shops, telling small fibs, and paying small advances on the gross amount, u=
ntil
another term was tided over, and the lady and her faithful secretary breath=
ed
again. For Harry, in a double=
capacity,
was heart and soul upon that side of the war: not only did he adore Lady Vandele=
ur and
fear and dislike her husband, but he naturally sympathised with the love of
finery, and his own single extravagance was at the tailor's.
He found the bandbox where it had been describ=
ed,
arranged his toilette with care, and left the house. The sun shone brightly; the distan=
ce he
had to travel was considerable, and he remembered with dismay that the
General's sudden irruption had prevented Lady Vandeleur from giving him mon=
ey
for a cab. On this sultry day=
there
was every chance that his complexion would suffer severely; and to walk thr=
ough
so much of London with a bandbox on his arm was a humiliation almost
insupportable to a youth of his character.=
He paused, and took counsel with himself. The Vandeleurs lived in Eaton Plac=
e; his
destination was near Notting Hill; plainly, he might cross the Park by keep=
ing
well in the open and avoiding populous alleys; and he thanked his stars whe=
n he
reflected that it was still comparatively early in the day.
Anxious to be rid of his incubus, he walked
somewhat faster than his ordinary, and he was already some way through
Kensington Gardens when, in a solitary spot among trees, he found himself c=
onfronted
by the General.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas,"
observed Harry, politely falling on one side; for the other stood directly =
in
his path.
"Where are you going, sir?" asked the
General.
"I am taking a little walk among the
trees," replied the lad.
The General struck the bandbox with his cane.<= o:p>
"With that thing?" he cried; "y=
ou
lie, sir, and you know you lie!"
"Indeed, Sir Thomas," returned Harry,
"I am not accustomed to be questioned in so high a key."
"You do not understand your position,&quo=
t;
said the General. "You a=
re my
servant, and a servant of whom I have conceived the most serious suspicions=
. How do I know but that your box is=
full
of teaspoons?"
"It contains a silk hat belonging to a
friend," said Harry.
"Very well," replied General
Vandeleur. "Then I want =
to see
your friend's silk hat. I
have," he added grimly, "a singular curiosity for hats; and I bel=
ieve
you know me to be somewhat positive."
"I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas, I am
exceedingly grieved," Harry apologised; "but indeed this is a pri=
vate
affair."
The General caught him roughly by the shoulder
with one hand, while he raised his cane in the most menacing manner with the
other. Harry gave himself up for lost; but at the same moment Heaven vouchs=
afed
him an unexpected defender in the person of Charlie Pendragon, who now stro=
de
forward from behind the trees.
"Come, come, General, hold your hand,&quo=
t;
said he, "this is neither courteous nor manly."
"Aha!" cried the General, wheeling r=
ound
upon his new antagonist, "Mr. Pendragon! And do you suppose, Mr. Pendragon,=
that
because I have had the misfortune to marry your sister, I shall suffer myse=
lf to
be dogged and thwarted by a discredited and bankrupt libertine like you?
"And do you fancy, General Vandeleur,&quo=
t;
retorted Charlie, "that because my sister has had the misfortune to ma=
rry
you, she there and then forfeited her rights and privileges as a lady? I own, sir, that by that action sh=
e did
as much as anybody could to derogate from her position; but to me she is st=
ill
a Pendragon. I make it my bus=
iness
to protect her from ungentlemanly outrage, and if you were ten times her
husband I would not permit her liberty to be restrained, nor her private
messengers to be violently arrested."
"How is that, Mr. Hartley?" interrog=
ated
the General. "Mr. Pendra=
gon is
of my opinion, it appears. He=
too
suspects that Lady Vandeleur has something to do with your friend's silk
hat."
Charlie saw that he had committed an unpardona=
ble
blunder, which he hastened to repair.
"How, sir?" he cried; "I suspec=
t,
do you say? I suspect nothing=
. Only
where I find strength abused and a man brutalising his inferiors, I take the
liberty to interfere."
As he said these words he made a sign to Harry,
which the latter was too dull or too much troubled to understand.
"In what way am I to construe your attitu=
de,
sir?" demanded Vandeleur.
"Why, sir, as you please," returned
Pendragon.
The General once more raised his cane, and mad=
e a
cut for Charlie's head; but the latter, lame foot and all, evaded the blow =
with
his umbrella, ran in, and immediately closed with his formidable adversary.=
"Run, Harry, run!" he cried; "r=
un,
you dolt! Harry stood petrifi=
ed for
a moment, watching the two men sway together in this fierce embrace; then he
turned and took to his heels. When
he cast a glance over his shoulder he saw the General prostrate under Charl=
ie's
knee, but still making desperate efforts to reverse the situation; and the
Gardens seemed to have filled with people, who were running from all direct=
ions
towards the scene of fight. T=
his spectacle
lent the secretary wings; and he did not relax his pace until he had gained=
the
Bayswater road, and plunged at random into an unfrequented by-street.
To see two gentlemen of his acquaintance thus
brutally mauling each other was deeply shocking to Harry. He desired to forget the sight; he
desired, above all, to put as great a distance as possible between himself =
and
General Vandeleur; and in his eagerness for this he forgot everything about=
his
destination, and hurried before him headlong and trembling. When he remembered that Lady Vandel=
eur
was the wife of one and the sister of the other of these gladiators, his he=
art
was touched with sympathy for a woman so distressingly misplaced in life. Even his own situation in the Gene=
ral's
household looked hardly so pleasing as usual in the light of these violent
transactions.
He had walked some little distance, busied with
these meditations, before a slight collision with another passenger reminded
him of the bandbox on his arm.
"Heavens!" cried he, "where was=
my
head? and whither have I wandered?"
Thereupon he consulted the envelope which Lady
Vandeleur had given him. The
address was there, but without a name.&nbs=
p;
Harry was simply directed to ask for "the gentleman who expecte=
d a
parcel from Lady Vandeleur," and if he were not at home to await his
return. The gentleman, added =
the
note, should present a receipt in the handwriting of the lady herself. All this seemed mightily mysteriou=
s, and
Harry was above all astonished at the omission of the name and the formalit=
y of
the receipt. He had thought l=
ittle of
this last when he heard it dropped in conversation; but reading it in cold
blood, and taking it in connection with the other strange particulars, he
became convinced that he was engaged in perilous affairs. For half a moment he had a doubt o=
f Lady
Vandeleur herself; for he found these obscure proceedings somewhat unworthy=
of
so high a lady, and became more critical when her secrets were preserved
against himself. But her empi=
re
over his spirit was too complete, he dismissed his suspicions, and blamed h=
imself
roundly for having so much as entertained them.
In one thing, however, his duty and interest, =
his
generosity and his terrors, coincided - to get rid of the bandbox with the =
greatest
possible despatch.
He accosted the first policeman and courteously
inquired his way. It turned out that he was already not far from his
destination, and a walk of a few minutes brought him to a small house in a
lane, freshly painted, and kept with the most scrupulous attention. The knocker and bell-pull were hig=
hly
polished; flowering pot-herbs garnished the sills of the different windows;=
and
curtains of some rich material concealed the interior from the eyes of curi=
ous passengers. The place had an air of repose and
secrecy; and Harry was so far caught with this spirit that he knocked with =
more
than usual discretion, and was more than usually careful to remove all impu=
rity
from his boots.
A servant-maid of some personal attractions
immediately opened the door, and seemed to regard the secretary with no unk=
ind
eyes.
"This is the parcel from Lady
Vandeleur," said Harry.
"I know," replied the maid, with a
nod. "But the gentleman =
is
from home. Will you leave it =
with
me?"
"I cannot," answered Harry. "I am directed not to part wi=
th it
but upon a certain condition, and I must ask you, I am afraid, to let me
wait."
"Well," said she, "I suppose I =
may
let you wait. I am lonely eno=
ugh, I
can tell you, and you do not look as though you would eat a girl. But be sure and do not ask the
gentleman's name, for that I am not to tell you."
"Do you say so?" cried Harry. "Why, how strange! But indeed for some time back I wa=
lk
among surprises. One question=
I
think I may surely ask without indiscretion: Is he the master of this house?&qu=
ot;
"He is a lodger, and not eight days old at that," returned the maid. "And now a question for a question: Do you know lady Vandeleur?"<= o:p>
"I am her private secretary," replied
Harry with a glow of modest pride.
"She is pretty, is she not?" pursued=
the
servant.
"Oh, beautiful!" cried Harry;
"wonderfully lovely, and not less good and kind!"
"You look kind enough yourself," she
retorted; "and I wager you are worth a dozen Lady Vandeleurs."
Harry was properly scandalised.
"I!" he cried. "I am only a secretary!"=
"Do you mean that for me?" said the
girl. "Because I am only=
a housemaid,
if you please." And then,
relenting at the sight of Harry's obvious confusion, "I know you mean
nothing of the sort," she added; "and I like your looks; but I th=
ink
nothing of your Lady Vandeleur. Oh,
these mistresses!" she cried.
"To send out a real gentleman like you - with a bandbox - in br=
oad
day!"
During this talk they had remained in their
original positions - she on the doorstep, he on the side-walk, bareheaded f=
or
the sake of coolness, and with the bandbox on his arm. But upon this last speech Harry, w=
ho was
unable to support such point-blank compliments to his appearance, nor the
encouraging look with which they were accompanied, began to change his
attitude, and glance from left to right in perturbation. In so doing he turned his face tow=
ards
the lower end of the lane, and there, to his indescribable dismay, his eyes
encountered those of General Vandeleur.&nb=
sp;
The General, in a prodigious fluster of heat, hurry, and indignation=
, had
been scouring the streets in chase of his brother-in-law; but so soon as he
caught a glimpse of the delinquent secretary, his purpose changed, his anger
flowed into a new channel, and he turned on his heel and came tearing up the
lane with truculent gestures and vociferations.
Harry made but one bolt of it into the house,
driving the maid before him; and the door was slammed in his pursuer's
countenance.
"Is there a bar? Will it lock?" asked Harry, w=
hile a
salvo on the knocker made the house echo from wall to wall.
"Why, what is wrong with you?" asked=
the
maid. "Is it this old ge=
ntleman?"
"If he gets hold of me," whispered
Harry, "I am as good as dead. He has been pursuing me all day, carries=
a
sword-stick, and is an Indian military officer."
"These are fine manners," cried the
maid. "And what, if you =
please,
may be his name?"
"It is the General, my master," answ=
ered
Harry. "He is after this=
bandbox."
"Did not I tell you?" cried the maid=
in
triumph. "I told you I t=
hought
worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur; and if you had an eye in your he=
ad
you might see what she is for yourself.&nb=
sp;
An ungrateful minx, I will be bound for that!"
The General renewed his attack upon the knocke=
r,
and his passion growing with delay, began to kick and beat upon the panels =
of
the door.
"It is lucky," observed the girl,
"that I am alone in the house; your General may hammer until he is wea=
ry,
and there is none to open for him.
Follow me!"
So saying she led Harry into the kitchen, where
she made him sit down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate attitude,
with a hand upon his shoulder. The
din at the door, so far from abating, continued to increase in volume, and =
at
each blow the unhappy secretary was shaken to the heart. "What is your name?" asked the girl.=
"Harry Hartley," he replied. "Mine," she went on, "is
Prudence. Do you like it?&quo=
t; "Very much," said Harry. "But hear for a moment how the
General beats upon the door. =
He
will certainly break it in, and then, in heaven's name, what have I to look=
for
but death?" "You put yourself very much about with no
occasion," answered Prudence.
"Let your General knock, he will do no more than blister his
hands. Do you think I would k=
eep
you here if I were not sure to save you?&n=
bsp;
Oh, no, I am a good friend to those that please me! and we have a ba=
ck
door upon another lane. But,&=
quot;
she added, checking him, for he had got upon his feet immediately on this w=
elcome
news, "but I will not show where it is unless you kiss me. Will you,
Harry?" "That I will," he cried, remembering=
his
gallantry, "not for your back door, but because you are good and
pretty." And he administered two or three cordial salut=
es,
which were returned to him in kind. Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put
her hand upon the key. "Will you come and see me?" she aske=
d. "I will indeed," said Harry. "Do not I owe you my life?&qu=
ot; "And now," she added, opening the do=
or,
"run as hard as you can, for I shall let in the General." Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had =
him
by the forelock; and he addressed himself diligently to flight. A few steps, and he believed he wo=
uld
escape from his trials, and return to Lady Vandeleur in honour and safety.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But these few steps had not been t=
aken
before he heard a man's voice hailing him by name with many execrations, an=
d,
looking over his shoulder, he beheld Charlie Pendragon waving him with both
arms to return. The shock of =
this new
incident was so sudden and profound, and Harry was already worked into so h=
igh
a state of nervous tension, that he could think of nothing better than to
accelerate his pace, and continue running.=
He should certainly have remembered the scene in Kensington Gardens;=
he
should certainly have concluded that, where the General was his enemy, Char=
lie
Pendragon could be no other than a friend.=
But such was the fever and perturbation of his mind that he was stru=
ck
by none of these considerations, and only continued to run the faster up the
lane.
Charlie, by the sound of his voice and the vile
terms that he hurled after the secretary, was obviously beside himself with
rage. He, too, ran his very best; but, try as he might, the physical advant=
ages
were not upon his side, and his outcries and the fall of his lame foot on t=
he
macadam began to fall farther and farther into the wake.
Harry's hopes began once more to arise. The lane was both steep and narrow=
, but
it was exceedingly solitary, bordered on either hand by garden walls, overh=
ung
with foliage; and, for as far as the fugitive could see in front of him, th=
ere
was neither a creature moving nor an open door. Providence, weary of persecution, =
was
now offering him an open field for his escape.
Alas! as he came abreast of a garden door unde=
r a
tuft of chestnuts, it was suddenly drawn back, and he could see inside, upo=
n a
garden path, the figure of a butcher's boy with his tray upon his arm. He had hardly recognised the fact =
before
he was some steps beyond upon the other side. But the fellow had had time to obs=
erve
him; he was evidently much surprised to see a gentleman go by at so unusual=
a
pace; and he came out into the lane and began to call after Harry with shou=
ts
of ironical encouragement.
His appearance gave a new idea to Charlie
Pendragon, who, although he was now sadly out of breath, once more upraised=
his
voice.
"Stop, thief!" he cried.
And immediately the butcher's boy had taken up=
the
cry and joined in the pursuit.
This was a bitter moment for the hunted
secretary. It is true that his
terror enabled him once more to improve his pace, and gain with every step =
on
his pursuers; but he was well aware that he was near the end of his resourc=
es,
and should he meet any one coming the other way, his predicament in the nar=
row
lane would be desperate indeed.
"I must find a place of concealment,"=
; he
thought, "and that within the next few seconds, or all is over with me=
in
this world."
Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than=
the
lane took a sudden turning; and he found himself hidden from his enemies. T=
here
are circumstances in which even the least energetic of mankind learn to beh=
ave
with vigour and decision; and the most cautious forget their prudence and
embrace foolhardy resolutions. This was one of those occasions for Harry
Hartley; and those who knew him best would have been the most astonished at=
the
lad's audacity. He stopped de=
ad,
flung the bandbox over a garden wall, and leaping upward with incredible
agility and seizing the copestone with his hands, he tumbled headlong after=
it
into the garden.
He came to himself a moment afterwards, seated=
in
a border of small rosebushes. His
hands and knees were cut and bleeding, for the wall had been protected agai=
nst
such an escalade by a liberal provision of old bottles; and he was consciou=
s of
a general dislocation and a painful swimming in the head. Facing him across the garden, whic=
h was
in admirable order, and set with flowers of the most delicious perfume, he
beheld the back of a house. I=
t was of
considerable extent, and plainly habitable; but, in odd contrast to the
grounds, it was crazy, ill-kept, and of a mean appearance. On all other sid=
es
the circuit of the garden wall appeared unbroken.
He took in these features of the scene with
mechanical glances, but his mind was still unable to piece together or draw=
a
rational conclusion from what he saw. And when he heard footsteps advancing=
on
the gravel, although he turned his eyes in that direction, it was with no
thought either for defence or flight.
The new-comer was a large, coarse, and very so=
rdid
personage, in gardening clothes, and with a watering-pot in his left hand.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> One less confused would have been
affected with some alarm at the sight of this man's huge proportions and bl=
ack
and lowering eyes. But Harry =
was
too gravely shaken by his fall to be so much as terrified; and if he was un=
able
to divert his glances from the gardener, he remained absolutely passive, and
suffered him to draw near, to take him by the shoulder, and to plant him
roughly on his feet, without a motion of resistance.
For a moment the two stared into each other's
eyes, Harry fascinated, the man filled with wrath and a cruel, sneering hum=
our.
"Who are you?" he demanded at last.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "Who are you to come flying o=
ver my
wall and break my GLOIRE DE DIJONS!
What is your name?" he added, shaking him; "and what may be
your business here?"
Harry could not as much as proffer a word in
explanation.
But just at that moment Pendragon and the
butcher's boy went clumping past, and the sound of their feet and their hoa=
rse
cries echoed loudly in the narrow lane.&nb=
sp;
The gardener had received his answer; and he looked down into Harry's
face with an obnoxious smile.
"A thief!" he said. "Upon my word, and a very good
thing you must make of it; for I see you dressed like a gentleman from top =
to
toe. Are you not ashamed to go about the world in such a trim, with honest
folk, I dare say, glad to buy your cast-off finery second hand? Speak up, you dog," the man w=
ent
on; "you can understand English, I suppose; and I mean to have a bit of
talk with you before I march you to the station."
"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "thi=
s is
all a dreadful misconception; and if you will go with me to Sir Thomas
Vandeleur's in Eaton Place, I can promise that all will be made plain. The most upright person, as I now
perceive, can be led into suspicious positions."
"My little man," replied the gardene=
r,
"I will go with you no farther than the station-house in the next
street. The inspector, no dou=
bt,
will be glad to take a stroll with you as far as Eaton Place, and have a bi=
t of
afternoon tea with your great acquaintances. Or would you prefer to go direct t=
o the
Home Secretary? Sir Thomas
Vandeleur, indeed! Perhaps you
think I don't know a gentleman when I see one, from a common run-the-hedge =
like
you? Clothes or no clothes, I=
can
read you like a book. Here is=
a shirt
that maybe cost as much as my Sunday hat; and that coat, I take it, has nev=
er
seen the inside of Rag-fair, and then your boots - "
The man, whose eyes had fallen upon the ground,
stopped short in his insulting commentary, and remained for a moment lookin=
g intently
upon something at his feet. W=
hen he
spoke his voice was strangely altered.
"What, in God's name," said he, &quo=
t;is
all this?"
Harry, following the direction of the man's ey=
es,
beheld a spectacle that struck him dumb with terror and amazement. In his fall he had descended verti=
cally
upon the bandbox and burst it open from end to end; thence a great treasure=
of
diamonds had poured forth, and now lay abroad, part trodden in the soil, pa=
rt
scattered on the surface in regal and glittering profusion. There was a magnificent coronet wh=
ich he
had often admired on Lady Vandeleur; there were rings and brooches, ear-dro=
ps
and bracelets, and even unset brilliants rolling here and there among the
rosebushes like drops of morning dew.
A princely fortune lay between the two men upon the ground - a fortu=
ne
in the most inviting, solid, and durable form, capable of being carried in =
an
apron, beautiful in itself, and scattering the sunlight in a million rainbow
flashes.
"Good God!" said Harry, "I am
lost!"
His mind raced backwards into the past with the
incalculable velocity of thought, and he began to comprehend his day's adve=
ntures,
to conceive them as a whole, and to recognise the sad imbroglio in which his
own character and fortunes had become involved. He looked round him as if for help=
, but
he was alone in the garden, with his scattered diamonds and his redoubtable=
interlocutor;
and when he gave ear, there was no sound but the rustle of the leaves and t=
he
hurried pulsation of his heart. It was
little wonder if the young man felt himself deserted by his spirits, and wi=
th a
broken voice repeated his last ejaculation - "I am lost!"
The gardener peered in all directions with an =
air
of guilt; but there was no face at any of the windows, and he seemed to bre=
athe
again.
"Pick up a heart," he said, "you
fool! The worst of it is done=
. Why
could you not say at first there was enough for two? Two?" he repeated, "aye,=
and
for two hundred! But come awa=
y from
here, where we may be observed; and, for the love of wisdom, straighten out
your hat and brush your clothes.
You could not travel two steps the figure of fun you look just
now."
While Harry mechanically adopted these
suggestions, the gardener, getting upon his knees, hastily drew together the
scattered jewels and returned them to the bandbox. The touch of these costly crystals=
sent
a shiver of emotion through the man's stalwart frame; his face was
transfigured, and his eyes shone with concupiscence; indeed it seemed as if=
he
luxuriously prolonged his occupation, and dallied with every diamond that he
handled. At last, however, it=
was
done; and, concealing the bandbox in his smock, the gardener beckoned to Ha=
rry
and preceded him in the direction of the house.
Near the door they were met by a young man evi=
dently
in holy orders, dark and strikingly handsome, with a look of mingled weakne=
ss
and resolution, and very neatly attired after the manner of his caste. The gardener was plainly annoyed b=
y this
encounter; but he put as good a face upon it as he could, and accosted the =
clergyman
with an obsequious and smiling air.
"Here is a fine afternoon, Mr. Rolles,&qu=
ot;
said he: "a fine afterno=
on, as
sure as God made it! And here=
is a
young friend of mine who had a fancy to look at my roses. I took the liberty to bring him in=
, for
I thought none of the lodgers would object."
"Speaking for myself," replied the
Reverend Mr. Rolles, "I do not; nor do I fancy any of the rest of us w=
ould
be more difficult upon so small a matter.&=
nbsp;
The garden is your own, Mr. Raeburn; we must none of us forget that;=
and
because you give us liberty to walk there we should be indeed ungracious if=
we
so far presumed upon your politeness as to interfere with the convenience of
your friends. But, on second
thoughts," he added, "I believe that this gentleman and I have met
before. Mr. Hartley, I think.=
I regret to observe that you have =
had a
fall."
And he offered his hand.
A sort of maiden dignity and a desire to delay=
as
long as possible the necessity for explanation moved Harry to refuse this c=
hance
of help, and to deny his own identity.&nbs=
p;
He chose the tender mercies of the gardener, who was at least unknow=
n to
him, rather than the curiosity and perhaps the doubts of an acquaintance.
"I fear there is some mistake," said
he. "My name is Thomlins=
on and
I am a friend of Mr. Raeburn's."
"Indeed?" said Mr. Rolles. "The likeness is amazing.&quo=
t;
Mr. Raeburn, who had been upon thorns througho=
ut
this colloquy, now felt it high time to bring it to a period.
"I wish you a pleasant saunter, sir,"
said he.
And with that he dragged Harry after him into =
the
house, and then into a chamber on the garden. His first care was to draw down th=
e blind,
for Mr. Rolles still remained where they had left him, in an attitude of
perplexity and thought. Then =
he
emptied the broken bandbox on the table, and stood before the treasure, thus
fully displayed, with an expression of rapturous greed, and rubbing his han=
ds
upon his thighs. For Harry, t=
he
sight of the man's face under the influence of this base emotion, added ano=
ther
pang to those he was already suffering.&nb=
sp;
It seemed incredible that, from his life of pure and delicate trifli=
ng,
he should be plunged in a breath among sordid and criminal relations. He could reproach his conscience w=
ith no
sinful act; and yet he was now suffering the punishment of sin in its most
acute and cruel forms - the dread of punishment, the suspicions of the good,
and the companionship and contamination of vile and brutal natures. He felt he could lay his life down=
with
gladness to escape from the room and the society of Mr. Raeburn.
"And now," said the latter, after he=
had
separated the jewels into two nearly equal parts, and drawn one of them nea=
rer
to himself; "and now," said he, "everything in this world ha=
s to
be paid for, and some things sweetly.
You must know, Mr. Hartley, if such be your name, that I am a man of=
a
very easy temper, and good nature has been my stumbling-block from first to
last. I could pocket the whol=
e of
these pretty pebbles, if I chose, and I should like to see you dare to say a
word; but I think I must have taken a liking to you; for I declare I have n=
ot
the heart to shave you so close.
So, do you see, in pure kind feeling, I propose that we divide; and =
these,"
indicating the two heaps, "are the proportions that seem to me just and
friendly. Do you see any obje=
ction,
Mr. Hartley, may I ask? I am =
not
the man to stick upon a brooch."
"But, sir," cried Harry, "what =
you
propose to me is impossible. The jewels are not mine, and I cannot share wh=
at
is another's, no matter with whom, nor in what proportions."
"They are not yours, are they
not?" returned Raeburn.
"And you could not share them with anybody, couldn't you? Well now, that is what I call a pi=
ty;
for here am I obliged to take you to the station. The police - think of that," =
he
continued; "think of the disgrace for your respectable parents;
think," he went on, taking Harry by the wrist; "think of the Colo=
nies
and the Day of Judgment."
"I cannot help it," wailed Harry.
"No," replied the man, "I will =
not,
that is certain. And I mean t=
o divide
these playthings with you here."
And so saying he applied a sudden and severe
torsion to the lad's wrist.
Harry could not suppress a scream, and the per=
spiration
burst forth upon his face. Pe=
rhaps
pain and terror quickened his intelligence, but certainly at that moment the
whole business flashed across him in another light; and he saw that there w=
as
nothing for it but to accede to the ruffian's proposal, and trust to find t=
he
house and force him to disgorge, under more favourable circumstances, and w=
hen
he himself was clear from all suspicion.
"I agree," he said.
"There is a lamb," sneered the
gardener. "I thought you=
would
recognise your interests at last.
This bandbox," he continued, "I shall burn with my rubbish=
; it
is a thing that curious folk might recognise; and as for you, scrape up your
gaieties and put them in your pocket."
Harry proceeded to obey, Raeburn watching him,=
and
every now and again his greed rekindled by some bright scintillation,
abstracting another jewel from the secretary's share, and adding it to his =
own.
When this was finished, both proceeded to the
front door, which Raeburn cautiously opened to observe the street. This was apparently clear of passe=
ngers;
for he suddenly seized Harry by the nape of the neck, and holding his face
downward so that he could see nothing but the roadway and the doorsteps of =
the
houses, pushed him violently before him down one street and up another for =
the space
of perhaps a minute and a half.
Harry had counted three corners before the bully relaxed his grasp, =
and
crying, "Now be off with you!" sent the lad flying head foremost =
with
a well-directed and athletic kick.
When Harry gathered himself up, half-stunned a=
nd
bleeding freely at the nose, Mr. Raeburn had entirely disappeared. For the first time, anger and pain=
so
completely overcame the lad's spirits that he burst into a fit of tears and
remained sobbing in the middle of the road.
After he had thus somewhat assuaged his emotio=
n,
he began to look about him and read the names of the streets at whose
intersection he had been deserted by the gardener. He was still in an unfrequented po=
rtion
of West London, among villas and large gardens; but he could see some perso=
ns
at a window who had evidently witnessed his misfortune; and almost immediat=
ely
after a servant came running from the house and offered him a glass of wate=
r. At the same time, a dirty rogue, w=
ho had
been slouching somewhere in the neighbourhood, drew near him from the other
side.
"Poor fellow," said the maid, "=
how
vilely you have been handled, to be sure!&=
nbsp;
Why, your knees are all cut, and your clothes ruined! Do you know the wretch who used you
so?"
"That I do!" cried Harry, who was
somewhat refreshed by the water; "and shall run him home in spite of h=
is
precautions. He shall pay dea=
rly
for this day's work, I promise you."
"You had better come into the house and h=
ave
yourself washed and brushed," continued the maid. "My mistress will make you we=
lcome,
never fear. And see, I will p=
ick up
your hat. Why, love of mercy!=
"
she screamed, "if you have not dropped diamonds all over the street!&q=
uot;
Such was the case; a good half of what remaine=
d to
him after the depredations of Mr. Raeburn, had been shaken out of his pocke=
ts
by the summersault and once more lay glittering on the ground. He blessed his fortune that the ma=
id had
been so quick of eye; "there is nothing so bad but it might be
worse," thought he; and the recovery of these few seemed to him almost=
as
great an affair as the loss of all the rest. But, alas! as he stooped to pick u=
p his treasures,
the loiterer made a rapid onslaught, overset both Harry and the maid with a
movement of his arms, swept up a double handful of the diamonds, and made o=
ff
along the street with an amazing swiftness.
Harry, as soon as he could get upon his feet, =
gave
chase to the miscreant with many cries, but the latter was too fleet of foo=
t, and
probably too well acquainted with the locality; for turn where the pursuer
would he could find no traces of the fugitive.
In the deepest despondency, Harry revisited the
scene of his mishap, where the maid, who was still waiting, very honestly r=
eturned
him his hat and the remainder of the fallen diamonds. Harry thanked her from
his heart, and being now in no humour for economy, made his way to the near=
est
cab-stand and set off for Eaton Place by coach.
The house, on his arrival, seemed in some confusion, as if a catastrophe had happened in the family; and the servants clustered together in the hall, and were unable, or perhaps not altogether = anxious, to suppress their merriment at the tatterdemalion figure of the secretary.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> He passed them with as good an air= of dignity as he could assume, and made directly for the boudoir. When he opened the door an astonis= hing and even menacing spectacle presented itself to his eyes; for he beheld the General and his wife and, of all people, Charlie Pendragon, closeted togeth= er and speaking with earnestness and gravity on some important subject. Harry saw at once that there was l= ittle left for him to explain - plenary confession had plainly been made to the General of the intended fraud upon his pocket, and the unfortunate miscarri= age of the scheme; and they had all made common cause against a common danger.<= o:p>
"Thank Heaven!" cried Lady Vandeleur,
"here he is! The bandbox=
, Harry
- the bandbox!"
But Harry stood before them silent and downcas=
t.
"Speak!" she cried. "Speak! Where is the bandbox?"
And the men, with threatening gestures, repeat=
ed
the demand.
Harry drew a handful of jewels from his
pocket. He was very white.
"This is all that remains," said
he. "I declare before He=
aven
it was through no fault of mine; and if you will have patience, although so=
me
are lost, I am afraid, for ever, others, I am sure, may be still
recovered."
"Alas!" cried Lady Vandeleur, "=
all
our diamonds are gone, and I owe ninety thousand pounds for dress!"
"Madam," said the General, "you
might have paved the gutter with your own trash; you might have made debts =
to
fifty times the sum you mention; you might have robbed me of my mother's
coronet and ring; and Nature might have still so far prevailed that I could=
have
forgiven you at last. But, ma=
dam,
you have taken the Rajah's Diamond - the Eye of Light, as the Orientals
poetically termed it - the Pride of Kashgar! You have taken from me the Rajah's
Diamond," he cried, raising his hands, "and all, madam, all is at=
an
end between us!"
"Believe me, General Vandeleur," she
replied, "that is one of the most agreeable speeches that ever I heard
from your lips; and since we are to be ruined, I could almost welcome the
change, if it delivers me from you.
You have told me often enough that I married you for your money; let=
me
tell you now that I always bitterly repented the bargain; and if you were s=
till
marriageable, and had a diamond bigger than your head, I should counsel eve=
n my
maid against a union so uninviting and disastrous. As for you, Mr. Hartley," she
continued, turning on the secretary, "you have sufficiently exhibited =
your
valuable qualities in this house; we are now persuaded that you equally lack
manhood, sense, and self- respect; and I can see only one course open for y=
ou -
to withdraw instanter, and, if possible, return no more. For your wages you may rank as a
creditor in my late husband's bankruptcy."
Harry had scarcely comprehended this insulting
address before the General was down upon him with another.
"And in the meantime," said that
personage, "follow me before the nearest Inspector of Police. You may impose upon a simple-minde=
d soldier,
sir, but the eye of the law will read your disreputable secret. If I must spend my old age in pove=
rty
through your underhand intriguing with my wife, I mean at least that you sh=
all not
remain unpunished for your pains; and God, sir, will deny me a very
considerable satisfaction if you do not pick oakum from now until your dying
day."
With that, the General dragged Harry from the
apartment, and hurried him downstairs and along the street to the police-st=
ation
of the district.
=
Here
(says my Arabian author) ended this deplorable business of the bandbox. But to the unfortunate Secretary t=
he
whole affair was the beginning of a new and manlier life. The police were easily persuaded o=
f his
innocence; and, after he had given what help he could in the subsequent
investigations, he was even complemented by one of the chiefs of the detect=
ive
department on the probity and simplicity of his behaviour. Several persons interested themsel=
ves in
one so unfortunate; and soon after he inherited a sum of money from a maiden
aunt in Worcestershire. With =
this
he married Prudence, and set sail for Bendigo, or according to another acco=
unt,
for Trincomalee, exceedingly content, and will the best of prospects.
The Reverend Mr. Simon Rolles had distinguished
himself in the Moral Sciences, and was more than usually proficient in the
study of Divinity. His essay
"On the Christian Doctrine of the Social Obligations" obtained fo=
r him,
at the moment of its production, a certain celebrity in the University of
Oxford; and it was understood in clerical and learned circles that young Mr.
Rolles had in contemplation a considerable work - a folio, it was said - on=
the
authority of the Fathers of the Church.&nb=
sp;
These attainments, these ambitious designs, however, were far from
helping him to any preferment; and he was still in quest of his first curacy
when a chance ramble in that part of London, the peaceful and rich aspect of
the garden, a desire for solitude and study, and the cheapness of the lodgi=
ng,
led him to take up his abode with Mr. Raeburn, the nurseryman of Stockdove
Lane.
It was his habit every afternoon, after he had
worked seven or eight hours on St. Ambrose or St. Chrysostom, to walk for a
while in meditation among the roses.
And this was usually one of the most productive moments of his day.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But even a sincere appetite for th=
ought,
and the excitement of grave problems awaiting solution, are not always
sufficient to preserve the mind of the philosopher against the petty shocks=
and
contacts of the world. And when Mr. Rolles found General Vandeleur's secret=
ary,
ragged and bleeding, in the company of his landlord; when he saw both chang=
e colour
and seek to avoid his questions; and, above all, when the former denied his=
own
identity with the most unmoved assurance, he speedily forgot the Saints and
Fathers in the vulgar interest of curiosity.
"I cannot be mistaken," thought he.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "That is Mr. Hartley beyond a=
doubt. How comes he in such a pickle? why=
does
he deny his name? and what can be his business with that black-looking ruff=
ian,
my landlord?"
As he was thus reflecting, another peculiar
circumstance attracted his attention.
The face of Mr. Raeburn appeared at a low window next the door; and,=
as
chance directed, his eyes met those of Mr. Rolles. The nurseryman seemed disconcerted=
, and
even alarmed; and immediately after the blind of the apartment was pulled
sharply down.
"This may all be very well," reflect=
ed
Mr. Rolles; "it may be all excellently well; but I confess freely that=
I
do not think so. Suspicious, underhand, untruthful, fearful of observation =
- I believe
upon my soul," he thought, "the pair are plotting some disgraceful
action."
The detective that there is in all of us awoke=
and
became clamant in the bosom of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk, eager step, th=
at
bore no resemblance to his usual gait, he proceeded to make the circuit of =
the
garden. When he came to the s=
cene
of Harry's escalade, his eye was at once arrested by a broken rosebush and
marks of trampling on the mould. He
looked up, and saw scratches on the brick, and a rag of trouser floating fr=
om a
broken bottle. This, then, wa=
s the
mode of entrance chosen by Mr. Raeburn's particular friend! It was thus that General Vandeleur=
's
secretary came to admire a flower-garden!&=
nbsp;
The young clergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped to exam=
ine
the ground. He could make out=
where
Harry had landed from his perilous leap; he recognised the flat foot of Mr.
Raeburn where it had sunk deeply in the soil as he pulled up the Secretary =
by
the collar; nay, on a closer inspection, he seemed to distinguish the marks=
of
groping fingers, as though something had been spilt abroad and eagerly
collected.
"Upon my word," he thought, "the
thing grows vastly interesting."
And just then he caught sight of something alm=
ost
entirely buried in the earth. In an
instant he had disinterred a dainty morocco case, ornamented and clasped in
gilt. It had been trodden hea=
vily underfoot,
and thus escaped the hurried search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr. Rolles opened the case, and dr=
ew a
long breath of almost horrified astonishment; for there lay before him, in a
cradle of green velvet, a diamond of prodigious magnitude and of the finest
water. It was of the bigness of a duck's egg; beautifully shaped, and witho=
ut a
flaw; and as the sun shone upon it, it gave forth a lustre like that of
electricity, and seemed to burn in his hand with a thousand internal fires.=
He knew little of precious stones; but the Raj=
ah's
Diamond was a wonder that explained itself; a village child, if he found it=
, would
run screaming for the nearest cottage; and a savage would prostrate himself=
in
adoration before so imposing a fetish.&nbs=
p;
The beauty of the stone flattered the young clergyman's eyes; the th=
ought
of its incalculable value overpowered his intellect. He knew that what he held in his h=
and
was worth more than many years' purchase of an archiepiscopal see; that it
would build cathedrals more stately than Ely or Cologne; that he who posses=
sed
it was set free for ever from the primal curse, and might follow his own in=
clinations
without concern or hurry, without let or hindrance. And as he suddenly turn=
ed
it, the rays leaped forth again with renewed brilliancy, and seemed to pier=
ce
his very heart.
Decisive actions are often taken in a moment a=
nd
without any conscious deliverance from the rational parts of man. So it was now with Mr. Rolles. He glanced hurriedly round; beheld=
, like
Mr. Raeburn before him, nothing but the sunlit flower-garden, the tall tree=
-tops,
and the house with blinded windows; and in a trice he had shut the case, th=
rust
it into his pocket, and was hastening to his study with the speed of guilt.=
The Reverend Simon Rolles had stolen the Rajah=
's
Diamond.
Early in the afternoon the police arrived with
Harry Hartley. The nurseryman=
, who
was beside himself with terror, readily discovered his hoard; and the jewels
were identified and inventoried in the presence of the Secretary. As for Mr. Rolles, he showed himse=
lf in a
most obliging temper, communicated what he knew with freedom, and professed
regret that he could do no more to help the officers in their duty.
"Still," he added, "I suppose y=
our
business is nearly at an end."
"By no means," replied the man from
Scotland Yard; and he narrated the second robbery of which Harry had been t=
he
immediate victim, and gave the young clergyman a description of the more
important jewels that were still not found, dilating particularly on the Ra=
jah's
Diamond.
"It must be worth a fortune," observ=
ed
Mr. Rolles.
"Ten fortunes - twenty fortunes," cr=
ied
the officer.
"The more it is worth," remarked Sim=
on
shrewdly, "the more difficult it must be to sell. Such a thing has a physiognomy not=
to be
disguised, and I should fancy a man might as easily negotiate St. Paul's
Cathedral."
"Oh, truly!" said the officer; "=
;but
if the thief be a man of any intelligence, he will cut it into three or fou=
r,
and there will be still enough to make him rich."
"Thank you," said the clergyman. "You cannot imagine how much =
your conversation
interests me."
Whereupon the functionary admitted that they k=
new
many strange things in his profession, and immediately after took his leave=
.
Mr. Rolles regained his apartment. It seemed smaller and barer than u=
sual;
the materials for his great work had never presented so little interest; an=
d he
looked upon his library with the eye of scorn. He took down, volume by volume, se=
veral
Fathers of the Church, and glanced them through; but they contained nothing=
to
his purpose.
"These old gentlemen," thought he,
"are no doubt very valuable writers, but they seem to me conspicuously
ignorant of life. Here am I, =
with
learning enough to be a Bishop, and I positively do not know how to dispose=
of
a stolen diamond. I glean a h=
int
from a common policeman, and, with all my folios, I cannot so much as put it
into execution. This inspires=
me
with very low ideas of University training."
Herewith he kicked over his book-shelf and,
putting on his hat, hastened from the house to the club of which he was a
member. In such a place of mu=
ndane
resort he hoped to find some man of good counsel and a shrewd experience in
life. In the reading-room he =
saw
many of the country clergy and an Archdeacon; there were three journalists =
and
a writer upon the Higher Metaphysic, playing pool; and at dinner only the r=
aff
of ordinary club frequenters showed their commonplace and obliterated
countenances. None of these, =
thought
Mr. Rolles, would know more on dangerous topics than he knew himself; none =
of
them were fit to give him guidance in his present strait. At length in the smoking-room, up =
many
weary stairs, he hit upon a gentleman of somewhat portly build and dressed =
with
conspicuous plainness. He was
smoking a cigar and reading the FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW; his face was singularly
free from all sign of preoccupation or fatigue; and there was something in =
his
air which seemed to invite confidence and to expect submission. The more the
young clergyman scrutinised his features, the more he was convinced that he=
had
fallen on one capable of giving pertinent advice.
"Sir," said he, "you will excus=
e my
abruptness; but I judge you from your appearance to be pre-eminently a man =
of
the world."
"I have indeed considerable claims to that
distinction," replied the stranger, laying aside his magazine with a l=
ook
of mingled amusement and surprise.
"I, sir," continued the Curate, &quo=
t;am
a recluse, a student, a creature of ink-bottles and patristic folios. A recent event has brought my folly
vividly before my eyes, and I desire to instruct myself in life. By life," he added, "I d=
o not
mean Thackeray's novels; but the crimes and secret possibilities of our
society, and the principles of wise conduct among exceptional events. I am a patient reader; can the thi=
ng be
learnt in books?"
"You put me in a difficulty," said t=
he
stranger. "I confess I h=
ave no
great notion of the use of books, except to amuse a railway journey; althou=
gh,
I believe, there are some very exact treatises on astronomy, the use of the
globes, agriculture, and the art of making paper flowers. Upon the less apparent provinces o=
f life
I fear you will find nothing truthful.&nbs=
p;
Yet stay," he added, "have you read Gaboriau?"
Mr. Rolles admitted he had never even heard the
name.
"You may gather some notions from
Gaboriau," resumed the stranger. "He is at least suggestive; and =
as
he is an author much studied by Prince Bismarck, you will, at the worst, lo=
se
your time in good society."
"Sir," said the Curate, "I am
infinitely obliged by your politeness."
"You have already more than repaid me,&qu=
ot;
returned the other.
"How?" inquired Simon.
"By the novelty of your request,"
replied the gentleman; and with a polite gesture, as though to ask permissi=
on,
he resumed the study of the FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW.
On his way home Mr. Rolles purchased a work on
precious stones and several of Gaboriau's novels. These last he eagerly skimmed unti=
l an
advanced hour in the morning; but although they introduced him to many new
ideas, he could nowhere discover what to do with a stolen diamond. He was annoyed, moreover, to find =
the
information scattered amongst romantic story-telling, instead of soberly se=
t forth
after the manner of a manual; and he concluded that, even if the writer had
thought much upon these subjects, he was totally lacking in educational
method. For the character and
attainments of Lecoq, however, he was unable to contain his admiration.
"He was truly a great creature,"
ruminated Mr. Rolles. "H=
e knew
the world as I know Paley's Evidences.&nbs=
p;
There was nothing that he could not carry to a termination with his =
own
hand, and against the largest odds.
Heavens!" he broke out suddenly, "is not this the lesson?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Must I not learn to cut diamonds f=
or
myself?"
It seemed to him as if he had sailed at once o=
ut
of his perplexities; he remembered that he knew a jeweller, one B. Maccullo=
ch,
in Edinburgh, who would be glad to put him in the way of the necessary
training; a few months, perhaps a few years, of sordid toil, and he would be
sufficiently expert to divide and sufficiently cunning to dispose with
advantage of the Rajah's Diamond.
That done, he might return to pursue his researches at leisure, a
wealthy and luxurious student, envied and respected by all. Golden visions attended him throug=
h his
slumber, and he awoke refreshed and light-hearted with the morning sun.
Mr. Raeburn's house was on that day to be clos=
ed
by the police, and this afforded a pretext for his departure. He cheerfully prepared his baggage,
transported it to King's Cross, where he left it in the cloak-room, and
returned to the club to while away the afternoon and dine.
"If you dine here to-day, Rolles,"
observed an acquaintance, "you may see two of the most remarkable men =
in
England - Prince Florizel of Bohemia, and old Jack Vandeleur."
"I have heard of the Prince," replied
Mr. Rolles; "and General Vandeleur I have even met in society."
"General Vandeleur is an ass!" retur=
ned
the other. "This is his =
brother
John, the biggest adventurer, the best judge of precious stones, and one of=
the
most acute diplomatists in Europe.
Have you never heard of his duel with the Duc de Val d'Orge? of his
exploits and atrocities when he was Dictator of Paraguay? of his dexterity =
in
recovering Sir Samuel Levi's jewellery? nor of his services in the Indian M=
utiny
- services by which the Government profited, but which the Government dared=
not
recognise? You make me wonder=
what we
mean by fame, or even by infamy; for Jack Vandeleur has prodigious claims to
both. Run downstairs," he
continued, "take a table near them, and keep your ears open. You will hear some strange talk, o=
r I am
much misled."
"But how shall I know them?" inquired
the clergyman.
"Know them!" cried his friend;
"why, the Prince is the finest gentleman in Europe, the only living
creature who looks like a king; and as for Jack Vandeleur, if you can imagi=
ne
Ulysses at seventy years of age, and with a sabre-cut across his face, you =
have
the man before you! Know them,
indeed! Why, you could pick e=
ither
of them out of a Derby day!"
Rolles eagerly hurried to the dining-room. It was as his friend had asserted;=
it
was impossible to mistake the pair in question. Old John Vandeleur was of a
remarkable force of body, and obviously broken to the most difficult
exercises. He had neither the=
carriage
of a swordsman, nor of a sailor, nor yet of one much inured to the saddle; =
but
something made up of all these, and the result and expression of many diffe=
rent
habits and dexterities. His features were bold and aquiline; his expression
arrogant and predatory; his whole appearance that of a swift, violent, unsc=
rupulous
man of action; and his copious white hair and the deep sabre-cut that trave=
rsed
his nose and temple added a note of savagery to a head already remarkable a=
nd
menacing in itself.
In his companion, the Prince of Bohemia, Mr.
Rolles was astonished to recognise the gentleman who had recommended him the
study of Gaboriau. Doubtless =
Prince
Florizel, who rarely visited the club, of which, as of most others, he was =
an
honorary member, had been waiting for John Vandeleur when Simon accosted hi=
m on
the previous evening.
The other diners had modestly retired into the
angles of the room, and left the distinguished pair in a certain isolation,=
but
the young clergyman was unrestrained by any sentiment of awe, and, marching
boldly up, took his place at the nearest table.
The conversation was, indeed, new to the stude=
nt's
ears. The ex- Dictator of Par=
aguay
stated many extraordinary experiences in different quarters of the world; a=
nd
the Prince supplied a commentary which, to a man of thought, was even more
interesting than the events themselves.&nb=
sp;
Two forms of experience were thus brought together and laid before t=
he
young clergyman; and he did not know which to admire the most - the despera=
te
actor or the skilled expert in life; the man who spoke boldly of his own de=
eds and
perils, or the man who seemed, like a god, to know all things and to have
suffered nothing. The manner =
of
each aptly fitted with his part in the discourse. The Dictator indulged in brutaliti=
es alike
of speech and gesture; his hand opened and shut and fell roughly on the tab=
le;
and his voice was loud and heavy.
The Prince, on the other hand, seemed the very type of urbane docili=
ty and
quiet; the least movement, the least inflection, had with him a weightier
significance than all the shouts and pantomime of his companion; and if eve=
r,
as must frequently have been the case, he described some experience persona=
l to
himself, it was so aptly dissimulated as to pass unnoticed with the rest.
At length the talk wandered on to the late
robberies and the Rajah's Diamond.
"That diamond would be better in the
sea," observed Prince Florizel.
"As a Vandeleur," replied the Dictat=
or,
"your Highness may imagine my dissent."
"I speak on grounds of public policy,&quo=
t;
pursued the Prince. "Jew=
els so
valuable should be reserved for the collection of a Prince or the treasury =
of a
great nation. To hand them ab=
out
among the common sort of men is to set a price on Virtue's head; and if the=
Rajah
of Kashgar - a Prince, I understand, of great enlightenment - desired venge=
ance
upon the men of Europe, he could hardly have gone more efficaciously about =
his
purpose than by sending us this apple of discord. There is no honesty too robust for=
such
a trial. I myself, who have m=
any
duties and many privileges of my own - I myself, Mr. Vandeleur, could scarce
handle the intoxicating crystal and be safe. As for you, who are a diamond hunt=
er by
taste and profession, I do not believe there is a crime in the calendar you=
would
not perpetrate - I do not believe you have a friend in the world whom you w=
ould
not eagerly betray - I do not know if you have a family, but if you have I
declare you would sacrifice your children - and all this for what? Not to be richer, nor to have more=
comforts
or more respect, but simply to call this diamond yours for a year or two un=
til
you die, and now and again to open a safe and look at it as one looks at a
picture."
"It is true," replied Vandeleur. "I have hunted most things, f=
rom men
and women down to mosquitos; I have dived for coral; I have followed both
whales and tigers; and a diamond is the tallest quarry of the lot. It has beauty and worth; it alone =
can
properly reward the ardours of the chase.&=
nbsp;
At this moment, as your Highness may fancy, I am upon the trail; I h=
ave
a sure knack, a wide experience; I know every stone of price in my brother's
collection as a shepherd knows his sheep; and I wish I may die if I do not =
recover
them every one!"
"Sir Thomas Vandeleur will have great cau=
se
to thank you," said the Prince.
"I am not so sure," returned the
Dictator, with a laugh. "=
;One
of the Vandeleurs will. Thoma=
s or
John - Peter or Paul - we are all apostles."
"I did not catch your observation," =
said
the Prince with some disgust.
And at the same moment the waiter informed Mr.
Vandeleur that his cab was at the door.
Mr. Rolles glanced at the clock, and saw that =
he
also must be moving; and the coincidence struck him sharply and unpleasantl=
y, for
he desired to see no more of the diamond hunter.
Much study having somewhat shaken the young ma=
n's
nerves, he was in the habit of travelling in the most luxurious manner; and=
for
the present journey he had taken a sofa in the sleeping carriage.
"You will be very comfortable," said=
the
guard; "there is no one in your compartment, and only one old gentlema=
n in
the other end."
It was close upon the hour, and the tickets we=
re
being examined, when Mr. Rolles beheld this other fellow-passenger ushered =
by several
porters into his place; certainly, there was not another man in the world w=
hom
he would not have preferred - for it was old John Vandeleur, the ex-Dictato=
r.
The sleeping carriages on the Great Northern l=
ine
were divided into three compartments - one at each end for travellers, and =
one
in the centre fitted with the conveniences of a lavatory. A door running in grooves separate=
d each
of the others from the lavatory; but as there were neither bolts nor locks,=
the
whole suite was practically common ground.
When Mr. Rolles had studied his position, he
perceived himself without defence.
If the Dictator chose to pay him a visit in the course of the night,=
he
could do no less than receive it; he had no means of fortification, and lay
open to attack as if he had been lying in the fields. This situation caused him some ago=
ny of
mind. He recalled with alarm the boastful statements of his fellow- travell=
er
across the dining-table, and the professions of immorality which he had hea=
rd
him offering to the disgusted Prince. Some persons, he remembered to have r=
ead,
are endowed with a singular quickness of perception for the neighbourhood of
precious metals; through walls and even at considerable distances they are =
said
to divine the presence of gold.
Might it not be the same with diamonds? he wondered; and if so, who =
was
more likely to enjoy this transcendental sense than the person who gloried =
in
the appellation of the Diamond Hunter?&nbs=
p;
From such a man he recognised that he had everything to fear, and lo=
nged
eagerly for the arrival of the day.
In the meantime he neglected no precaution,
concealed his diamond in the most internal pocket of a system of great-coat=
s,
and devoutly recommended himself to the care of Providence.
The train pursued its usual even and rapid cou=
rse;
and nearly half the journey had been accomplished before slumber began to
triumph over uneasiness in the breast of Mr. Rolles. For some time he resisted its infl=
uence;
but it grew upon him more and more, and a little before York he was fain to
stretch himself upon one of the couches and suffer his eyes to close; and
almost at the same instant consciousness deserted the young clergyman. His last thought was of his terrif=
ying
neighbour.
When he awoke it was still pitch dark, except =
for
the flicker of the veiled lamp; and the continual roaring and oscillation t=
estified
to the unrelaxed velocity of the train.&nb=
sp;
He sat upright in a panic, for he had been tormented by the most une=
asy
dreams; it was some seconds before he recovered his self-command; and even =
after
he had resumed a recumbent attitude sleep continued to flee him, and he lay
awake with his brain in a state of violent agitation, and his eyes fixed up=
on
the lavatory door. He pulled =
his
clerical felt hat over his brow still farther to shield him from the light;=
and
he adopted the usual expedients, such as counting a thousand or banishing
thought, by which experienced invalids are accustomed to woo the approach of
sleep. In the case of Mr. Rol=
les
they proved one and all vain; he was harassed by a dozen different anxietie=
s -
the old man in the other end of the carriage haunted him in the most alarmi=
ng
shapes; and in whatever attitude he chose to lie the diamond in his pocket
occasioned him a sensible physical distress. It burned, it was too large, it br=
uised
his ribs; and there were infinitesimal fractions of a second in which he had
half a mind to throw it from the window.
While he was thus lying, a strange incident to=
ok
place.
The sliding-door into the lavatory stirred a
little, and then a little more, and was finally drawn back for the space of=
about
twenty inches. The lamp in the
lavatory was unshaded, and in the lighted aperture thus disclosed, Mr. Roll=
es
could see the head of Mr. Vandeleur in an attitude of deep attention. He was conscious that the gaze of =
the
Dictator rested intently on his own face; and the instinct of self-preserva=
tion
moved him to hold his breath, to refrain from the least movement, and keepi=
ng
his eyes lowered, to watch his visitor from underneath the lashes. After about a moment, the head was
withdrawn and the door of the lavatory replaced.
The Dictator had not come to attack, but to
observe; his action was not that of a man threatening another, but that of a
man who was himself threatened; if Mr. Rolles was afraid of him, it appeare=
d that
he, in his turn, was not quite easy on the score of Mr. Rolles. He had come, it would seem, to mak=
e sure
that his only fellow-traveller was asleep; and, when satisfied on that poin=
t,
he had at once withdrawn.
The clergyman leaped to his feet. The extreme of terror had given pl=
ace to
a reaction of foolhardy daring. He
reflected that the rattle of the flying train concealed all other sounds, a=
nd determined,
come what might, to return the visit he had just received. Divesting himself of his cloak, wh=
ich
might have interfered with the freedom of his action, he entered the lavato=
ry and
paused to listen. As he had
expected, there was nothing to be heard above the roar of the train's progr=
ess;
and laying his hand on the door at the farther side, he proceeded cautiousl=
y to
draw it back for about six inches.
Then he stopped, and could not contain an ejaculation of surprise.
John Vandeleur wore a fur travelling cap with
lappets to protect his ears; and this may have combined with the sound of t=
he
express to keep him in ignorance of what was going forward. It is certain, at least, that he d=
id not
raise his head, but continued without interruption to pursue his strange
employment. Between his feet =
stood
an open hat-box; in one hand he held the sleeve of his sealskin great-coat;=
in
the other a formidable knife, with which he had just slit up the lining of =
the
sleeve. Mr. Rolles had read o=
f persons
carrying money in a belt; and as he had no acquaintance with any but
cricket-belts, he had never been able rightly to conceive how this was mana=
ged.
But here was a stranger thing=
before
his eyes; for John Vandeleur, it appeared, carried diamonds in the lining of
his sleeve; and even as the young clergyman gazed, he could see one glitter=
ing
brilliant drop after another into the hat-box.
He stood riveted to the spot, following this
unusual business with his eyes. The
diamonds were, for the most part, small, and not easily distinguishable eit=
her
in shape or fire. Suddenly th=
e Dictator
appeared to find a difficulty; he employed both hands and stooped over his
task; but it was not until after considerable manoeuvring that he extricate=
d a
large tiara of diamonds from the lining, and held it up for some seconds'
examination before he placed it with the others in the hat-box. The tiara was a ray of light to Mr.
Rolles; he immediately recognised it for a part of the treasure stolen from
Harry Hartley by the loiterer.
There was no room for mistake; it was exactly as the detective had
described it; there were the ruby stars, with a great emerald in the centre=
; there
were the interlacing crescents; and there were the pear- shaped pendants, e=
ach
a single stone, which gave a special value to Lady Vandeleur's tiara.
Mr. Rolles was hugely relieved. The Dictator was as deeply in the =
affair
as he was; neither could tell tales upon the other. In the first glow of happiness, the
clergyman suffered a deep sigh to escape him; and as his bosom had become
choked and his throat dry during his previous suspense, the sigh was follow=
ed
by a cough.
Mr. Vandeleur looked up; his face contracted w=
ith
the blackest and most deadly passion; his eyes opened widely, and his under=
jaw
dropped in an astonishment that was upon the brink of fury. By an instinctive movement he had
covered the hat-box with the coat.
For half a minute the two men stared upon each other in silence. It was not a long interval, but it
sufficed for Mr. Rolles; he was one of those who think swiftly on dangerous
occasions; he decided on a course of action of a singularly daring nature; =
and
although he felt he was setting his life upon the hazard, he was the first =
to break
silence.
"I beg your pardon," said he.
The Dictator shivered slightly, and when he sp=
oke
his voice was hoarse.
"What do you want here?" he asked.
"I take a particular interest in
diamonds," replied Mr. Rolles, with an air of perfect
self-possession. "Two
connoisseurs should be acquainted.
I have here a trifle of my own which may perhaps serve for an
introduction."
And so saying, he quietly took the case from h=
is
pocket, showed the Rajah's Diamond to the Dictator for an instant, and repl=
aced
it in security.
"It was once your brother's," he add=
ed.
John Vandeleur continued to regard him with a =
look
of almost painful amazement; but he neither spoke nor moved.
"I was pleased to observe," resumed =
the
young man, "that we have gems from the same collection."
The Dictator's surprise overpowered him.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I
begin to perceive that I am growing old!&n=
bsp;
I am positively not prepared for little incidents like this. But set my mind at rest upon one
point: do my eyes deceive me,=
or
are you indeed a parson?"
"I am in holy orders," answered Mr.
Rolles.
"Well," cried the other, "as lo=
ng
as I live I will never hear another word against the cloth!"
"You flatter me," said Mr. Rolles.
"Pardon me," replied Vandeleur;
"pardon me, young man. Y=
ou are
no coward, but it still remains to be seen whether you are not the worst of
fools. Perhaps," he cont=
inued,
leaning back upon his seat, "perhaps you would oblige me with a few
particulars. I must suppose y=
ou had
some object in the stupefying impudence of your proceedings, and I confess I
have a curiosity to know it."
"It is very simple," replied the
clergyman; "it proceeds from my great inexperience of life."
"I shall be glad to be persuaded,"
answered Vandeleur.
Whereupon Mr. Rolles told him the whole story =
of
his connection with the Rajah's Diamond, from the time he found it in Raebu=
rn's
garden to the time when he left London in the Flying Scotchman. He added a brief sketch of his fee=
lings
and thoughts during the journey, and concluded in these words:-
"When I recognised the tiara I knew we we=
re
in the same attitude towards Society, and this inspired me with a hope, whi=
ch I
trust you will say was not ill-founded, that you might become in some sense=
my
partner in the difficulties and, of course, the profits of my situation.
"I do not wish to flatter you," repl=
ied
Vandeleur; "but upon my word, you have an unusual disposition for a li=
fe
of crime. You have more
accomplishments than you imagine; and though I have encountered a number of
rogues in different quarters of the world, I never met with one so unblushi=
ng
as yourself. Cheer up, Mr. Ro=
lles,
you are in the right profession at last!&n=
bsp;
As for helping you, you may command me as you will. I have only a day's business in
Edinburgh on a little matter for my brother; and once that is concluded, I
return to Paris, where I usually reside.&n=
bsp;
If you please, you may accompany me thither. And before the end of a month I be=
lieve
I shall have brought your little business to a satisfactory conclusion.&quo=
t;
(At this point, contrary to all the canons of =
his
art, our Arabian author breaks off the STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY
ORDERS. I regret and condemn =
such
practices; but I must follow my original, and refer the reader for the
conclusion of Mr. Rolles' adventures to the next number of the cycle, the S=
TORY
OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS.)
Francis Scrymgeour, a clerk in the Bank of
Scotland at Edinburgh, had attained the age of twenty-five in a sphere of
quiet, creditable, and domestic life.
His mother died while he was young; but his father, a man of sense a=
nd
probity, had given him an excellent education at school, and brought him up=
at
home to orderly and frugal habits.
Francis, who was of a docile and affectionate disposition, profited =
by
these advantages with zeal, and devoted himself heart and soul to his
employment. A walk upon Satur=
day
afternoon, an occasional dinner with members of his family, and a yearly to=
ur
of a fortnight in the Highlands or even on the continent of Europe, were his
principal distractions, and, he grew rapidly in favour with his superiors, =
and
enjoyed already a salary of nearly two hundred pounds a year, with the pros=
pect
of an ultimate advance to almost double that amount. Few young men were more contented,=
few
more willing and laborious than Francis Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he had re=
ad the
daily paper, he would play upon the flute to amuse his father, for whose qu=
alities
he entertained a great respect.
One day he received a note from a well-known f=
irm
of Writers to the Signet, requesting the favour of an immediate interview w=
ith
him. The letter was marked "Private and Confidential," and had be=
en addressed
to him at the bank, instead of at home - two unusual circumstances which ma=
de
him obey the summons with the more alacrity. The senior member of the firm, a m=
an of
much austerity of manner, made him gravely welcome, requested him to take a
seat, and proceeded to explain the matter in hand in the picked expressions=
of
a veteran man of business. A
person, who must remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had every reason to
think well - a man, in short, of some station in the country - desired to m=
ake
Francis an annual allowance of five hundred pounds. The capital was to be placed under=
the
control of the lawyer's firm and two trustees who must also remain
anonymous. There were conditi=
ons annexed
to this liberality, but he was of opinion that his new client would find
nothing either excessive or dishonourable in the terms; and he repeated the=
se
two words with emphasis, as though he desired to commit himself to nothing
more.
Francis asked their nature.
"The conditions," said the Writer to=
the
Signet, "are, as I have twice remarked, neither dishonourable nor
excessive. At the same time I
cannot conceal from you that they are most unusual. Indeed, the whole case is very muc=
h out
of our way; and I should certainly have refused it had it not been for the
reputation of the gentleman who entrusted it to my care, and, let me add, M=
r.
Scrymgeour, the interest I have been led to take in yourself by many
complimentary and, I have no doubt, well-deserved reports."
Francis entreated him to be more specific.
"You cannot picture my uneasiness as to t=
hese
conditions," he said.
"They are two," replied the lawyer,
"only two; and the sum, as you will remember, is five hundred a-year -=
and
unburdened, I forgot to add, unburdened."
And the lawyer raised his eyebrows at him with
solemn gusto.
"The first," he resumed, "is of
remarkable simplicity. You mu=
st be in
Paris by the afternoon of Sunday, the 15th; there you will find, at the
box-office of the Comedie Francaise, a ticket for admission taken in your n=
ame
and waiting you. You are requ=
ested
to sit out the whole performance in the seat provided, and that is all.&quo=
t;
"I should certainly have preferred a
week-day," replied Francis. " But, after all, once in a way - &qu=
ot;
"And in Paris, my dear sir," added t=
he
lawyer soothingly. "I be=
lieve
I am something of a precisian myself, but upon such a consideration, and in
Paris, I should not hesitate an instant."
And the pair laughed pleasantly together.
"The other is of more importance,"
continued the Writer to the Signet.
"It regards your marriage.&nbs=
p;
My client, taking a deep interest in your welfare, desires to advise=
you
absolutely in the choice of a wife.
Absolutely, you understand," he repeated.
"Let us be more explicit, if you
please," returned Francis. "Am I to marry any one, maid or
widow, black or white, whom this invisible person chooses to propose?"=
"I was to assure you that suitability of =
age
and position should be a principle with your benefactor," replied the
lawyer. "As to race, I c=
onfess
the difficulty had not occurred to me, and I failed to inquire; but if you =
like
I will make a note of it at once, and advise you on the earliest
opportunity."
"Sir," said Francis, "it remain=
s to
be seen whether this whole affair is not a most unworthy fraud. The circumstances are inexplicable =
- I
had almost said incredible; and until I see a little more daylight, and some
plausible motive, I confess I should be very sorry to put a hand to the
transaction. I appeal to you =
in this
difficulty for information. I=
must
learn what is at the bottom of it all.&nbs=
p;
If you do not know, cannot guess, or are not at liberty to tell me, I
shall take my hat and go back to my bank as came."
"I do not know," answered the lawyer,
"but I have an excellent guess.
Your father, and no one else, is at the root of this apparently
unnatural business."
"My father!" cried Francis, in extre=
me
disdain. "Worthy man, I =
know
every thought of his mind, every penny of his fortune!"
"You misinterpret my words," said the
lawyer. "I do not refer =
to Mr.
Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not your father. When he and his wife came to Edinb=
urgh,
you were already nearly one year old, and you had not yet been three months=
in
their care. The secret has be=
en
well kept; but such is the fact.
Your father is unknown, and I say again that I believe him to be the
original of the offers I am charged at present to transmit to you."
It would be impossible to exaggerate the
astonishment of Francis Scrymgeour at this unexpected information. He pled this confusion to the lawy=
er.
"Sir," said he, "after a piece =
of
news so startling, you must grant me some hours for thought. You shall know this evening what c=
onclusion
I have reached."
The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis,
excusing himself upon some pretext at the bank, took a long walk into the
country, and fully considered the different steps and aspects of the case. A
pleasant sense of his own importance rendered him the more deliberate: but the issue was from the first n=
ot
doubtful. His whole carnal man
leaned irresistibly towards the five hundred a year, and the strange condit=
ions
with which it was burdened; he discovered in his heart an invincible repugn=
ance
to the name of Scrymgeour, which he had never hitherto disliked; he began t=
o despise
the narrow and unromantic interests of his former life; and when once his m=
ind
was fairly made up, he walked with a new feeling of strength and freedom, a=
nd
nourished himself with the gayest anticipations.
He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediat=
ely
received a cheque for two quarters' arrears; for the allowance was ante-dat=
ed
from the first of January. Wi=
th
this in his pocket, he walked home. The flat in Scotland Street looked mean=
in
his eyes; his nostrils, for the first time, rebelled against the odour of
broth; and he observed little defects of manner in his adoptive father whic=
h filled
him with surprise and almost with disgust.=
The next day, he determined, should see him on his way to Paris.
In that city, where he arrived long before the
appointed date, he put up at a modest hotel frequented by English and Itali=
ans,
and devoted himself to improvement in the French tongue; for this purpose he
had a master twice a week, entered into conversation with loiterers in the
Champs Elysees, and nightly frequented the theatre. He had his whole toilette fashiona=
bly
renewed; and was shaved and had his hair dressed every morning by a barber =
in a
neighbouring street. This gav=
e him
something of a foreign air, and seemed to wipe off the reproach of his past
years.
At length, on the Saturday afternoon, he betook
himself to the box- office of the theatre in the Rue Richelieu. No sooner had he mentioned his nam=
e than
the clerk produced the order in an envelope of which the address was scarce=
ly
dry.
"It has been taken this moment," said
the clerk.
"Indeed!" said Francis. "May I ask what the gentleman=
was
like?"
"Your friend is easy to describe,"
replied the official. "H=
e is old
and strong and beautiful, with white hair and a sabre-cut across his face.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> You cannot fail to recognise so ma=
rked a
person."
"No, indeed," returned Francis;
"and I thank you for your politeness."
"He cannot yet be far distant," added
the clerk. "If you make =
haste
you might still overtake him."
Francis did not wait to be twice told; he ran =
precipitately
from the theatre into the middle of the street and looked in all directions=
. More than one white-haired man was
within sight; but though he overtook each of them in succession, all wanted=
the
sabre-cut. For nearly half-an=
-hour
he tried one street after another in the neighbourhood, until at length,
recognising the folly of continued search, he started on a walk to compose =
his agitated
feelings; for this proximity of an encounter with him to whom he could not
doubt he owed the day had profoundly moved the young man.
It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot =
and
thence up the Rue des Martyrs; and chance, in this case, served him better =
than
all the forethought in the world.
For on the outer boulevard he saw two men in earnest colloquy upon a
seat. One was dark, young, an=
d handsome,
secularly dressed, but with an indelible clerical stamp; the other answered=
in
every particular to the description given him by the clerk. Francis felt his heart beat high i=
n his
bosom; he knew he was now about to hear the voice of his father; and making=
a wide
circuit, he noiselessly took his place behind the couple in question, who w=
ere
too much interested in their talk to observe much else. As Francis had expected, the
conversation was conducted in the English language
"Your suspicions begin to annoy me,
Rolles," said the older man. "I tell you I am doing my utmost; a =
man
cannot lay his hand on millions in a moment. Have I not taken you up, a mere
stranger, out of pure good-will?
Are you not living largely on my bounty?"
"On your advances, Mr. Vandeleur,"
corrected the other.
"Advances, if you choose; and interest
instead of goodwill, if you prefer it," returned Vandeleur angrily.
"I am beginning to learn the world,"
replied the other, "and I see that you have every reason to play me fa=
lse,
and not one to deal honestly. I am
not here to pick expressions either; you wish the diamond for yourself; you
know you do - you dare not deny it.
Have you not already forged my name, and searched my lodging in my a=
bsence? I understand the cause of your del=
ays;
you are lying in wait; you are the diamond hunter, forsooth; and sooner or
later, by fair means or foul, you'll lay your hands upon it. I tell you, it must stop; push me =
much
further and I promise you a surprise."
"It does not become you to use threats,&q=
uot;
returned Vandeleur. "Two=
can
play at that. My brother is h=
ere in
Paris; the police are on the alert; and if you persist in wearying me with =
your
caterwauling, I will arrange a little astonishment for you, Mr. Rolles. But mine shall be once and for all=
. Do you understand, or would you pr=
efer
me to tell it you in Hebrew? =
There
is an end to all things, and you have come to the end of my patience. Tuesday, at seven; not a day, not =
an
hour sooner, not the least part of a second, if it were to save your life.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And if you do not choose to wait, =
you
may go to the bottomless pit for me, and welcome."
And so saying, the Dictator arose from the ben=
ch,
and marched off in the direction of Montmartre, shaking his head and swingi=
ng
his cane with a most furious air; while his companion remained where he was=
, in
an attitude of great dejection.
Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horro=
r;
his sentiments had been shocked to the last degree; the hopeful tenderness =
with
which he had taken his place upon the bench was transformed into repulsion =
and
despair; old Mr. Scrymgeour, he reflected, was a far more kindly and credit=
able
parent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but he retained his prese=
nce
of mind, and suffered not a moment to elapse before he was on the trail of =
the
Dictator.
That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a
brisk pace, and he was so completely occupied in his angry thoughts that he
never so much as cast a look behind him till he reached his own door.
His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic,
commanding a view of all Paris and enjoying the pure air of the heights.
Francis looked about him; the neighbourhood wa=
s very
lonely, the house isolated in its garden.&=
nbsp;
It seemed as if his observation must here come to an abrupt end. A second glance, however, showed h=
im a tall
house next door presenting a gable to the garden, and in this gable a single
window. He passed to the fron=
t and
saw a ticket offering unfurnished lodgings by the month; and, on inquiry, t=
he room
which commanded the Dictator's garden proved to be one of those to let. Francis did not hesitate a moment;=
he
took the room, paid an advance upon the rent, and returned to his hotel to =
seek
his baggage.
The old man with the sabre-cut might or might =
not
be his father; he might or he might not be upon the true scent; but he was
certainly on the edge of an exciting mystery, and he promised himself that =
he would
not relax his observation until he had got to the bottom of the secret.
From the window of his new apartment Francis
Scrymgeour commanded a complete view into the garden of the house with the
green blinds. Immediately below him a very comely chestnut with wide boughs=
sheltered
a pair of rustic tables where people might dine in the height of summer.
In order that he might not be entirely idle, a=
nd
to give a certain colour to his way of life, Francis had purchased Euclid's
Geometry in French, which he set himself to copy and translate on the top o=
f his
portmanteau and seated on the floor against the wall; for he was equally
without chair or table. From =
time
to time he would rise and cast a glance into the enclosure of the house with
the green blinds; but the windows remained obstinately closed and the garden
empty.
Only late in the evening did anything occur to
reward his continued attention.
Between nine and ten the sharp tinkle of a bell aroused him from a f=
it
of dozing; and he sprang to his observatory in time to hear an important no=
ise
of locks being opened and bars removed, and to see Mr. Vandeleur, carrying a
lantern and clothed in a flowing robe of black velvet with a skull-cap to
match, issue from under the verandah and proceed leisurely towards the gard=
en
gate. The sound of bolts and bars was then repeated; and a moment after Fra=
ncis
perceived the Dictator escorting into the house, in the mobile light of the
lantern, an individual of the lowest and most despicable appearance.
Half-an-hour afterwards the visitor was
reconducted to the street; and Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of=
the
rustic tables, finished a cigar with great deliberation under the foliage of
the chestnut. Francis, peering
through a clear space among the leaves, was able to follow his gestures as =
he
threw away the ash or enjoyed a copious inhalation; and beheld a cloud upon=
the
old man's brow and a forcible action of the lips, which testified to some d=
eep
and probably painful train of thought.&nbs=
p;
The cigar was already almost at an end, when the voice of a young gi=
rl
was heard suddenly crying the hour from the interior of the house.
"In a moment," replied John Vandeleu=
r.
And, with that, he threw away the stump and,
taking up the lantern, sailed away under the verandah for the night. As soon as the door was closed, ab=
solute
darkness fell upon the house; Francis might try his eyesight as much as he
pleased, he could not detect so much as a single chink of light below a bli=
nd;
and he concluded, with great good sense, that the bed-chambers were all upon
the other side.
Early the next morning (for he was early awake
after an uncomfortable night upon the floor), he saw cause to adopt a diffe=
rent
explanation. The blinds rose,=
one
after another, by means of a spring in the interior, and disclosed steel
shutters such as we see on the front of shops; these in their turn were rol=
led
up by a similar contrivance; and for the space of about an hour, the chambe=
rs
were left open to the morning air.
At the end of that time Mr. Vandeleur, with his own hand, once more
closed the shutters and replaced the blinds from within.
While Francis was still marvelling at these
precautions, the door opened and a young girl came forth to look about her =
in
the garden. It was not two minutes before she re-entered the house, but eve=
n in
that short time he saw enough to convince him that she possessed the most
unusual attractions. His curi=
osity
was not only highly excited by this incident, but his spirits were improved=
to
a still more notable degree. =
The
alarming manners and more than equivocal life of his father ceased from that
moment to prey upon his mind; from that moment he embraced his new family w=
ith
ardour; and whether the young lady should prove his sister or his wife, he =
felt
convinced she was an angel in disguise.&nb=
sp;
So much was this the case that he was seized with a sudden horror wh=
en
he reflected how little he really knew, and how possible it was that he had
followed the wrong person when he followed Mr. Vandeleur.
The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him
little information; but, such as it was, it had a mysterious and questionab=
le
sound. The person next door was an English gentleman of extraordinary wealt=
h,
and proportionately eccentric in his tastes and habits. He possessed great collections, wh=
ich he
kept in the house beside him; and it was to protect these that he had fitted
the place with steel shutters, elaborate fastenings, and CHEVAUX-DE-FRISE a=
long
the garden wall. He lived much
alone, in spite of some strange visitors with whom, it seemed, he had busin=
ess
to transact; and there was no one else in the house, except Mademoiselle an=
d an
old woman servant
"Is Mademoiselle his daughter?" inqu=
ired
Francis.
"Certainly," replied the porter. "Mademoiselle is the daughter=
of the
house; and strange it is to see how she is made to work. For all his riches, it is she who =
goes
to market; and every day in the week you may see her going by with a basket=
on
her arm."
"And the collections?" asked the oth=
er.
"Sir," said the man, "they are
immensely valuable. More I ca=
nnot tell
you. Since M. de Vandeleur's
arrival no one in the quarter has so much as passed the door."
"Suppose not," returned Francis,
"you must surely have some notion what these famous galleries
contain. Is it pictures, silk=
s, statues,
jewels, or what?"
"My faith, sir," said the fellow wit=
h a
shrug, "it might be carrots, and still I could not tell you. How should I know? The house is kept like a garrison,=
as
you perceive."
And then as Francis was returning disappointed=
to
his room, the porter called him back.
"I have just remembered, sir," said
he. "M. de Vandeleur has=
been in
all parts of the world, and I once heard the old woman declare that he had
brought many diamonds back with him.
If that be the truth, there must be a fine show behind those
shutters."
By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his
place at the theatre. The seat which had been taken for him was only two or
three numbers from the left-hand side, and directly opposite one of the low=
er boxes. As the seat had been specially cho=
sen
there was doubtless something to be learned from its position; and he judge=
d by
an instinct that the box upon his right was, in some way or other, to be
connected with the drama in which he ignorantly played a part. Indeed, it w=
as
so situated that its occupants could safely observe him from beginning to e=
nd
of the piece, if they were so minded; while, profiting by the depth, they c=
ould
screen themselves sufficiently well from any counter-examination on his
side. He promised himself not=
to
leave it for a moment out of sight; and whilst he scanned the rest of the
theatre, or made a show of attending to the business of the stage, he always
kept a corner of an eye upon the empty box.
The second act had been some time in progress,=
and
was even drawing towards a close, when the door opened and two persons ente=
red
and ensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could hardly control his
emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur=
and
his daughter. The blood came and went in his arteries and veins with stunni=
ng activity;
his ears sang; his head turned. He
dared not look lest he should awake suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept
reading from end to end and over and over again, turned from white to red b=
efore
his eyes; and when he cast a glance upon the stage, it seemed incalculably =
far
away, and he found the voices and gestures of the actors to the last degree
impertinent and absurd.
From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction which principally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that his eyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over his body, and = he saw all the colours of the rainbow. What would he not have given to overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs? What would he not have given for the courage to take up his ope= ra- glass and steadily inspect their attitude and expression? There, for aught he knew, his whol= e life was being decided - and he not able to interfere, not able even to follow t= he debate, but condemned to sit and suffer where he was, in impotent anxiety.<= o:p>
At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, and the people a=
round
him began to leave their places, for the interval. It was only natural that he should
follow their example; and if he did so, it was not only natural but necessa=
ry
that he should pass immediately in front of the box in question. Summoning all his courage, but kee=
ping
his eyes lowered, Francis drew near the spot. His progress was slow, for the
old gentleman before him moved with incredible deliberation, wheezing as he
went. What was he to do? Shou=
ld he
address the Vandeleurs by name as he went by? Should he take the flower from his
button-hole and throw it into the box? Should he raise his face and direct =
one
long and affectionate look upon the lady who was either his sister or his
betrothed? As he found himsel=
f thus
struggling among so many alternatives, he had a vision of his old equable
existence in the bank, and was assailed by a thought of regret for the past=
.
By this time he had arrived directly opposite =
the
box; and although he was still undetermined what to do or whether to do
anything, he turned his head and lifted his eyes. No sooner had he done so than he u=
ttered
a cry of disappointment and remained rooted to the spot. The box was
empty. During his slow advanc=
e Mr.
Vandeleur and his daughter had quietly slipped away.
A polite person in his rear reminded him that =
he
was stopping the path; and he moved on again with mechanical footsteps, and=
suffered
the crowd to carry him unresisting out of the theatre. Once in the street, the pressure
ceasing, he came to a halt, and the cool night air speedily restored him to=
the
possession of his faculties. =
He was
surprised to find that his head ached violently, and that he remembered not=
one
word of the two acts which he had witnessed. As the excitement wore away, it was
succeeded by an overweening appetite for sleep, and he hailed a cab and dro=
ve
to his lodging in a state of extreme exhaustion and some disgust of life.
Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur=
on
her road to market, and by eight o'clock beheld her stepping down a lane. She was simply, and even poorly,
attired; but in the carriage of her head and body there was something flexi=
ble
and noble that would have lent distinction to the meanest toilette. Even her basket, so aptly did she =
carry
it, became her like an ornament. It
seemed to Francis, as he slipped into a doorway, that the sunshine followed=
and
the shadows fled before her as she walked; and he was conscious, for the fi=
rst
time, of a bird singing in a cage above the lane.
He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then,
coming forth once more, addressed her by name from behind. "Miss Vandeleur," said h=
e.
She turned and, when she saw who he was, became
deadly pale.
"Pardon me," he continued; "Hea=
ven
knows I had no will to startle you; and, indeed, there should be nothing
startling in the presence of one who wishes you so well as I do. And, believe me, I am acting rathe=
r from
necessity than choice. We hav=
e many
things in common, and I am sadly in the dark. There is much that I should be doi=
ng,
and my hands are tied. I do n=
ot
know even what to feel, nor who are my friends and enemies."
She found her voice with an effort.
"I do not know who you are," she sai=
d.
"Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do," retu=
rned
Francis "better than I do myself.&nbs=
p;
Indeed, it is on that, above all, that I seek light. Tell me what you
know," he pleaded. "=
;Tell
me who I am, who you are, and how our destinies are intermixed. Give me a little help with my life=
, Miss
Vandeleur - only a word or two to guide me, only the name of my father, if =
you
will - and I shall be grateful and content."
"I will not attempt to deceive you,"=
she
replied. "I know who you=
are,
but I am not at liberty to say."
"Tell me, at least, that you have forgive=
n my
presumption, and I shall wait with all the patience I have," he said.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "If I am not to know, I must =
do
without. It is cruel, but I c=
an
bear more upon a push. Only d=
o not
add to my troubles the thought that I have made an enemy of you."
"You did only what was natural," she
said, "and I have nothing to forgive you. Farewell."
"Is it to be FAREWELL?" he asked.
"Nay, that I do not know myself," she
answered. "Farewell for =
the present,
if you like."
And with these words she was gone.
Francis returned to his lodging in a state of
considerable commotion of mind. He
made the most trifling progress with his Euclid for that forenoon, and was =
more
often at the window than at his improvised writing-table. But beyond seeing the return of Mi=
ss Vandeleur,
and the meeting between her and her father, who was smoking a Trichinopoli
cigar in the verandah, there was nothing notable in the neighbourhood of the
house with the green blinds before the time of the mid-day meal. The young man hastily allayed his
appetite in a neighbouring restaurant, and returned with the speed of unall=
ayed
curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic.&n=
bsp;
A mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and fro before the g=
arden
wall; and the porter of Francis's lodging was smoking a pipe against the
door-post, absorbed in contemplation of the livery and the steeds.
"Look!" he cried to the young man,
"what fine cattle! what an elegant costume! They belong to the brother of M. de
Vandeleur, who is now within upon a visit.=
He is a great man, a general, in your country; and you doubtless know
him well by reputation."
"I confess," returned Francis,
"that I have never heard of General Vandeleur before. We have many officers of that grad=
e, and
my pursuits have been exclusively civil."
"It is he," replied the porter,
"who lost the great diamond of the Indies. Of that at least you must have read
often in the papers."
As soon as Francis could disengage himself from
the porter he ran upstairs and hurried to the window. Immediately below the clear space =
in the
chestnut leaves, the two gentlemen were seated in conversation over a
cigar. The General, a red,
military-looking man, offered some traces of a family resemblance to his
brother; he had something of the same features, something, although very li=
ttle,
of the same free and powerful carriage; but he was older, smaller, and more
common in air; his likeness was that of a caricature, and he seemed altoget=
her
a poor and debile being by the side of the Dictator.
They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the t=
able
with every appearance of interest, that Francis could catch no more than a =
word
or two on an occasion. For as
little as he heard, he was convinced that the conversation turned upon hims=
elf
and his own career; several times the name of Scrymgeour reached his ear, f=
or it
was easy to distinguish, and still more frequently he fancied he could
distinguish the name Francis.
At length the General, as if in a hot anger, b=
roke
forth into several violent exclamations.
"Francis Vandeleur!" he cried,
accentuating the last word. "Francis Vandeleur, I tell you."
The Dictator made a movement of his whole body,
half affirmative, half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudible to the yo=
ung
man.
Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he
wondered. Were they discussin=
g the
name under which he was to be married?&nbs=
p;
Or was the whole affair a dream and a delusion of his own conceit and
self- absorption?
After another interval of inaudible talk,
dissension seemed again to arise between the couple underneath the chestnut,
and again the General raised his voice angrily so as to be audible to Franc=
is.
"My wife?" he cried. "I have done with my wife for
good. I will not hear her
name. I am sick of her very
name."
And he swore aloud and beat the table with his
fist.
The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pac=
ify
him after a paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted him to the ga=
rden-gate. The pair shook hands affectionatel=
y enough;
but as soon as the door had closed behind his visitor, John Vandeleur fell =
into
a fit of laughter which sounded unkindly and even devilish in the ears of
Francis Scrymgeour.
So another day had passed, and little more
learnt. But the young man rem=
embered
that the morrow was Tuesday, and promised himself some curious discoveries;=
all
might be well, or all might be ill; he was sure, at least, to glean some
curious information, and, perhaps, by good luck, get at the heart of the
mystery which surrounded his father and his family.
As the hour of the dinner drew near many
preparations were made in the garden of the house with the green blinds.
Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he=
looked
like a man upon his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. The Dictator, on the other hand,
appeared to enjoy an unusual flow of spirits; his laugh, which was youthful=
and
pleasant to hear, sounded frequently from the garden; by the modulation and=
the
changes of his voice it was obvious that he told many droll stories and
imitated the accents of a variety of different nations; and before he and t=
he young
clergyman had finished their vermouth all feeling of distrust was at an end,
and they were talking together like a pair of school companions.
At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance,
carrying the soup- tureen. Mr.
Rolles ran to offer her assistance which she laughingly refused; and there =
was
an interchange of pleasantries among the trio which seemed to have referenc=
e to
this primitive manner of waiting by one of the company.
"One is more at one's ease," Mr.
Vandeleur was heard to declare.
Next moment they were all three in their place=
s,
and Francis could see as little as he could hear of what passed. But the dinner seemed to go merril=
y;
there was a perpetual babble of voices and sound of knives and forks below =
the
chestnut; and Francis, who had no more than a roll to gnaw, was affected wi=
th
envy by the comfort and deliberation of the meal. The party lingered over one dish a=
fter
another, and then over a delicate dessert, with a bottle of old wine carefu=
lly
uncorked by the hand of the Dictator himself. As it began to grow dark a la=
mp
was set upon the table and a couple of candles on the sideboard; for the ni=
ght
was perfectly pure, starry, and windless.&=
nbsp;
Light overflowed besides from the door and window in the verandah, so
that the garden was fairly illuminated and the leaves twinkled in the darkn=
ess.
For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur ente=
red
the house; and on this occasion she returned with the coffee-tray, which she
placed upon the sideboard. At=
the
same moment her father rose from his seat.
"The coffee is my province," Francis
heard him say.
And next moment he saw his supposed father sta=
nding
by the sideboard in the light of the candles.
Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr.
Vandeleur poured out two cups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid =
act
of prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the smaller =
of
the two. The thing was so swi=
ftly
done that even Francis, who looked straight into his face, had hardly time =
to perceive
the movement before it was completed.
And next instant, and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleur had turned again
towards the table with a cup in either hand.
"Ere we have done with this," said h=
e,
"we may expect our famous Hebrew."
It would be impossible to depict the confusion=
and
distress of Francis Scrymgeour. He
saw foul play going forward before his eyes, and he felt bound to interfere,
but knew not how. It might be=
a
mere pleasantry, and then how should he look if he were to offer an unneces=
sary
warning? Or again, if it were
serious, the criminal might be his own father, and then how should he not
lament if he were to bring ruin on the author of his days? For the first time he became consc=
ious
of his own position as a spy. To
wait inactive at such a juncture and with such a conflict of sentiments in =
his
bosom was to suffer the most acute torture; he clung to the bars of the shu=
tters,
his heart beat fast and with irregularity, and he felt a strong sweat break
forth upon his body.
Several minutes passed.
He seemed to perceive the conversation die away
and grow less and less in vivacity and volume; but still no sign of any
alarming or even notable event.
Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was foll=
owed
by a faint and dull sound, as of a person who should have fallen forward wi=
th
his head upon the table. At t=
he
same moment a piercing scream rose from the garden.
"What have you done?" cried Miss
Vandeleur. "He is dead!&=
quot;
The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so
strong and sibilant that every word was audible to the watcher at the windo=
w.
"Silence!' said Mr. Vandeleur; "the =
man
is as well as I am. Take him =
by the
heels whilst I carry him by the shoulders."
Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a
passion of tears.
"Do you hear what I say?" resumed the
Dictator, in the same tones. "Or do you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss Vande=
leur."
There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke
again.
"Take that man by the heels," he
said. "I must have him b=
rought
into the house. If I were a l=
ittle
younger, I could help myself against the world. But now that years and dangers are=
upon
me and my hands are weakened, I must turn to you for aid."
"It is a crime," replied the girl.
"I am your father," said Mr. Vandele=
ur.
This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise followed upon the
gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw the father and daughter
stagger across the walk and disappear under the verandah, bearing the inani=
mate
body of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees and shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and p=
allid,
and his head rolled upon his shoulders at every step.
Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator'=
s declaration,
inclined to the latter view. A
great crime had been committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the
inhabitants of the house with the green blinds. To his surprise, Francis found all=
horror
for the deed swallowed up in sorrow for a girl and an old man whom he judge=
d to
be in the height of peril. A =
tide
of generous feeling swept into his heart; he, too, would help his father
against man and mankind, against fate and justice; and casting open the
shutters he closed his eyes and threw himself with out-stretched arms into =
the
foliage of the chestnut.
Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or
broke under his weight; then he caught a stalwart bough under his armpit, a=
nd
hung suspended for a second; and then he let himself drop and fell heavily
against the table. A cry of a=
larm
from the house warned him that his entrance had not been effected
unobserved. He recovered hims=
elf
with a stagger, and in three bounds crossed the intervening space and stood
before the door in the verandah.
In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and
surrounded by glazed cabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr. Vandeleur=
was
stooping over the body of Mr. Rolles.
He raised himself as Francis entered, and there was an instantaneous
passage of hands. It was the
business of a second; as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the yo=
ung
man had not the time to be sure, but it seemed to him as if the Dictator had
taken something from the curate's breast, looked at it for the least fracti=
on
of time as it lay in his hand, and then suddenly and swiftly passed it to h=
is
daughter.
All this was over while Francis had still one =
foot
upon the threshold, and the other raised in air. The next instant he was on his kne=
es to
Mr. Vandeleur.
"Father!" he cried. "Let me too help you. I will do what you wish and ask no
questions; I will obey you with my life; treat me as a son, and you will fi=
nd I
have a son's devotion."
A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictat=
or's
first reply.
"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? What d-d unnatural comedy is all
this? How do you come in my
garden? What do you want? And who, in God's name, are you?&q=
uot;
Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect,=
got
upon his feet again, and stood in silence.
Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleu=
r,
and he laughed aloud
"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr. Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how=
you
stand. You have entered my pr=
ivate
residence by force, or perhaps by fraud, but certainly with no encouragement
from me; and you come at a moment of some annoyance, a guest having fainted=
at
my table, to besiege me with your protestations. You are no son of mine. You are my brother's bastard by a =
fishwife,
if you want to know. I regard=
you
with an indifference closely bordering on aversion; and from what I now see=
of
your conduct, I judge your mind to be exactly suitable to your exterior.
Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would have fled had it been pos=
sible;
but as he had no means of leaving the residence into which he had so
unfortunately penetrated, he could do no more than stand foolishly where he
was.
It was Miss Vandeleur who broke the silence.
"Father," she said, "you speak =
in
anger. Mr. Scrymgeour may hav=
e been
mistaken, but he meant well and kindly."
"Thank you for speaking," returned t=
he
Dictator. "You remind me=
of some
other observations which I hold it a point of honour to make to Mr.
Scrymgeour. My brother,"=
he
continued, addressing the young man, "has been foolish enough to give =
you
an allowance; he was foolish enough and presumptuous enough to propose a ma=
tch
between you and this young lady.
You were exhibited to her two nights ago; and I rejoice to tell you =
that
she rejected the idea with disgust. Let me add that I have considerable
influence with your father; and it shall not be my fault if you are not
beggared of your allowance and sent back to your scrivening ere the week be
out."
The tones of the old man's voice were, if
possible, more wounding than his language; Francis felt himself exposed to =
the
most cruel, blighting, and unbearable contempt; his head turned, and he cov=
ered
his face with his hands, uttering at the same time a tearless sob of
agony. But Miss Vandeleur once
again interfered in his behalf.
"Mr. Scrymgeour," she said, speaking=
in
clear and even tones, "you must not be concerned at my father's harsh
expressions. I felt no disgus=
t for
you; on the contrary, I asked an opportunity to make your better
acquaintance. As for what has
passed to-night, believe me it has filled my mind with both pity and
esteem."
Just then Mr. Rolles made a convulsive movement
with his arm, which convinced Francis that he was only drugged, and was
beginning to throw off the influence of the opiate. Mr. Vandeleur stooped over him and
examined his face for an instant.
"Come, come!" cried he, raising his
head. "Let there be an e=
nd of this. And since you are so pleased with =
his
conduct, Miss Vandeleur, take a candle and show the bastard out."
The young lady hastened to obey.
"Thank you," said Francis, as soon a=
s he
was alone with her in the garden.
"I thank you from my soul.&nbs=
p;
This has been the bitterest evening of my life, but it will have alw=
ays
one pleasant recollection."
"I spoke as I felt," she replied,
"and in justice to you. =
It
made my heart sorry that you should be so unkindly used."
By this time they had reached the garden gate;=
and
Miss Vandeleur, having set the candle on the ground, was already unfastenin=
g the
bolts.
"One word more," said Francis. "This is not for the last tim=
e - I shall
see you again, shall I not?"
"Alas!" she answered. "You have heard my father.
"Tell me at least that it is not with your
consent," returned Francis; "tell me that you have no wish to see=
the
last of me."
"Indeed," replied she, "I have
none. You seem to me both bra=
ve and
honest."
"Then," said Francis, "give me a
keepsake."
She paused for a moment, with her hand upon the
key; for the various bars and bolts were all undone, and there was nothing =
left
but to open the lock.
"If I agree," she said, "will y=
ou
promise to do as I tell you from point to point?"
"Can you ask?" replied Francis. "I would do so willingly on y=
our bare
word."
She turned the key and threw open the door.
"Be it so," said she. "You do not know what you ask=
, but
be it so. Whatever you hear," she continued, "whatever happens, do
not return to this house; hurry fast until you reach the lighted and populo=
us quarters
of the city; even there be upon your guard. You are in a greater danger than y=
ou
fancy. Promise me you will no=
t so
much as look at my keepsake until you are in a place of safety."
"I promise," replied Francis.
She put something loosely wrapped in a
handkerchief into the young man's hand; and at the same time, with more
strength than he could have anticipated, she pushed him into the street.
"Now, run!" she cried.
He heard the door close behind him, and the no=
ise
of the bolts being replaced.
"My faith," said he, "since I h=
ave
promised!"
And he took to his heels down the lane that le=
ads
into the Rue Ravignan.
He was not fifty paces from the house with the
green blinds when the most diabolical outcry suddenly arose out of the
stillness of the night. Mecha=
nically
he stood still; another passenger followed his example; in the neighbouring
floors he saw people crowding to the windows; a conflagration could not have
produced more disturbance in this empty quarter. And yet it seemed to be all the wo=
rk of
a single man, roaring between grief and rage, like a lioness robbed of her
whelps; and Francis was surprised and alarmed to hear his own name shouted =
with
English imprecations to the wind.
His first movement was to return to the house;=
his
second, as he remembered Miss Vandeleur's advice, to continue his flight wi=
th greater
expedition than before; and he was in the act of turning to put his thought=
in
action, when the Dictator, bareheaded, bawling aloud, his white hair blowing
about his head, shot past him like a ball out of the cannon's mouth, and we=
nt
careering down the street.
"That was a close shave," thought
Francis to himself. "Wha=
t he wants
with me, and why he should be so disturbed, I cannot think; but he is plain=
ly
not good company for the moment, and I cannot do better than follow Miss
Vandeleur's advice."
So saying, he turned to retrace his steps,
thinking to double and descend by the Rue Lepic itself while his pursuer sh=
ould
continue to follow after him on the other line of street. The plan was ill- devised: as a matter of fact, he should have
taken his seat in the nearest cafe, and waited there until the first heat of
the pursuit was over. But bes=
ides
that Francis had no experience and little natural aptitude for the small wa=
r of
private life, he was so unconscious of any evil on his part, that he saw
nothing to fear beyond a disagreeable interview. And to disagreeable interviews he =
felt
he had already served his apprenticeship that evening; nor could he suppose
that Miss Vandeleur had left anything unsaid. Indeed, the young man was sore
both in body and mind - the one was all bruised, the other was full of smar=
ting
arrows; and he owned to himself that Mr. Vandeleur was master of a very dea=
dly
tongue.
The thought of his bruises reminded him that h=
e had
not only come without a hat, but that his clothes had considerably suffered=
in his
descent through the chestnut. At
the first magazine he purchased a cheap wideawake, and had the disorder of =
his
toilet summarily repaired. The
keepsake, still rolled in the handkerchief, he thrust in the meanwhile into=
his
trousers pocket.
Not many steps beyond the shop he was consciou=
s of
a sudden shock, a hand upon his throat, an infuriated face close to his own,
and an open mouth bawling curses in his ear. The Dictator, having found no trac=
e of
his quarry, was returning by the other way. Francis was a stalwart young fello=
w; but
he was no match for his adversary whether in strength or skill; and after a=
few
ineffectual struggles he resigned himself entirely to his captor.
"What do you want with me?" said he.=
"We will talk of that at home," retu=
rned
the Dictator grimly.
And he continued to march the young man up hil=
l in
the direction of the house with the green blinds.
But Francis, although he no longer struggled, =
was
only waiting an opportunity to make a bold push for freedom. With a sudden jerk he left the col=
lar of
his coat in the hands of Mr. Vandeleur, and once more made off at his best
speed in the direction of the Boulevards.
The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was the stronger, =
Francis,
in the top of his youth, was the more fleet of foot, and he had soon effect=
ed
his escape among the crowds.
Relieved for a moment, but with a growing sentiment of alarm and won=
der
in his mind, be walked briskly until he debauched upon the Place de l'Opera,
lit up like day with electric lamps.
"This, at least," thought he,
"should satisfy Miss Vandeleur."
And turning to his right along the Boulevards,=
he
entered the Cafe Americain and ordered some beer. It was both late and early for the
majority of the frequenters of the establishment. Only two or three persons, all men=
, were
dotted here and there at separate tables in the hall; and Francis was too m=
uch
occupied by his own thoughts to observe their presence.
He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The object wrapped in it proved to=
be a
morocco case, clasped and ornamented in gilt, which opened by means of a
spring, and disclosed to the horrified young man a diamond of monstrous big=
ness
and extraordinary brilliancy. The circumstance was so inexplicable, the val=
ue
of the stone was plainly so enormous, that Francis sat staring into the open
casket without movement, without conscious thought, like a man stricken sud=
denly
with idiocy.
A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but
firmly, and a quiet voice, which yet had in it the ring of command, uttered
these words in his ear -
"Close the casket, and compose your
face."
Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an
urbane and tranquil presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This personage had risen from a
neighbouring table, and, bringing his glass with him, had taken a seat besi=
de
Francis.
"Close the casket," repeated the
stranger, "and put it quietly back into your pocket, where I feel
persuaded it should never have been. Try, if you please, to throw off your
bewildered air, and act as though I were one of your acquaintances whom you=
had
met by chance. So! Touch glas=
ses
with me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must be an
amateur."
And the stranger pronounced these last words w=
ith
a smile of peculiar meaning, leaned back in his seat and enjoyed a deep inh=
alation
of tobacco.
"For God's sake," said Francis,
"tell me who you are and what this means? Why I should obey your most unusual
suggestions I am sure I know not; but the truth is, I have fallen this even=
ing
into so many perplexing adventures, and all I meet conduct themselves so st=
rangely,
that I think I must either have gone mad or wandered into another planet. Your face inspires me with confide=
nce;
you seem wise, good, and experienced; tell me, for heaven's sake, why you
accost me in so odd a fashion?"
"All in due time," replied the
stranger. "But I have the
first hand, and you must begin by telling me how the Rajah's Diamond is in =
your
possession."
"The Rajah's Diamond!" echoed Franci=
s.
"I would not speak so loud, if I were
you," returned the other. "But most certainly you have the Rajah's
Diamond in your pocket. I hav=
e seen
and handled it a score of times in Sir Thomas Vandeleur's collection."=
"Sir Thomas Vandeleur! The General! My father!" cried Francis.
"Your father?" repeated the
stranger. "I was not awa=
re the
General had any family."
"I am illegitimate, sir," replied
Francis, with a flush.
The other bowed with gravity. It was a respectful bow, as of a m=
an silently
apologising to his equal; and Francis felt relieved and comforted, he scarce
knew why. The society of this
person did him good; he seemed to touch firm ground; a strong feeling of
respect grew up in his bosom, and mechanically he removed his wideawake as =
though
in the presence of a superior.
"I perceive," said the stranger,
"that your adventures have not all been peaceful. Your collar is torn, your face is
scratched, you have a cut upon your temple; you will, perhaps, pardon my
curiosity when I ask you to explain how you came by these injuries, and how=
you
happen to have stolen property to an enormous value in your pocket."
"I must differ from you!" returned
Francis hotly. "I posses=
s no stolen
property. And if you refer to=
the
diamond, it was given to me not an hour ago by Miss Vandeleur in the Rue
Lepic."
"By Miss Vandeleur of the Rue Lepic!"
repeated the other. "You=
interest
me more than you suppose. Pray
continue."
"Heavens!" cried Francis.
His memory had made a sudden bound. He had seen Mr. Vandeleur take an
article from the breast of his drugged visitor, and that article, he was now
persuaded, was a morocco case.
"You have a light?" inquired the
stranger.
"Listen," replied Francis. "I know not who you are, but I
believe you to be worthy of confidence and helpful; I find myself in strange
waters; I must have counsel and support, and since you invite me I shall te=
ll
you all."
And he briefly recounted his experiences since=
the
day when he was summoned from the bank by his lawyer.
"Yours is indeed a remarkable history,&qu=
ot;
said the stranger, after the young man had made an end of his narrative;
"and your position is full of difficulty and peril. Many would counsel you to seek out=
your
father, and give the diamond to him; but I have other views. Waiter!" he cried.
The waiter drew near.
"Will you ask the manager to speak with m=
e a
moment?" said he; and Francis observed once more, both in his tone and
manner, the evidence of a habit of command.
The waiter withdrew, and returned in a moment =
with
manager, who bowed with obsequious respect.
"What," said he, "can I do to s=
erve
you?"
"Have the goodness," replied the
stranger, indicating Francis, "to tell this gentleman my name."
"You have the honour, sir," said the
functionary, addressing young Scrymgeour, "to occupy the same table wi=
th
His Highness Prince Florizel of Bohemia."
Francis rose with precipitation, and made a
grateful reverence to the Prince, who bade him resume his seat.
"I thank you," said Florizel, once m=
ore
addressing the functionary; "I am sorry to have deranged you for so sm=
all
a matter."
And he dismissed him with a movement of his ha=
nd.
"And now," added the Prince, turning=
to
Francis, "give me the diamond."
Without a word the casket was handed over.
"You have done right," said Florizel,
"your sentiments have properly inspired you, and you will live to be
grateful for the misfortunes of to-night.&=
nbsp;
A man, Mr. Scrymgeour, may fall into a thousand perplexities, but if=
his
heart be upright and his intelligence unclouded, he will issue from them all
without dishonour. Let your m=
ind be
at rest; your affairs are in my hand; and with the aid of heaven I am strong
enough to bring them to a good end.
Follow me, if you please, to my carriage."
So saying the Prince arose and, having left a
piece of gold for the waiter, conducted the young man from the cafe and alo=
ng
the Boulevard to where an unpretentious brougham and a couple of servants o=
ut
of livery awaited his arrival.
"This carriage," said he, "is at
your disposal; collect your baggage as rapidly as you can make it convenien=
t,
and my servants will conduct you to a villa in the neighbourhood of Paris w=
here
you can wait in some degree of comfort until I have had time to arrange your
situation. You will find ther=
e a
pleasant garden, a library of good authors, a cook, a cellar, and some good
cigars, which I recommend to your attention. Jerome," he added, turning to=
one
of the servants, "you have heard what I say; I leave Mr. Scrymgeour in=
your
charge; you will, I know, be careful of my friend."
Francis uttered some broken phrases of gratitu=
de.
"It will be time enough to thank me,"
said the Prince, "when you are acknowledged by your father and married=
to
Miss Vandeleur."
And with that the Prince turned away and strol=
led
leisurely in the direction of Montmartre.&=
nbsp;
He hailed the first passing cab, gave an address, and a quarter of an
hour afterwards, having discharged the driver some distance lower, he was
knocking at Mr. Vandeleur's garden gate.
It was opened with singular precautions by the
Dictator in person.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"You must pardon me this late visit, Mr.
Vandeleur," replied the Prince.
"Your Highness is always welcome,"
returned Mr. Vandeleur, stepping back.
The Prince profited by the open space, and wit=
hout
waiting for his host walked right into the house and opened the door of the
SALON. Two people were seated there; one was Miss Vandeleur, who bore the m=
arks
of weeping about her eyes, and was still shaken from time to time by a sob;=
in
the other the Prince recognised the young man who had consulted him on lite=
rary
matters about a month before, in a club smoking-room.
"Good evening, Miss Vandeleur," said
Florizel; "you look fatigued. Mr. Rolles, I believe? I hope you have profited by the st=
udy of
Gaboriau, Mr. Rolles."
But the young clergyman's temper was too much
embittered for speech; and he contented himself with bowing stiffly, and
continued to gnaw his lip.
"To what good wind," said Mr. Vandel=
eur,
following his guest, "am I to attribute the honour of your Highness's
presence?"
"I am come on business," returned the
Prince; "on business with you; as soon as that is settled I shall requ=
est
Mr. Rolles to accompany me for a walk.&nbs=
p;
Mr. Rolles," he added with severity, "let me remind you th=
at I
have not yet sat down."
The clergyman sprang to his feet with an apolo=
gy;
whereupon the Prince took an armchair beside the table, handed his hat to M=
r. Vandeleur,
his cane to Mr. Rolles, and, leaving them standing and thus menially employ=
ed
upon his service, spoke as follows:-
"I have come here, as I said, upon busine=
ss;
but, had I come looking for pleasure, I could not have been more displeased
with my reception nor more dissatisfied with my company. You, sir," addressing Mr. Rol=
les,
"you have treated your superior in station with discourtesy; you,
Vandeleur, receive me with a smile, but you know right well that your hands=
are
not yet cleansed from misconduct. =
span>I
do not desire to be interrupted, sir," he added imperiously; "I am
here to speak, and not to listen; and I have to ask you to hear me with
respect, and to obey punctiliously.
At the earliest possible date your daughter shall be married at the =
Embassy
to my friend, Francis Scrymgeour, your brother's acknowledged son. You will oblige me by offering not=
less
than ten thousand pounds dowry. For
yourself, I will indicate to you in writing a mission of some importance in
Siam which I destine to your care.
And now, sir, you will answer me in two words whether or not you agr=
ee
to these conditions."
"Your Highness will pardon me," said=
Mr.
Vandeleur, "and permit me, with all respect, to submit to him two
queries?"
"The permission is granted," replied=
the
Prince.
"Your Highness," resumed the Dictato=
r,
"has called Mr. Scrymgeour his friend. Believe me, had I known he was thus
honoured, I should have treated him with proportional respect."
"You interrogate adroitly," said the
Prince; "but it will not serve your turn. You have my commands; if I had nev=
er
seen that gentleman before to-night, it would not render them less
absolute."
"Your Highness interprets my meaning with=
his
usual subtlety," returned Vandeleur.&=
nbsp;
"Once more: I hav=
e,
unfortunately, put the police upon the track of Mr. Scrymgeour on a charge =
of
theft; am I to withdraw or to uphold the accusation?"
"You will please yourself," replied
Florizel. "The question =
is one
between your conscience and the laws of this land. Give me my hat; and you, Mr. Rolle=
s,
give me my cane and follow me. Miss
Vandeleur, I wish you good evening.
I judge," he added to Vandeleur, "that your silence means
unqualified assent."
"If I can do no better," replied the=
old
man, "I shall submit; but I warn you openly it shall not be without a
struggle."
"You are old," said the Prince;
"but years are disgraceful to the wicked. Your age is more unwise than the y=
outh
of others. Do not provoke me,=
or
you may find me harder than you dream.&nbs=
p;
This is the first time that I have fallen across your path in anger;
take care that it be the last."
With these words, motioning the clergyman to
follow, Florizel left the apartment and directed his steps towards the gard=
en
gate; and the Dictator, following with a candle, gave them light, and once =
more
undid the elaborate fastenings with which he sought to protect himself from
intrusion.
"Your daughter is no longer present,"
said the Prince, turning on the threshold.=
"Let me tell you that I understand your threats; and you have o=
nly
to lift your hand to bring upon yourself sudden and irremediable ruin."=
;
The Dictator made no reply; but as the Prince
turned his back upon him in the lamplight he made a gesture full of menace =
and
insane fury; and the next moment, slipping round a corner, he was running at
full speed for the nearest cab-stand.
=
(Here,
says my Arabian, the thread of events is finally diverted from THE HOUSE WI=
TH
THE GREEN BLINDS. One more
adventure, he adds, and we have done with THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND. That last link in the chain is kno=
wn
among the inhabitants of Bagdad by the name of THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLOR=
IZEL
AND A DETECTIVE.)
Prince Florizel walked with Mr. Rolles to the =
door
of a small hotel where the latter resided.=
They spoke much together, and the clergyman was more than once affec=
ted
to tears by the mingled severity and tenderness of Florizel's reproaches.
"I have made ruin of my life," he sa=
id
at last. "Help me; tell =
me what
I am to do; I have, alas! neither the virtues of a priest nor the dexterity=
of
a rogue."
"Now that you are humbled," said the
Prince, "I command no longer; the repentant have to do with God and not
with princes. But if you will=
let
me advise you, go to Australia as a colonist, seek menial labour in the open
air, and try to forget that you have ever been a clergyman, or that you ever
set eyes on that accursed stone."
"Accurst indeed!" replied Mr.
Rolles. "Where is it now=
? What further hurt is it not workin=
g for
mankind?"
"It will do no more evil," returned =
the
Prince. "It is here in m=
y pocket. And this," he added kindly,
"will show that I place some faith in your penitence, young as it
is."
"Suffer me to touch your hand," plea=
ded
Mr. Rolles.
"No," replied Prince Florizel, "=
;not
yet."
The tone in which he uttered these last words =
was
eloquent in the ears of the young clergyman; and for some minutes after the
Prince had turned away he stood on the threshold following with his eyes the
retreating figure and invoking the blessing of heaven upon a man so excelle=
nt
in counsel.
For several hours the Prince walked alone in
unfrequented streets. His mind was full of concern; what to do with the
diamond, whether to return it to its owner, whom he judged unworthy of this
rare possession, or to take some sweeping and courageous measure and put it=
out
of the reach of all mankind at once and for ever, was a problem too grave t=
o be
decided in a moment. The mann=
er in
which it had come into his hands appeared manifestly providential; and as he
took out the jewel and looked at it under the street lamps, its size and
surprising brilliancy inclined him more and more to think of it as of an
unmixed and dangerous evil for the world.
"God help me!" he thought; "if I
look at it much oftener, I shall begin to grow covetous myself."
At last, though still uncertain in his mind, he
turned his steps towards the small but elegant mansion on the river-side wh=
ich
had belonged for centuries to his royal family. The arms of Bohemia are deeply gra=
ved
over the door and upon the tall chimneys; passengers have a look into a gre=
en
court set with the most costly flowers, and a stork, the only one in Paris,
perches on the gable all day long and keeps a crowd before the house. Grave servants are seen passing to=
and
fro within; and from time to time the great gate is thrown open and a carri=
age
rolls below the arch. For man=
y reasons
this residence was especially dear to the heart of Prince Florizel; he never
drew near to it without enjoying that sentiment of home-coming so rare in t=
he
lives of the great; and on the present evening he beheld its tall roof and
mildly illuminated windows with unfeigned relief and satisfaction.
As he was approaching the postern door by whic=
h he
always entered when alone, a man stepped forth from the shadow and presente=
d himself
with an obeisance in the Prince's path.
"I have the honour of addressing Prince
Florizel of Bohemia?" said he.
"Such is my title," replied the
Prince. "What do you wan=
t with
me?"
"I am," said the man, "a detect=
ive,
and I have to present your Highness with this billet from the Prefect of
Police."
The Prince took the letter and glanced it thro=
ugh
by the light of the street lamp. It
was highly apologetic, but requested him to follow the bearer to the Prefec=
ture
without delay.
"In short," said Florizel, "I am
arrested."
"Your Highness," replied the officer,
"nothing, I am certain, could be further from the intention of the
Prefect. You will observe tha=
t he
has not granted a warrant. It=
is
mere formality, or call it, if you prefer, an obligation that your Highness
lays on the authorities."
"At the same time," asked the Prince,
"if I were to refuse to follow you?"
"I will not conceal from your Highness th=
at a
considerable discretion has been granted me," replied the detective wi=
th a
bow.
"Upon my word," cried Florizel,
"your effrontery astounds me! Yourself, as an agent, I must pardon; but
your superiors shall dearly smart for their misconduct. What, have you any idea, is the ca=
use of
this impolitic and unconstitutional act?&n=
bsp;
You will observe that I have as yet neither refused nor consented, a=
nd much
may depend on your prompt and ingenuous answer. Let me remind you, officer, that t=
his is
an affair of some gravity."
"Your Highness," said the detective
humbly, "General Vandeleur and his brother have had the incredible
presumption to accuse you of theft.
The famous diamond, they declare, is in your hands. A word from you in denial will most
amply satisfy the Prefect; nay, I go farther: if your Highness would so far hono=
ur a
subaltern as to declare his ignorance of the matter even to myself, I should
ask permission to retire upon the spot."
Florizel, up to the last moment, had regarded =
his
adventure in the light of a trifle, only serious upon international
considerations. At the name of Vandeleur the horrible truth broke upon him =
in a
moment; he was not only arrested, but he was guilty. This was not only an annoying inci=
dent -
it was a peril to his honour. What
was he to say? What was he to
do? The Rajah's Diamond was i=
ndeed
an accursed stone; and it seemed as if he were to be the last victim to its
influence.
One thing was certain. He could not give the required ass=
urance
to the detective. He must gain
time.
His hesitation had not lasted a second.
"Be it so," said he, "let us wa=
lk
together to the Prefecture."
The man once more bowed, and proceeded to foll=
ow
Florizel at a respectful distance in the rear.
"Approach," said the Prince. "I am in a humour to talk, an=
d, if
I mistake not, now I look at you again, this is not the first time that we =
have
met."
"I count it an honour," replied the =
officer,
"that your Highness should recollect my face. It is eight years since I had the =
pleasure
of an interview."
"To remember faces," returned Floriz=
el,
"is as much a part of my profession as it is of yours. Indeed, rightly looked upon, a Pri=
nce
and a detective serve in the same corps.&n=
bsp;
We are both combatants against crime; only mine is the more lucrative
and yours the more dangerous rank, and there is a sense in which both may b=
e made
equally honourable to a good man. =
span>I
had rather, strange as you may think it, be a detective of character and pa=
rts
than a weak and ignoble sovereign."
The officer was overwhelmed.
"Your Highness returns good for evil,&quo=
t;
said he. "To an act of p=
resumption
he replies by the most amiable condescension."
"How do you know," replied Florizel,
"that I am not seeking to corrupt you?"
"Heaven preserve me from the
temptation!" cried the detective.
"I applaud your answer," returned the
Prince. "It is that of a=
wise
and honest man. The world is a
great place and stocked with wealth and beauty, and there is no limit to the
rewards that may be offered. =
Such
an one who would refuse a million of money may sell his honour for an empir=
e or
the love of a woman; and I myself, who speak to you, have seen occasions so
tempting, provocations so irresistible to the strength of human virtue, tha=
t I
have been glad to tread in your steps and recommend myself to the grace of =
God.
It is thus, thanks to that modest and becoming habit alone," he added,
"that you and I can walk this town together with untarnished hearts.&q=
uot;
"I had always heard that you were
brave," replied the officer, "but I was not aware that you were w=
ise
and pious. You speak the trut=
h, and
you speak it with an accent that moves me to the heart. This world is indeed a place of
trial."
"We are now," said Florizel, "in
the middle of the bridge. Lea=
n your
elbows on the parapet and look over.
As the water rushing below, so the passions and complications of life
carry away the honesty of weak men.
Let me tell you a story."
"I receive your Highness's commands,"
replied the man.
And, imitating the Prince, he leaned against t=
he
parapet, and disposed himself to listen.&n=
bsp;
The city was already sunk in slumber; had it not been for the infini=
ty
of lights and the outline of buildings on the starry sky, they might have b=
een
alone beside some country river.
"An officer," began Prince Florizel,
"a man of courage and conduct, who had already risen by merit to an
eminent rank, and won not only admiration but respect, visited, in an
unfortunate hour for his peace of mind, the collections of an Indian
Prince. Here he beheld a diam=
ond so
extraordinary for size and beauty that from that instant he had only one de=
sire
in life: honour, reputation, =
friendship,
the love of country, he was ready to sacrifice all for this lump of sparkli=
ng
crystal. For three years he s=
erved
this semi-barbarian potentate as Jacob served Laban; he falsified frontiers=
, he
connived at murders, he unjustly condemned and executed a brother-officer w=
ho
had the misfortune to displease the Rajah by some honest freedoms; lastly, =
at a
time of great danger to his native land, he betrayed a body of his
fellow-soldiers, and suffered them to be defeated and massacred by
thousands. In the end, he had
amassed a magnificent fortune, and brought home with him the coveted diamon=
d.
"Years passed," continued the Prince,
"and at length the diamond is accidentally lost. It falls into the hands of a simpl=
e and laborious
youth, a student, a minister of God, just entering on a career of usefulness
and even distinction. Upon hi=
m also
the spell is cast; he deserts everything, his holy calling, his studies, an=
d flees
with the gem into a foreign country.
The officer has a brother, an astute, daring, unscrupulous man, who
learns the clergyman's secret. What
does he do? Tell his brother,
inform the police? No; upon t=
his
man also the Satanic charm has fallen; he must have the stone for himself.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> At the risk of murder, he drugs the
young priest and seizes the prey.
And now, by an accident which is not important to my moral, the jewel
passes out of his custody into that of another, who, terrified at what he s=
ees,
gives it into the keeping of a man in high station and above reproach.
"The officer's name is Thomas
Vandeleur," continued Florizel.
"The stone is called the Rajah's Diamond. And" - suddenly opening his h=
and -
"you behold it here before your eyes."
The officer started back with a cry.
"We have spoken of corruption," said=
the
Prince. "To me this nugg=
et of
bright crystal is as loathsome as though it were crawling with the worms of
death; it is as shocking as though it were compacted out of innocent
blood. I see it here in my ha=
nd,
and I know it is shining with hell-fire.&n=
bsp;
I have told you but a hundredth part of its story; what passed in fo=
rmer
ages, to what crimes and treacheries it incited men of yore, the imagination
trembles to conceive; for years and years it has faithfully served the powe=
rs of
hell; enough, I say, of blood, enough of disgrace, enough of broken lives a=
nd
friendships; all things come to an end, the evil like the good; pestilence =
as
well as beautiful music; and as for this diamond, God forgive me if I do wr=
ong,
but its empire ends to- night."
The Prince made a sudden movement with his han=
d,
and the jewel, describing an arc of light, dived with a splash into the flo=
wing
river.
"Amen," said Florizel with gravity.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "I have slain a cockatrice!&q=
uot;
"God pardon me!" cried the
detective. "What have you
done? I am a ruined man."=
;
"I think," returned the Prince with a
smile, "that many well-to-do people in this city might envy you your
ruin."
"Alas! your Highness!" said the offi=
cer,
"and you corrupt me after all?"
"It seems there was no help for it,"
replied Florizel. "And n=
ow let
us go forward to the Prefecture."
=
Not
long after, the marriage of Francis Scrymgeour and Miss Vandeleur was
celebrated in great privacy; and the Prince acted on that occasion as
groomsman. The two Vandeleurs
surprised some rumour of what had happened to the diamond; and their vast
diving operations on the River Seine are the wonder and amusement of the id=
le. It is true that through some
miscalculation they have chosen the wrong branch of the river. As for the Prince, that sublime pe=
rson,
having now served his turn, may go, along with the ARABIAN AUTHOR, topsy-tu=
rvy
into space. But if the reader
insists on more specific information, I am happy to say that a recent
revolution hurled him from the throne of Bohemia, in consequence of his con=
tinued
absence and edifying neglect of public business; and that his Highness now
keeps a cigar store in Rupert Street, much frequented by other foreign
refugees. I go there from tim=
e to
time to smoke and have a chat, and find him as great a creature as in the d=
ays
of his prosperity; he has an Olympian air behind the counter; and although a
sedentary life is beginning to tell upon his waistcoat, he is probably, take
him for all in all, the handsomest tobacconist in London.
I was a great solitary when I was young. I made it my pride to keep aloof a=
nd
suffice for my own entertainment; and I may say that I had neither friends =
nor
acquaintances until I met that friend who became my wife and the mother of =
my
children. With one man only w=
as I
on private terms; this was R. Northmour, Esquire, of Graden Easter, in
Scotland. We had met at colle=
ge;
and though there was not much liking between us, nor even much intimacy, we
were so nearly of a humour that we could associate with ease to both. Misan=
thropes,
we believed ourselves to be; but I have thought since that we were only sul=
ky
fellows. It was scarcely a
companionship, but a coexistence in unsociability. Northmour's exceptional violence of
temper made it no easy affair for him to keep the peace with any one but me;
and as he respected my silent ways, and let me come and go as I pleased, I
could tolerate his presence without concern. I think we called each other frien=
ds.
When Northmour took his degree and I decided to
leave the university without one, he invited me on a long visit to Graden E=
aster;
and it was thus that I first became acquainted with the scene of my
adventures. The mansion-house=
of
Graden stood in a bleak stretch of country some three miles from the shore =
of
the German Ocean. It was as l=
arge
as a barrack; and as it had been built of a soft stone, liable to consume in
the eager air of the seaside, it was damp and draughty within and half ruin=
ous
without. It was impossible for two young men to lodge with comfort in such =
a dwelling. But there stood in the northern pa=
rt of
the estate, in a wilderness of links and blowing sand-hills, and between a =
plantation
and the sea, a small Pavilion or Belvidere, of modern design, which was exa=
ctly
suited to our wants; and in this hermitage, speaking little, reading much, =
and
rarely associating except at meals, Northmour and I spent four tempestuous
winter months. I might have s=
tayed
longer; but one March night there sprang up between us a dispute, which
rendered my departure necessary.
Northmour spoke hotly, I remember, and I suppose I must have made so=
me
tart rejoinder. He leaped fro=
m his
chair and grappled me; I had to fight, without exaggeration, for my life; a=
nd it
was only with a great effort that I mastered him, for he was near as strong=
in
body as myself, and seemed filled with the devil. The next morning, we met =
on
our usual terms; but I judged it more delicate to withdraw; nor did he atte=
mpt
to dissuade me.
It was nine years before I revisited the
neighbourhood. I travelled at=
that
time with a tilt cart, a tent, and a cooking- stove, tramping all day beside
the waggon, and at night, whenever it was possible, gipsying in a cove of t=
he
hills, or by the side of a wood. I
believe I visited in this manner most of the wild and desolate regions both=
in
England and Scotland; and, as I had neither friends nor relations, I was
troubled with no correspondence, and had nothing in the nature of headquart=
ers,
unless it was the office of my solicitors, from whom I drew my income twice=
a
year. It was a life in which I
delighted; and I fully thought to have grown old upon the march, and at last
died in a ditch.
It was my whole business to find desolate corn=
ers,
where I could camp without the fear of interruption; and hence, being in
another part of the same shire, I bethought me suddenly of the Pavilion on =
the
Links. No thoroughfare passed
within three miles of it. The=
nearest
town, and that was but a fisher village, was at a distance of six or
seven. For ten miles of lengt=
h, and
from a depth varying from three miles to half a mile, this belt of barren
country lay along the sea. The
beach, which was the natural approach, was full of quicksands. Indeed I may say there is hardly a
better place of concealment in the United Kingdom. I determined to pass a week in the
Sea-Wood of Graden Easter, and making a long stage, reached it about sundow=
n on
a wild September day.
The country, I have said, was mixed sand-hill =
and
links; LINKS being a Scottish name for sand which has ceased drifting and
become more or less solidly covered with turf. The Pavilion stood on an even spac=
e; a
little behind it, the wood began in a hedge of elders huddled together by t=
he
wind; in front, a few tumbled sand-hills stood between it and the sea. An outcropping of rock had formed =
a bastion
for the sand, so that there was here a promontory in the coast-line between=
two
shallow bays; and just beyond the tides, the rock again cropped out and for=
med
an islet of small dimensions but strikingly designed. The quicksands were of great exten=
t at
low water, and had an infamous reputation in the country. Close in shore, between the islet =
and
the promontory, it was said they would swallow a man in four minutes and a
half; but there may have been little ground for this precision. The district was alive with rabbit=
s, and
haunted by gulls which made a continual piping about the pavilion. On summer days the outlook was bri=
ght
and even gladsome; but at sundown in September, with a high wind, and a hea=
vy
surf rolling in close along the links, the place told of nothing but dead
mariners and sea disaster. A =
ship
beating to windward on the horizon, and a huge truncheon of wreck half buri=
ed in
the sands at my feet, completed the innuendo of the scene.
The pavilion - it had been built by the last
proprietor, Northmour's uncle, a silly and prodigal virtuoso - presented li=
ttle
signs of age. It was two stor=
eys in
height, Italian in design, surrounded by a patch of garden in which nothing=
had
prospered but a few coarse flowers; and looked, with its shuttered windows,=
not
like a house that had been deserted, but like one that had never been tenan=
ted
by man. Northmour was plainly=
from
home; whether, as usual, sulking in the cabin of his yacht, or in one of hi=
s fitful
and extravagant appearances in the world of society, I had, of course, no m=
eans
of guessing. The place had an=
air
of solitude that daunted even a solitary like myself; the wind cried in the=
chimneys
with a strange and wailing note; and it was with a sense of escape, as if I
were going indoors, that I turned away and, driving my cart before me, ente=
red
the skirts of the wood.
The Sea-Wood of Graden had been planted to she= lter the cultivated fields behind, and check the encroachments of the blowing sa= nd. As you advanced into it from coast= ward, elders were succeeded by other hardy shrubs; but the timber was all stunted= and bushy; it led a life of conflict; the trees were accustomed to swing there = all night long in fierce winter tempests; and even in early spring, the leaves were already flying, and autumn was beginning, in this exposed plantation. Inland the ground rose into a litt= le hill, which, along with the islet, served as a sailing mark for seamen. When the hill was open of the islet to the north, vessels must bear well to the eastward to clear Graden Ness and the Graden Bullers. In the lower ground, a streamlet ran among the trees, and, being dammed with dead leaves and clay = of its own carrying, spread out every here and there, and lay in stagnant pools. One or two ruined cott= ages were dotted about the wood; and, according to Northmour, these were ecclesiastical foundations, and in their time had sheltered pious hermits.<= o:p>
I found a den, or small hollow, where there wa=
s a
spring of pure water; and there, clearing away the brambles, I pitched the
tent, and made a fire to cook my supper.&n=
bsp;
My horse I picketed farther in the wood where there was a patch of
sward. The banks of the den n=
ot
only concealed the light of my fire, but sheltered me from the wind, which =
was
cold as well as high.
The life I was leading made me both hardy and
frugal. I never drank but wat=
er,
and rarely ate anything more costly than oatmeal; and I required so little
sleep, that, although I rose with the peep of day, I would often lie long a=
wake
in the dark or starry watches of the night. Thus in Graden Sea-Wood, although =
I fell
thankfully asleep by eight in the evening I was awake again before eleven w=
ith a
full possession of my faculties, and no sense of drowsiness or fatigue. I rose and sat by the fire, watchi=
ng the
trees and clouds tumultuously tossing and fleeing overhead, and hearkening =
to
the wind and the rollers along the shore; till at length, growing weary of
inaction, I quitted the den, and strolled towards the borders of the wood.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> A young moon, buried in mist, gave=
a
faint illumination to my steps; and the light grew brighter as I walked for=
th
into the links. At the same m=
oment,
the wind, smelling salt of the open ocean and carrying particles of sand,
struck me with its full force, so that I had to bow my head.
When I raised it again to look about me, I was
aware of a light in the pavilion.
It was not stationary; but passed from one window to another, as tho=
ugh
some one were reviewing the different apartments with a lamp or candle.
I watched it for some seconds in great
surprise. When I had arrived =
in the
afternoon the house had been plainly deserted; now it was as plainly
occupied. It was my first ide=
a that
a gang of thieves might have broken in and be now ransacking Northmour's cu=
pboards,
which were many and not ill supplied.
But what should bring thieves to Graden Easter? And, again, all the shutters had b=
een
thrown open, and it would have been more in the character of such gentry to
close them. I dismissed the n=
otion,
and fell back upon another.
Northmour himself must have arrived, and was now airing and inspecti=
ng
the pavilion.
I have said that there was no real affection
between this man and me; but, had I loved him like a brother, I was then so
much more in love with solitude that I should none the less have shunned hi=
s company. As it was, I turned and ran for it=
; and
it was with genuine satisfaction that I found myself safely back beside the=
fire. I had escaped an acquaintance; I s=
hould
have one more night in comfort. In
the morning, I might either slip away before Northmour was abroad, or pay h=
im
as short a visit as I chose.
But when morning came, I thought the situation=
so
diverting that I forgot my shyness.
Northmour was at my mercy; I arranged a good practical jest, though I
knew well that my neighbour was not the man to jest with in security; and,
chuckling beforehand over its success, took my place among the elders at the
edge of the wood, whence I could command the door of the pavilion. The shutters were all once more cl=
osed,
which I remember thinking odd; and the house, with its white walls and green
venetians, looked spruce and habitable in the morning light. Hour after hour passed, and still =
no
sign of Northmour. I knew him=
for a
sluggard in the morning; but, as it drew on towards noon, I lost my
patience. To say the truth, I=
had
promised myself to break my fast in the pavilion, and hunger began to prick=
me
sharply. It was a pity to let=
the opportunity
go by without some cause for mirth; but the grosser appetite prevailed, and=
I
relinquished my jest with regret, and sallied from the wood.
The appearance of the house affected me, as I =
drew
near, with disquietude. It se=
emed
unchanged since last evening; and I had expected it, I scarce knew why, to =
wear
some external signs of habitation.
But no: the windows we=
re all
closely shuttered, the chimneys breathed no smoke, and the front door itself
was closely padlocked. Northm=
our,
therefore, had entered by the back; this was the natural and, indeed, the
necessary conclusion; and you may judge of my surprise when, on turning the
house, I found the back door similarly secured.
My mind at once reverted to the original theor=
y of
thieves; and I blamed myself sharply for my last night's inaction. I examined all the windows on the =
lower
storey, but none of them had been tampered with; I tried the padlocks, but =
they
were both secure. It thus bec=
ame a
problem how the thieves, if thieves they were, had managed to enter the
house. They must have got, I
reasoned, upon the roof of the outhouse where Northmour used to keep his
photographic battery; and from thence, either by the window of the study or
that of my old bedroom, completed their burglarious entry.
I followed what I supposed was their example; =
and,
getting on the roof, tried the shutters of each room. Both were secure; but I was not to=
be
beaten; and, with a little force, one of them flew open, grazing, as it did=
so,
the back of my hand. I rememb=
er, I
put the wound to my mouth, and stood for perhaps half a minute licking it l=
ike
a dog, and mechanically gazing behind me over the waste links and the sea; =
and,
in that space of time, my eye made note of a large schooner yacht some mile=
s to
the north-east. Then I threw =
up the
window and climbed in.
I went over the house, and nothing can express=
my
mystification. There was no sign of disorder, but, on the contrary, the roo=
ms
were unusually clean and pleasant.
I found fires laid, ready for lighting; three bedrooms prepared with=
a
luxury quite foreign to Northmour's habits, and with water in the ewers and=
the
beds turned down; a table set for three in the dining-room; and an ample su=
pply
of cold meats, game, and vegetables on the pantry shelves. There were guests expected, that w=
as
plain; but why guests, when Northmour hated society? And, above all, why was the house =
thus stealthily
prepared at dead of night? and why were the shutters closed and the doors
padlocked?
I effaced all traces of my visit, and came for=
th
from the window feeling sobered and concerned.
The schooner yacht was still in the same place;
and it flashed for a moment through my mind that this might be the RED EARL
bringing the owner of the pavilion and his guests. But the vessel's head was set the =
other
way.
I returned to the den to cook myself a meal, of
which I stood in great need, as well as to care for my horse, whom I had
somewhat neglected in the morning.
From time to time I went down to the edge of the wood; but there was=
no
change in the pavilion, and not a human creature was seen all day upon the
links. The schooner in the of=
fing
was the one touch of life within my range of vision. She, apparently with no
set object, stood off and on or lay to, hour after hour; but as the evening
deepened, she drew steadily nearer.
I became more convinced that she carried Northmour and his friends, =
and
that they would probably come ashore after dark; not only because that was =
of a
piece with the secrecy of the preparations, but because the tide would not =
have
flowed sufficiently before eleven to cover Graden Floe and the other sea qu=
ags
that fortified the shore against invaders.
All day the wind had been going down, and the =
sea
along with it; but there was a return towards sunset of the heavy weather of
the day before. The night set=
in
pitch dark. The wind came off=
the sea
in squalls, like the firing of a battery of cannon; now and then there was a
flaw of rain, and the surf rolled heavier with the rising tide. I was down at my observatory among=
the
elders, when a light was run up to the masthead of the schooner, and showed=
she
was closer in than when I had last seen her by the dying daylight. I conclu=
ded
that this must be a signal to Northmour's associates on shore; and, stepping
forth into the links, looked around me for something in response.
A small footpath ran along the margin of the w=
ood,
and formed the most direct communication between the pavilion and the mansi=
on- house;
and, as I cast my eyes to that side, I saw a spark of light, not a quarter =
of a
mile away, and rapidly approaching.
From its uneven course it appeared to be the light of a lantern carr=
ied
by a person who followed the windings of the path, and was often staggered =
and
taken aback by the more violent squalls.&n=
bsp;
I concealed myself once more among the elders, and waited eagerly for
the newcomer's advance. It pr=
oved
to be a woman; and, as she passed within half a rod of my ambush, I was abl=
e to
recognise the features. The d=
eaf
and silent old dame, who had nursed Northmour in his childhood, was his
associate in this underhand affair.
I followed her at a little distance, taking
advantage of the innumerable heights and hollows, concealed by the darkness,
and favoured not only by the nurse's deafness, but by the uproar of the wind
and surf. She entered the pav=
ilion,
and, going at once to the upper storey, opened and set a light in one of the
windows that looked towards the sea.
Immediately afterwards the light at the schooner's masthead was run =
down
and extinguished. Its purpose=
had been
attained, and those on board were sure that they were expected. The old woman resumed her preparat=
ions;
although the other shutters remained closed, I could see a glimmer going to=
and
fro about the house; and a gush of sparks from one chimney after another so=
on
told me that the fires were being kindled.
Northmour and his guests, I was now persuaded,
would come ashore as soon as there was water on the floe. It was a wild night for boat servi=
ce;
and I felt some alarm mingle with my curiosity as I reflected on the danger=
of
the landing. My old acquainta=
nce,
it was true, was the most eccentric of men; but the present eccentricity was
both disquieting and lugubrious to consider. A variety of feelings thus led me
towards the beach, where I lay flat on my face in a hollow within six feet =
of
the track that led to the pavilion.
Thence, I should have the satisfaction of recognising the arrivals, =
and,
if they should prove to be acquaintances, greeting them as soon as they had
landed.
Some time before eleven, while the tide was st=
ill
dangerously low, a boat's lantern appeared close in shore; and, my attention
being thus awakened, I could perceive another still far to seaward, violent=
ly
tossed, and sometimes hidden by the billows. The weather, which was getting dir=
tier
as the night went on, and the perilous situation of the yacht upon a lee sh=
ore,
had probably driven them to attempt a landing at the earliest possible mome=
nt.
A little afterwards, four yachtsmen carrying a
very heavy chest, and guided by a fifth with a lantern, passed close in fro=
nt
of me as I lay, and were admitted to the pavilion by the nurse. They returned to the beach, and pa=
ssed
me a second time with another chest, larger but apparently not so heavy as =
the
first. A third time they made=
the
transit; and on this occasion one of the yachtsmen carried a leather
portmanteau, and the others a lady's trunk and carriage bag. My curiosity was sharply excited.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> If a woman were among the guests of
Northmour, it would show a change in his habits and an apostasy from his pet
theories of life, well calculated to fill me with surprise. When he and I dwelt there together=
, the
pavilion had been a temple of misogyny.&nb=
sp;
And now, one of the detested sex was to be installed under its roof.=
I remembered one or two particular=
s, a
few notes of daintiness and almost of coquetry which had struck me the day
before as I surveyed the preparations in the house; their purpose was now
clear, and I thought myself dull not to have perceived it from the first.
While I was thus reflecting, a second lantern =
drew
near me from the beach. It was
carried by a yachtsman whom I had not yet seen, and who was conducting two
other persons to the pavilion.
These two persons were unquestionably the guests for whom the house =
was
made ready; and, straining eye and ear, I set myself to watch them as they
passed. One was an unusually =
tall
man, in a travelling hat slouched over his eyes, and a highland cape closely
buttoned and turned up so as to conceal his face. You could make out no more of him =
than
that he was, as I have said, unusually tall, and walked feebly with a heavy
stoop. By his side, and either
clinging to him or giving him support - I could not make out which - was a
young, tall, and slender figure of a woman. She was extremely pale; but in the=
light
of the lantern her face was so marred by strong and changing shadows, that =
she
might equally well have been as ugly as sin or as beautiful as I afterwards
found her to be.
When they were just abreast of me, the girl ma=
de
some remark which was drowned by the noise of the wind.
"Hush!" said her companion; and there
was something in the tone with which the word was uttered that thrilled and
rather shook my spirits. It s=
eemed
to breathe from a bosom labouring under the deadliest terror; I have never
heard another syllable so expressive; and I still hear it again when I am
feverish at night, and my mind runs upon old times. The man turned towards the girl as=
he
spoke; I had a glimpse of much red beard and a nose which seemed to have be=
en
broken in youth; and his light eyes seemed shining in his face with some st=
rong
and unpleasant emotion.
But these two passed on and were admitted in t=
heir
turn to the pavilion.
One by one, or in groups, the seamen returned =
to
the beach. The wind brought m=
e the
sound of a rough voice crying, "Shove off!" Then, after a pause,
another lantern drew near. It=
was
Northmour alone.
My wife and I, a man and a woman, have often
agreed to wonder how a person could be, at the same time, so handsome and so
repulsive as Northmour. He ha=
d the
appearance of a finished gentleman; his face bore every mark of intelligence
and courage; but you had only to look at him, even in his most amiable mome=
nt,
to see that he had the temper of a slaver captain. I never knew a character that was =
both
explosive and revengeful to the same degree; he combined the vivacity of the
south with the sustained and deadly hatreds of the north; and both traits w=
ere
plainly written on his face, which was a sort of danger signal. In person he was tall, strong, and=
active;
his hair and complexion very dark; his features handsomely designed, but
spoiled by a menacing expression.
At that moment he was somewhat paler than by
nature; he wore a heavy frown; and his lips worked, and he looked sharply r=
ound
him as he walked, like a man besieged with apprehensions. And yet I thought he had a look of
triumph underlying all, as though he had already done much, and was near the
end of an achievement.
Partly from a scruple of delicacy - which I da=
re
say came too late - partly from the pleasure of startling an acquaintance, I
desired to make my presence known to him without delay.
I got suddenly to my feet, and stepped
forward. "Northmour!&quo=
t;
said I.
I have never had so shocking a surprise in all=
my
days. He leaped on me without=
a
word; something shone in his hand; and he struck for my heart with a
dagger. At the same moment I
knocked him head over heels.
Whether it was my quickness, or his own uncertainty, I know not; but=
the
blade only grazed my shoulder, while the hilt and his fist struck me violen=
tly
on the mouth.
I fled, but not far. I had often and often observed the=
capabilities
of the sand-hills for protracted ambush or stealthy advances and retreats; =
and,
not ten yards from the scene of the scuffle, plumped down again upon the
grass. The lantern had fallen=
and
gone out. But what was my
astonishment to see Northmour slip at a bound into the pavilion, and hear h=
im
bar the door behind him with a clang of iron!
He had not pursued me. He had run away. Northmour, whom I knew for the most
implacable and daring of men, had run away! I could scarce believe my reason; =
and
yet in this strange business, where all was incredible, there was nothing to
make a work about in an incredibility more or less. For why was the pavilion secretly =
prepared? Why had Northmour landed with his =
guests
at dead of night, in half a gale of wind, and with the floe scarce covered?=
Why
had he sought to kill me? Had=
he
not recognised my voice? I wo=
ndered. And, above all, how had he come to=
have
a dagger ready in his hand? A
dagger, or even a sharp knife, seemed out of keeping with the age in which =
we
lived; and a gentleman landing from his yacht on the shore of his own estat=
e,
even although it was at night and with some mysterious circumstances, does =
not
usually, as a matter of fact, walk thus prepared for deadly onslaught. The more I reflected, the further =
I felt
at sea. I recapitulated the e=
lements
of mystery, counting them on my fingers:&n=
bsp;
the pavilion secretly prepared for guests; the guests landed at the =
risk
of their lives and to the imminent peril of the yacht; the guests, or at le=
ast
one of them, in undisguised and seemingly causeless terror; Northmour with a
naked weapon; Northmour stabbing his most intimate acquaintance at a word;
last, and not least strange, Northmour fleeing from the man whom he had sou=
ght
to murder, and barricading himself, like a hunted creature, behind the door=
of
the pavilion. Here were at le=
ast
six separate causes for extreme surprise; each part and parcel with the oth=
ers,
and forming all together one consistent story. I felt almost ashamed to believe m=
y own
senses.
As I thus stood, transfixed with wonder, I beg=
an
to grow painfully conscious of the injuries I had received in the scuffle;
skulked round among the sand-hills; and, by a devious path, regained the sh=
elter
of the wood. On the way, the =
old
nurse passed again within several yards of me, still carrying her lantern, =
on
the return journey to the mansion-house of Graden. This made a seventh suspicious fea=
ture
in the case - Northmour and h=
is
guests, it appeared, were to cook and do the cleaning for themselves, while=
the
old woman continued to inhabit the big empty barrack among the policies.
So thinking, I made my way to the den. For greater security, I trod out t=
he
embers of the fire, and lit my lantern to examine the wound upon my
shoulder. It was a trifling h=
urt,
although it bled somewhat freely, and I dressed it as well as I could (for =
its position
made it difficult to reach) with some rag and cold water from the spring. While I was thus busied, I mentally
declared war against Northmour and his mystery. I am not an angry man by nature, a=
nd I
believe there was more curiosity than resentment in my heart. But war I certainly declared; and,=
by
way of preparation, I got out my revolver, and, having drawn the charges, c=
leaned
and reloaded it with scrupulous care.
Next I became preoccupied about my horse. It might break loose, or fall to n=
eighing,
and so betray my camp in the Sea-Wood.&nbs=
p;
I determined to rid myself of its neighbourhood; and long before daw=
n I
was leading it over the links in the direction of the fisher village.
For two days I skulked round the pavilion,
profiting by the uneven surface of the links. I became an adept in the necessary
tactics. These low hillocks and shallow dells, running one into another, be=
came
a kind of cloak of darkness for my enthralling, but perhaps dishonourable,
pursuit. Yet, in spite of this
advantage, I could learn but little of Northmour or his guests.
Fresh provisions were brought under cover of d=
arkness
by the old woman from the mansion-house.&n=
bsp;
Northmour, and the young lady, sometimes together, but more often
singly, would walk for an hour or two at a time on the beach beside the
quicksand. I could not but co=
nclude
that this promenade was chosen with an eye to secrecy; for the spot was open
only to the seaward. But it s=
uited
me not less excellently; the highest and most accidented of the sand-hills =
immediately
adjoined; and from these, lying flat in a hollow, I could overlook Northmou=
r or
the young lady as they walked.
The tall man seemed to have disappeared. Not only did he never cross the
threshold, but he never so much as showed face at a window; or, at least, n=
ot
so far as I could see; for I dared not creep forward beyond a certain dista=
nce
in the day, since the upper floor commanded the bottoms of the links; and at
night, when I could venture farther, the lower windows were barricaded as i=
f to
stand a siege. Sometimes I th=
ought
the tall man must be confined to bed, for I remembered the feebleness of his
gait; and sometimes I thought he must have gone clear away, and that Northm=
our
and the young lady remained alone together in the pavilion. The idea, even then, displeased me=
.
Whether or not this pair were man and wife, I =
had
seen abundant reason to doubt the friendliness of their relation. Although I could hear nothing of w=
hat
they said, and rarely so much as glean a decided expression on the face of
either, there was a distance, almost a stiffness, in their bearing which sh=
owed
them to be either unfamiliar or at enmity.=
The girl walked faster when she was with Northmour than when she was
alone; and I conceived that any inclination between a man and a woman would
rather delay than accelerate the step.&nbs=
p;
Moreover, she kept a good yard free of him, and trailed her umbrella=
, as
if it were a barrier, on the side between them. Northmour kept sidling closer; and=
, as
the girl retired from his advance, their course lay at a sort of diagonal a=
cross
the beach, and would have landed them in the surf had it been long enough
continued. But, when this was
imminent, the girl would unostentatiously change sides and put Northmour
between her and the sea. I wa=
tched
these manoeuvres, for my part, with high enjoyment and approval, and chuckl=
ed
to myself at every move.
On the morning of the third day, she walked al=
one
for some time, and I perceived, to my great concern, that she was more than
once in tears. You will see t=
hat my
heart was already interested more than I supposed. She had a firm yet airy motion of =
the
body, and carried her head with unimaginable grace; every step was a thing =
to look
at, and she seemed in my eyes to breathe sweetness and distinction.
The day was so agreeable, being calm and sunsh=
iny,
with a tranquil sea, and yet with a healthful piquancy and vigour in the ai=
r,
that, contrary to custom, she was tempted forth a second time to walk. On t=
his
occasion she was accompanied by Northmour, and they had been but a short wh=
ile
on the beach, when I saw him take forcible possession of her hand. She struggled, and uttered a cry t=
hat
was almost a scream. I sprang=
to my
feet, unmindful of my strange position; but, ere I had taken a step, I saw
Northmour bareheaded and bowing very low, as if to apologise; and dropped a=
gain
at once into my ambush. A few=
words
were interchanged; and then, with another bow, he left the beach to return =
to
the pavilion. He passed not f=
ar
from me, and I could see him, flushed and lowering, and cutting savagely wi=
th
his cane among the grass. It =
was
not without satisfaction that I recognised my own handiwork in a great cut
under his right eye, and a considerable discolouration round the socket.
For some time the girl remained where he had l=
eft
her, looking out past the islet and over the bright sea. Then with a start, as one who thro=
ws off
preoccupation and puts energy again upon its mettle, she broke into a rapid=
and
decisive walk. She also was m=
uch incensed
by what had passed. She had
forgotten where she was. And I
beheld her walk straight into the borders of the quicksand where it is most
abrupt and dangerous. Two or =
three
steps farther and her life would have been in serious jeopardy, when I slid
down the face of the sand-hill, which is there precipitous, and, running ha=
lf-way
forward, called to her to stop.
She did so, and turned round. There was not a tremor of fear in =
her
behaviour, and she marched directly up to me like a queen. I was barefoot, and clad like a co=
mmon
sailor, save for an Egyptian scarf round my waist; and she probably took me=
at
first for some one from the fisher village, straying after bait. As for her, when I thus saw her fa=
ce to
face, her eyes set steadily and imperiously upon mine, I was filled with
admiration and astonishment, and thought her even more beautiful than I had
looked to find her. Nor could=
I
think enough of one who, acting with so much boldness, yet preserved a maid=
enly
air that was both quaint and engaging; for my wife kept an old-fashioned
precision of manner through all her admirable life - an excellent thing in
woman, since it sets another value on her sweet familiarities.
"What does this mean?" she asked.
"You were walking," I told her,
"directly into Graden Floe."
"You do not belong to these parts," =
she
said again. "You speak l=
ike an
educated man."
"I believe I have right to that name,&quo=
t;
said I, "although in this disguise."
But her woman's eye had already detected the
sash. "Oh!" she sai=
d; "your
sash betrays you."
"You have said the word BETRAY," I
resumed. "May I ask you =
not to
betray me? I was obliged to d=
isclose
myself in your interest; but if Northmour learned my presence it might be w=
orse
than disagreeable for me."
"Do you know," she asked, "to w=
hom
you are speaking?"
"Not to Mr. Northmour's wife?" I ask=
ed,
by way of answer.
She shook her head. All this while she was studying my=
face
with an embarrassing intentness.
Then she broke out -
"You have an honest face. Be honest like your face, sir, and=
tell me
what you want and what you are afraid of.&=
nbsp;
Do you think I could hurt you?
I believe you have far more power to injure me! And yet you do not look unkind.
"I hate no one," I answered; "a=
nd I
fear no one face to face. My =
name
is Cassilis - Frank Cassilis. I
lead the life of a vagabond for my own good pleasure. I am one of Northmour's oldest fri=
ends; and
three nights ago, when I addressed him on these links, he stabbed me in the
shoulder with a knife."
"It was you!" she said.
"Why he did so," I continued,
disregarding the interruption, "is more than I can guess, and more tha=
n I
care to know. I have not many
friends, nor am I very susceptible to friendship; but no man shall drive me
from a place by terror. I had=
camped
in Graden Sea- Wood ere he came; I camp in it still. If you think I mean harm to you or
yours, madam, the remedy is in your hand.&=
nbsp;
Tell him that my camp is in the Hemlock Den, and to-night he can sta=
b me
in safety while I sleep."
With this I doffed my cap to her, and scramble=
d up
once more among the sand-hills. I
do not know why, but I felt a prodigious sense of injustice, and felt like a
hero and a martyr; while, as a matter of fact, I had not a word to say in my
defence, nor so much as one plausible reason to offer for my conduct. I had stayed at Graden out of a
curiosity natural enough, but undignified; and though there was another mot=
ive
growing in along with the first, it was not one which, at that period, I co=
uld
have properly explained to the lady of my heart.
Certainly, that night, I thought of no one els=
e;
and, though her whole conduct and position seemed suspicious, I could not f=
ind
it in my heart to entertain a doubt of her integrity. I could have staked my life that s=
he was
clear of blame, and, though all was dark at the present, that the explanati=
on
of the mystery would show her part in these events to be both right and
needful. It was true, let me =
cudgel
my imagination as I pleased, that I could invent no theory of her relations=
to
Northmour; but I felt none the less sure of my conclusion because it was
founded on instinct in place of reason, and, as I may say, went to sleep th=
at
night with the thought of her under my pillow.
Next day she came out about the same hour alon=
e,
and, as soon as the sand-hills concealed her from the pavilion, drew nearer=
to
the edge, and called me by name in guarded tones. I was astonished to observe that s=
he was
deadly pale, and seemingly under the influence of strong emotion.
"Mr. Cassilis!" she cried; "Mr.
Cassilis!"
I appeared at once, and leaped down upon the
beach. A remarkable air of re=
lief
overspread her countenance as soon as she saw me.
"Oh!" she cried, with a hoarse sound,
like one whose bosom has been lightened of a weight. And then, "Thank God you are =
still
safe!" she added; "I knew, if you were, you would be here."<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> (Was not this strange? So swiftly and wisely does Nature
prepare our hearts for these great life-long intimacies, that both my wife =
and
I had been given a presentiment on this the second day of our
acquaintance. I had even then=
hoped
that she would seek me; she had felt sure that she would find me.) "Do not," she went, on
swiftly, "do not stay in this place.&=
nbsp;
Promise me that you will sleep no longer in that wood. You do not know how I suffer; all =
last
night I could not sleep for thinking of your peril."
"Peril?" I repeated. "Peril from whom? From Northmour?"
"Not so," she said. "Did you think I would tell h=
im
after what you said?"
"Not from Northmour?" I repeated.
"You must not ask me," was her reply,
"for I am not free to tell you.
Only believe me, and go hence - believe me, and go away quickly,
quickly, for your life!"
An appeal to his alarm is never a good plan to=
rid
oneself of a spirited young man. My
obstinacy was but increased by what she said, and I made it a point of hono=
ur
to remain. And her solicitude=
for
my safety still more confirmed me in the resolve.
"You must not think me inquisitive,
madam," I replied; "but, if Graden is so dangerous a place, you
yourself perhaps remain here at some risk."
She only looked at me reproachfully.
"You and your father - " I resumed; =
but
she interrupted me almost with a gasp.
"My father! How do you know that?" she cr=
ied.
"I saw you together when you landed,"
was my answer; and I do not know why, but it seemed satisfactory to both of=
us,
as indeed it was the truth.
"But," I continued, "you need have no fear from me. I=
see
you have some reason to be secret, and, you may believe me, your secret is =
as
safe with me as if I were in Graden Floe.&=
nbsp;
I have scarce spoken to any one for years; my horse is my only
companion, and even he, poor beast, is not beside me. You see, then, you may count on me=
for
silence. So tell me the truth=
, my
dear young lady, are you not in danger?"
"Mr. Northmour says you are an honourable
man," she returned, "and I believe it when I see you. I will tell you so much; you are r=
ight;
we are in dreadful, dreadful danger, and you share it by remaining where you
are."
"Ah!" said I; "you have heard o=
f me
from Northmour? And he gives =
me a
good character?"
"I asked him about you last night," =
was
her reply. "I pretended,=
"
she hesitated, "I pretended to have met you long ago, and spoken to yo=
u of
him. It was not true; but I c=
ould
not help myself without betraying you, and you had put me in a difficulty.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> He praised you highly."
"And - you may permit me one question - d=
oes
this danger come from Northmour?" I asked.
"From Mr. Northmour?" she cried. "Oh no; he stays with us to s=
hare it."
"While you propose that I should run
away?" I said. "You=
do
not rate me very high."
"Why should you stay?" she asked.
I know not what came over me, for I had not be=
en
conscious of a similar weakness since I was a child, but I was so mortified=
by this
retort that my eyes pricked and filled with tears, as I continued to gaze u=
pon
her face.
"No, no," she said, in a changed voi=
ce;
"I did not mean the words unkindly."
"It was I who offended," I said; and=
I
held out my hand with a look of appeal that somehow touched her, for she ga=
ve
me hers at once, and even eagerly.
I held it for awhile in mine, and gazed into her eyes. It was she who first tore her hand=
away,
and, forgetting all about her request and the promise she had sought to ext=
ort,
ran at the top of her speed, and without turning, till she was out of sight=
.
And then I knew that I loved her, and thought =
in
my glad heart that she - she herself - was not indifferent to my suit. Many a time she has denied it in a=
fter
days, but it was with a smiling and not a serious denial. For my part, I am sure our hands w=
ould
not have lain so closely in each other if she had not begun to melt to me a=
lready. And, when all is said, it is no gr=
eat
contention, since, by her own avowal, she began to love me on the morrow.
And yet on the morrow very little took place.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> She came and called me down as on =
the
day before, upbraided me for lingering at Graden, and, when she found I was
still obdurate, began to ask me more particularly as to my arrival. I told her by what series of accid=
ents I
had come to witness their disembarkation, and how I had determined to remai=
n,
partly from the interest which had been wakened in me by Northmour's guests,
and partly because of his own murderous attack. As to the former, I fear I was
disingenuous, and led her to regard herself as having been an attraction to=
me
from the first moment that I saw her on the links. It relieves my heart to make this
confession even now, when my wife is with God, and already knows all things,
and the honesty of my purpose even in this; for while she lived, although it
often pricked my conscience, I had never the hardihood to undeceive her.
From this the talk branched into other subject=
s,
and I told her much about my lonely and wandering existence; she, for her p=
art,
giving ear, and saying little.
Although we spoke very naturally, and latterly on topics that might =
seem
indifferent, we were both sweetly agitated. Too soon it was time for her to go=
; and
we separated, as if by mutual consent, without shaking hands, for both knew
that, between us, it was no idle ceremony.
The next, and that was the fourth day of our
acquaintance, we met in the same spot, but early in the morning, with much
familiarity and yet much timidity on either side. When she had once more spoken abou=
t my
danger - and that, I understood, was her excuse for coming - I, who had
prepared a great deal of talk during the night, began to tell her how highl=
y I
valued her kind interest, and how no one had ever cared to hear about my li=
fe,
nor had I ever cared to relate it, before yesterday. Suddenly she interrupted me, sayin=
g with
vehemence -
"And yet, if you knew who I was, you would
not so much as speak to me!"
I told her such a thought was madness, and, li=
ttle
as we had met, I counted her already a dear friend; but my protestations se=
emed
only to make her more desperate.
"My father is in hiding!" she cried.=
"My dear," I said, forgetting for the
first time to add "young lady," "what do I care? If he were in hiding twenty times =
over, would
it make one thought of change in you?"
"Ah, but the cause!" she cried,
"the cause! It is - &quo=
t; she
faltered for a second - "it is disgraceful to us!"
This was my wife's story, as I drew it from her
among tears and sobs. Her nam=
e was
Clara Huddlestone: it sounded=
very
beautiful in my ears; but not so beautiful as that other name of Clara Cass=
ilis,
which she wore during the longer and, I thank God, the happier portion of h=
er
life. Her father, Bernard
Huddlestone, had been a private banker in a very large way of business. Many years before, his affairs bec=
oming
disordered, he had been led to try dangerous, and at last criminal, expedie=
nts
to retrieve himself from ruin. All
was in vain; he became more and more cruelly involved, and found his honour
lost at the same moment with his fortune.&=
nbsp;
About this period, Northmour had been courting his daughter with gre=
at
assiduity, though with small encouragement; and to him, knowing him thus
disposed in his favour, Bernard Huddlestone turned for help in his
extremity. It was not merely =
ruin
and dishonour, nor merely a legal condemnation, that the unhappy man had
brought upon his head. It see=
ms he
could have gone to prison with a light heart. What he feared, what kept him awak=
e at
night or recalled him from slumber into frenzy, was some secret, sudden, and
unlawful attempt upon his life.
Hence, he desired to bury his existence and escape to one of the isl=
ands
in the South Pacific, and it was in Northmour's yacht, the RED EARL, that h=
e designed
to go. The yacht picked them =
up
clandestinely upon the coast of Wales, and had once more deposited them at
Graden, till she could be refitted and provisioned for the longer voyage. Nor could Clara doubt that her han=
d had
been stipulated as the price of passage.&n=
bsp;
For, although Northmour was neither unkind nor even discourteous, he=
had
shown himself in several instances somewhat overbold in speech and manner.<=
o:p>
I listened, I need not say, with fixed attenti=
on,
and put many questions as to the more mysterious part. It was in vain. She had no clear idea of what the =
blow
was, nor of how it was expected to fall.&n=
bsp;
Her father's alarm was unfeigned and physically prostrating, and he =
had
thought more than once of making an unconditional surrender to the police.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But the scheme was finally abandon=
ed,
for he was convinced that not even the strength of our English prisons could
shelter him from his pursuers. He
had had many affairs with Italy, and with Italians resident in London, in t=
he
later years of his business; and these last, as Clara fancied, were somehow=
connected
with the doom that threatened him.
He had shown great terror at the presence of an Italian seaman on bo=
ard
the RED EARL, and had bitterly and repeatedly accused Northmour in conseque=
nce.
The latter had protested that Beppo (that was the seaman's name) was a capi=
tal
fellow, and could be trusted to the death; but Mr. Huddlestone had continued
ever since to declare that all was lost, that it was only a question of day=
s,
and that Beppo would be the ruin of him yet.
I regarded the whole story as the hallucinatio=
n of
a mind shaken by calamity. He=
had
suffered heavy loss by his Italian transactions; and hence the sight of an
Italian was hateful to him, and the principal part in his nightmare would
naturally enough be played by one of that nation.
"What your father wants," I said,
"is a good doctor and some calming medicine."
"But Mr. Northmour?" objected your
mother. "He is untrouble=
d by losses,
and yet he shares in this terror."
I could not help laughing at what I considered=
her
simplicity.
"My dear," said I, "you have to=
ld
me yourself what reward he has to look for. All is fair in love, you must reme=
mber;
and if Northmour foments your father's terrors, it is not at all because he=
is afraid
of any Italian man, but simply because he is infatuated with a charming Eng=
lish
woman."
She reminded me of his attack upon myself on t=
he
night of the disembarkation, and this I was unable to explain. In short, and from one thing to an=
other,
it was agreed between us, that I should set out at once for the fisher vill=
age,
Graden Wester, as it was called, look up all the newspapers I could find, a=
nd
see for myself if there seemed any basis of fact for these continued
alarms. The next morning, at =
the
same hour and place, I was to make my report to Clara. She said no more on that occasion =
about
my departure; nor, indeed, did she make it a secret that she clung to the
thought of my proximity as something helpful and pleasant; and, for my part=
, I
could not have left her, if she had gone upon her knees to ask it.
I reached Graden Wester before ten in the
forenoon; for in those days I was an excellent pedestrian, and the distance=
, as
I think I have said, was little over seven miles; fine walking all the way =
upon
the springy turf. The village=
is
one of the bleakest on that coast, which is saying much: there is a church in a hollow; a m=
iserable
haven in the rocks, where many boats have been lost as they returned from
fishing; two or three score of stone houses arranged along the beach and in=
two
streets, one leading from the harbour, and another striking out from it at
right angles; and, at the corner of these two, a very dark and cheerless
tavern, by way of principal hotel.
I had dressed myself somewhat more suitably to=
my
station in life, and at once called upon the minister in his little manse
beside the graveyard. He knew=
me,
although it was more than nine years since we had met; and when I told him =
that
I had been long upon a walking tour, and was behind with the news, readily =
lent
me an armful of newspapers, dating from a month back to the day before. With these I sought the tavern, an=
d,
ordering some breakfast, sat down to study the "Huddlestone Failure.&q=
uot;
It had been, it appeared, a very flagrant
case. Thousands of persons we=
re
reduced to poverty; and one in particular had blown out his brains as soon =
as
payment was suspended. It was
strange to myself that, while I read these details, I continued rather to s=
ympathise
with Mr. Huddlestone than with his victims; so complete already was the emp=
ire
of my love for my wife. A pri=
ce was
naturally set upon the banker's head; and, as the case was inexcusable and =
the
public indignation thoroughly aroused, the unusual figure of 750 pounds was
offered for his capture. He w=
as reported
to have large sums of money in his possession. One day, he had been heard of in S=
pain;
the next, there was sure intelligence that he was still lurking between
Manchester and Liverpool, or along the border of Wales; and the day after, =
a telegram
would announce his arrival in Cuba or Yucatan. But in all this there was no word =
of an
Italian, nor any sign of mystery.
In the very last paper, however, there was one
item not so clear. The accountants who were charged to verify the failure h=
ad,
it seemed, come upon the traces of a very large number of thousands, which
figured for some time in the transactions of the house of Huddlestone; but
which came from nowhere, and disappeared in the same mysterious fashion.
I was still brooding over the fact, and trying=
to
torture it into some connection with Mr. Huddlestone's danger, when a man
entered the tavern and asked for some bread and cheese with a decided forei=
gn
accent.
"SIETE ITALIANO?" said I.
"SI, SIGNOR," was his reply.
I said it was unusually far north to find one =
of
his compatriots; at which he shrugged his shoulders, and replied that a man
would go anywhere to find work.
What work he could hope to find at Graden Wester, I was totally unab=
le
to conceive; and the incident struck so unpleasantly upon my mind, that I a=
sked
the landlord, while he was counting me some change, whether he had ever bef=
ore
seen an Italian in the village. He
said he had once seen some Norwegians, who had been shipwrecked on the other
side of Graden Ness and rescued by the lifeboat from Cauldhaven.
"No!" said I; "but an Italian, =
like
the man who has just had bread and cheese."
"What?" cried he, "yon black-av=
ised
fellow wi' the teeth? Was he =
an
I-talian? Weel, yon's the fir=
st
that ever I saw, an' I dare say he's like to be the last."
Even as he was speaking, I raised my eyes, and,
casting a glance into the street, beheld three men in earnest conversation
together, and not thirty yards away.
One of them was my recent companion in the tavern parlour; the other
two, by their handsome, sallow features and soft hats, should evidently bel=
ong
to the same race. A crowd of village children stood around them, gesticulat=
ing
and talking gibberish in imitation.
The trio looked singularly foreign to the bleak dirty street in which
they were standing, and the dark grey heaven that overspread them; and I
confess my incredulity received at that moment a shock from which it never
recovered. I might reason with
myself as I pleased, but I could not argue down the effect of what I had se=
en,
and I began to share in the Italian terror.
It was already drawing towards the close of the
day before I had returned the newspapers at the manse, and got well forward=
on
to the links on my way home. I
shall never forget that walk. It
grew very cold and boisterous; the wind sang in the short grass about my fe=
et;
thin rain showers came running on the gusts; and an immense mountain range =
of
clouds began to arise out of the bosom of the sea. It would be hard to imagine a more
dismal evening; and whether it was from these external influences, or becau=
se
my nerves were already affected by what I had heard and seen, my thoughts w=
ere
as gloomy as the weather.
The upper windows of the pavilion commanded a
considerable spread of links in the direction of Graden Wester. To avoid observation, it was neces=
sary
to hug the beach until I had gained cover from the higher sand-hills on the
little headland, when I might strike across, through the hollows, for the
margin of the wood. The sun w=
as
about setting; the tide was low, and all the quicksands uncovered; and I was
moving along, lost in unpleasant thought, when I was suddenly thunderstruck=
to
perceive the prints of human feet. They ran parallel to my own course, but =
low
down upon the beach instead of along the border of the turf; and, when I
examined them, I saw at once, by the size and coarseness of the impression,
that it was a stranger to me and to those in the pavilion who had recently
passed that way. Not only so;=
but
from the recklessness of the course which he had followed, steering near to=
the
most formidable portions of the sand, he was as evidently a stranger to the
country and to the ill-repute of Graden beach.
Step by step I followed the prints; until, a
quarter of a mile farther, I beheld them die away into the south-eastern
boundary of Graden Floe. Ther=
e,
whoever he was, the miserable man had perished. One or two gulls, who had, perhaps=
, seen
him disappear, wheeled over his sepulchre with their usual melancholy
piping. The sun had broken th=
rough
the clouds by a last effort, and coloured the wide level of quicksands with=
a
dusky purple. I stood for som=
e time
gazing at the spot, chilled and disheartened by my own reflections, and wit=
h a
strong and commanding consciousness of death. I remember wondering how long the
tragedy had taken, and whether his screams had been audible at the
pavilion. And then, making a =
strong
resolution, I was about to tear myself away, when a gust fiercer than usual
fell upon this quarter of the beach, and I saw now, whirling high in air, n=
ow
skimming lightly across the surface of the sands, a soft, black, felt hat,
somewhat conical in shape, such as I had remarked already on the heads of t=
he
Italians.
I believe, but I am not sure, that I uttered a
cry. The wind was driving the=
hat
shoreward, and I ran round the border of the floe to be ready against its
arrival. The gust fell, dropp=
ing
the hat for a while upon the quicksand, and then, once more freshening, lan=
ded
it a few yards from where I stood.
I seized it with the interest you may imagine. It had seen some service; indeed, =
it was
rustier than either of those I had seen that day upon the street. The lining
was red, stamped with the name of the maker, which I have forgotten, and th=
at
of the place of manufacture, VENEDIG. This (it is not yet forgotten) was the
name given by the Austrians to the beautiful city of Venice, then, and for =
long
after, a part of their dominions.
The shock was complete. I saw imaginary Italians upon every
side; and for the first, and, I may say, for the last time in my experience,
became overpowered by what is called a panic terror. I knew nothing, that is, to be afr=
aid
of, and yet I admit that I was heartily afraid; and it was with a sensible
reluctance that I returned to my exposed and solitary camp in the Sea-Wood.=
There I ate some cold porridge which had been =
left
over from the night before, for I was disinclined to make a fire; and, feel=
ing strengthened
and reassured, dismissed all these fanciful terrors from my mind, and lay d=
own
to sleep with composure.
How long I may have slept it is impossible for=
me
to guess; but I was awakened at last by a sudden, blinding flash of light i=
nto
my face. It woke me like a
blow. In an instant I was upo=
n my
knees. But the light had gone as suddenly as it came. The darkness was intense. And, as it was blowing great guns =
from
the sea and pouring with rain, the noises of the storm effectually conceale=
d all
others.
It was, I dare say, half a minute before I
regained my self- possession. But
for two circumstances, I should have thought I had been awakened by some new
and vivid form of nightmare. =
First,
the flap of my tent, which I had shut carefully when I retired, was now unf=
astened;
and, second, I could still perceive, with a sharpness that excluded any the=
ory
of hallucination, the smell of hot metal and of burning oil. The conclusion was obvious. I had been wakened by some one fla=
shing
a bull's-eye lantern in my face. It
had been but a flash, and away. He
had seen my face, and then gone. I
asked myself the object of so strange a proceeding, and the answer came
pat. The man, whoever he was,=
had
thought to recognise me, and he had not.&n=
bsp;
There was yet another question unresolved; and to this, I may say, I
feared to give an answer; if he had recognised me, what would he have done?=
My fears were immediately diverted from myself,
for I saw that I had been visited in a mistake; and I became persuaded that
some dreadful danger threatened the pavilion. It required some nerve to issue fo=
rth
into the black and intricate thicket which surrounded and overhung the den;=
but
I groped my way to the links, drenched with rain, beaten upon and deafened =
by
the gusts, and fearing at every step to lay my hand upon some lurking
adversary. The darkness was so
complete that I might have been surrounded by an army and yet none the wise=
r,
and the uproar of the gale so loud that my hearing was as useless as my sig=
ht.
For the rest of that night, which seemed
interminably long, I patrolled the vicinity of the pavilion, without seeing=
a
living creature or hearing any noise but the concert of the wind, the sea, =
and
the rain. A light in the upper
story filtered through a cranny of the shutter, and kept me company till the
approach of dawn.
With the first peep of day, I retired from the
open to my old lair among the sand-hills, there to await the coming of my
wife. The morning was grey, w=
ild,
and melancholy; the wind moderated before sunrise, and then went about, and
blew in puffs from the shore; the sea began to go down, but the rain still =
fell
without mercy. Over all the
wilderness of links there was not a creature to be seen. Yet I felt sure the
neighbourhood was alive with skulking foes. The light that had been so sudd=
enly
and surprisingly flashed upon my face as I lay sleeping, and the hat that h=
ad
been blown ashore by the wind from over Graden Floe, were two speaking sign=
als
of the peril that environed Clara and the party in the pavilion.
It was, perhaps, half-past seven, or nearer ei=
ght,
before I saw the door open, and that dear figure come towards me in the
rain. I was waiting for her o=
n the
beach before she had crossed the sand-hills.
"I have had such trouble to come!" s=
he
cried. "They did not wis=
h me
to go walking in the rain."
"Clara," I said, "you are not
frightened!"
"No," said she, with a simplicity th=
at
filled my heart with confidence.
For my wife was the bravest as well as the best of women; in my
experience, I have not found the two go always together, but with her they =
did;
and she combined the extreme of fortitude with the most endearing and beaut=
iful
virtues.
I told her what had happened; and, though her
cheek grew visibly paler, she retained perfect control over her senses.
"You see now that I am safe," said I=
, in
conclusion. "They do not=
mean
to harm me; for, had they chosen, I was a dead man last night."
She laid her hand upon my arm.
"And I had no presentiment!" she cri=
ed.
Her accent thrilled me with delight. I put my arm about her, and strain=
ed her
to my side; and, before either of us was aware, her hands were on my should=
ers
and my lips upon her mouth. Y=
et up
to that moment no word of love had passed between us. To this day I remember the touch o=
f her
cheek, which was wet and cold with the rain; and many a time since, when she
has been washing her face, I have kissed it again for the sake of that morn=
ing
on the beach. Now that she is taken from me, and I finish my pilgrimage alo=
ne,
I recall our old lovingkindnesses and the deep honesty and affection which
united us, and my present loss seems but a trifle in comparison.
We may have thus stood for some seconds - for =
time
passes quickly with lovers - before we were startled by a peal of laughter
close at hand. It was not nat=
ural
mirth, but seemed to be affected in order to conceal an angrier feeling.
"Ah! Cassilis!" he said, as I disclo=
sed
my face.
"That same," said I; for I was not at
all put about.
"And so, Miss Huddlestone," he conti=
nued
slowly but savagely, "this is how you keep your faith to your father a=
nd
to me? This is the value you =
set
upon your father's life? And =
you
are so infatuated with this young gentleman that you must brave ruin, and
decency, and common human caution - "
"Miss Huddlestone - " I was beginnin=
g to
interrupt him, when he, in his turn, cut in brutally -
"You hold your tongue," said he; &qu=
ot;I
am speaking to that girl."
"That girl, as you call her, is my
wife," said I; and my wife only leaned a little nearer, so that I knew=
she
had affirmed my words.
"Your what?" he cried. "You lie!"
"Northmour," I said, "we all kn=
ow
you have a bad temper, and I am the last man to be irritated by words. For all that, I propose that you s=
peak
lower, for I am convinced that we are not alone."
He looked round him, and it was plain my remark
had in some degree sobered his passion.&nb=
sp;
"What do you mean?" he asked.
I only said one word: "Italians."
He swore a round oath, and looked at us, from =
one
to the other.
"Mr. Cassilis knows all that I know,"
said my wife.
"What I want to know," he broke out,
"is where the devil Mr. Cassilis comes from, and what the devil Mr.
Cassilis is doing here. You say you are married; that I do not believe. If you were, Graden Floe would soon
divorce you; four minutes and a half, Cassilis. I keep my private cemetery for my
friends."
"It took somewhat longer," said I,
"for that Italian."
He looked at me for a moment half daunted, and
then, almost civilly, asked me to tell my story. "You have too much the advant=
age of
me, Cassilis," he added. I
complied of course; and he listened, with several ejaculations, while I told
him how I had come to Graden: that
it was I whom he had tried to murder on the night of landing; and what I had
subsequently seen and heard of the Italians.
"Well," said he, when I had done,
"it is here at last; there is no mistake about that. And what, may I ask, do you propos=
e to
do?"
"I propose to stay with you and lend a
hand," said I.
"You are a brave man," he returned, =
with
a peculiar intonation.
"I am not afraid," said I.
"And so," he continued, "I am to
understand that you two are married?
And you stand up to it before my face, Miss Huddlestone?"
"We are not yet married," said Clara;
"but we shall be as soon as we can."
"Bravo!" cried Northmour. "And the bargain? D-n it, you're not a fool, young w=
oman;
I may call a spade a spade with you.
How about the bargain? You
know as well as I do what your father's life depends upon. I have only to put my hands under =
my
coat-tails and walk away, and his throat would he cut before the evening.&q=
uot;
"Yes, Mr. Northmour," returned Clara,
with great spirit; "but that is what you will never do. You made a bargain that was unwort=
hy of a
gentleman; but you are a gentleman for all that, and you will never desert a
man whom you have begun to help."
"Aha!" said he. "You think I will give my yac=
ht for
nothing? You think I will ris=
k my
life and liberty for love of the old gentleman; and then, I suppose, be best
man at the wedding, to wind up?
Well," he added, with an odd smile, "perhaps you are not a=
ltogether
wrong. But ask Cassilis here.=
HE knows me. Am I a man to trust? Am I safe and scrupulous? Am I kind?"
"I know you talk a great deal, and someti=
mes,
I think, very foolishly," replied Clara, "but I know you are a
gentleman, and I am not the least afraid."
He looked at her with a peculiar approval and
admiration; then, turning to me, "Do you think I would give her up wit=
hout
a struggle, Frank?" said he.
"I tell you plainly, you look out. The next time we come to blows - &=
quot;
"Will make the third," I interrupted,
smiling.
"Aye, true; so it will," he said.
"The third time, you mean, you will have =
the
crew of the RED EARL to help," I said.
"Do you hear him?" he asked, turning=
to
my wife.
"I hear two men speaking like cowards,&qu=
ot;
said she. "I should desp=
ise
myself either to think or speak like that.=
And neither of you believe one word that you are saying, which makes=
it
the more wicked and silly."
"She's a trump!" cried Northmour. Then my wife surprised me.
"I leave you here," she said
suddenly. "My father has=
been
too long alone. But remember
this: you are to be friends, =
for
you are both good friends to me."
She has since told me her reason for this
step. As long as she remained=
, she
declares that we two would have continued to quarrel; and I suppose that she
was right, for when she was gone we fell at once into a sort of
confidentiality.
Northmour stared after her as she went away ov=
er
the sand-hill
"She is the only woman in the world!"=
; he
exclaimed with an oath. "Look at her action."
I, for my part, leaped at this opportunity for=
a
little further light.
"See here, Northmour," said I; "=
;we
are all in a tight place, are we not?"
"I believe you, my boy," he answered,
looking me in the eyes, and with great emphasis. "We have all hell upon us, th=
at's
the truth. You may believe me or not, but I'm afraid of my life."
"Tell me one thing," said I. "What are they after, these
Italians? What do they want with Mr. Huddlestone?"
"Don't you know?" he cried. "The black old scamp had CARB=
ONARO funds
on a deposit - two hundred and eighty thousand; and of course he gambled it
away on stocks. There was to =
have
been a revolution in the Tridentino, or Parma; but the revolution is off, a=
nd
the whole wasp's nest is after Huddlestone. We shall all be lucky if we can sa=
ve our
skins."
"The CARBONARI!" I exclaimed; "=
God
help him indeed!"
"Amen!" said Northmour. "And now, look here: I have said that we are in a fix; =
and,
frankly, I shall be glad of your help.&nbs=
p;
If I can't save Huddlestone, I want at least to save the girl. Come and stay in the pavilion; and,
there's my hand on it, I shall act as your friend until the old man is eith=
er
clear or dead. But," he =
added,
"once that is settled, you become my rival once again, and I warn you -
mind yourself."
"Done!" said I; and we shook hands.<= o:p>
"And now let us go directly to the fort," said Northmour; and he began to lead the way through the rain.<= o:p>
We were admitted to the pavilion by Clara, and=
I
was surprised by the completeness and security of the defences. A barricade of great strength, and=
yet
easy to displace, supported the door against Any violence from without; and=
the
shutters of the dining- room, into which I was led directly, and which was
feebly illuminated by a lamp, were even more elaborately fortified. The panels were strengthened by ba=
rs and
cross-bars; and these, in their turn, were kept in position by a system of
braces and struts, some abutting on the floor, some on the roof, and others=
, in
fine, against the opposite wall of the apartment. It was at once a solid and well-de=
signed
piece of carpentry; and I did not seek to conceal my admiration.
"I am the engineer," said
Northmour. "You remember=
the
planks in the garden? Behold
them?"
"I did not know you had so many
talents," said I.
"Are you armed?" he continued, point=
ing
to an array of guns and pistols, all in admirable order, which stood in line
against the wall or were displayed upon the sideboard.
"Thank you," I returned; "I have
gone armed since our last encounter.
But, to tell you the truth, I have had nothing to eat since early
yesterday evening."
Northmour produced some cold meat, to which I
eagerly set myself, and a bottle of good Burgundy, by which, wet as I was, I
did not scruple to profit. I =
have
always been an extreme temperance man on principle; but it is useless to pu=
sh
principle to excess, and on this occasion I believe that I finished
three-quarters of the bottle. As I
ate, I still continued to admire the preparations for defence.
"We could stand a siege," I said at
length.
"Ye-es," drawled Northmour; "a =
very
little one, per-haps. It is n=
ot so
much the strength of the pavilion I misdoubt; it is the doubled anger that
kills me. If we get to shooti=
ng,
wild as the country is some one is sure to hear it, and then - why then it'=
s the
same thing, only different, as they say:&n=
bsp;
caged by law, or killed by CARBONARI. There's the choice. It is a devilish bad thing to have=
the
law against you in this world, and so I tell the old gentleman upstairs.
"Speaking of that," said I, "wh=
at
kind of person is he?"
"Oh, he!" cried the other; "he'=
s a
rancid fellow, as far as he goes. =
span>I
should like to have his neck wrung to-morrow by all the devils in Italy. You take me? I made a bargain for Missy's hand,=
and I
mean to have it too."
"That by the way," said I. "I understand. But how will Mr. Huddlestone take =
my
intrusion?"
"Leave that to Clara," returned
Northmour.
I could have struck him in the face for this
coarse familiarity; but I respected the truce, as, I am bound to say, did
Northmour, and so long as the danger continued not a cloud arose in our rel=
ation. I bear him this testimony with the=
most
unfeigned satisfaction; nor am I without pride when I look back upon my own=
behaviour. For surely no two men were ever le=
ft in
a position so invidious and irritating.
As soon as I had done eating, we proceeded to
inspect the lower floor. Wind=
ow by
window we tried the different supports, now and then making an inconsiderab=
le
change; and the strokes of the hammer sounded with startling loudness throu=
gh
the house. I proposed, I reme=
mber,
to make loop-holes; but he told me they were already made in the windows of=
the
upper story. It was an anxious
business this inspection, and left me down-hearted. There were two doors and five wind=
ows to
protect, and, counting Clara, only four of us to defend them against an unk=
nown
number of foes. I communicate=
d my doubts
to Northmour, who assured me, with unmoved composure, that he entirely shar=
ed
them.
"Before morning," said he, "we
shall all be butchered and buried in Graden Floe. For me, that is written."
I could not help shuddering at the mention of =
the
quicksand, but reminded Northmour that our enemies had spared me in the woo=
d.
"Do not flatter yourself," said he.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "Then you were not in the sam=
e boat
with the old gentleman; now you are.
It's the floe for all of us, mark my words."
I trembled for Clara; and just then her dear v=
oice
was heard calling us to come upstairs.&nbs=
p;
Northmour showed me the way, and, when he had reached the landing,
knocked at the door of what used to be called MY UNCLE'S BEDROOM, as the
founder of the pavilion had designed it especially for himself.
"Come in, Northmour; come in, dear Mr.
Cassilis," said a voice from within.
Pushing open the door, Northmour admitted me
before him into the apartment. As I
came in I could see the daughter slipping out by the side door into the stu=
dy,
which had been prepared as her bedroom.&nb=
sp;
In the bed, which was drawn back against the wall, instead of standi=
ng,
as I had last seen it, boldly across the window, sat Bernard Huddlestone, t=
he
defaulting banker. Little as =
I had
seen of him by the shifting light of the lantern on the links, I had no
difficulty in recognising him for the same. He had a long and sallow countenan=
ce,
surrounded by a long red beard and side whiskers. His broken nose and high cheekbone=
s gave
him somewhat the air of a Kalmuck, and his light eyes shone with the excite=
ment
of a high fever. He wore a
skull-cap of black silk; a huge Bible lay open before him on the bed, with a
pair of gold spectacles in the place, and a pile of other books lay on the
stand by his side. The green
curtains lent a cadaverous shade to his cheek; and, as he sat propped on
pillows, his great stature was painfully hunched, and his head protruded ti=
ll
it overhung his knees. I beli=
eve if
he had not died otherwise, he must have fallen a victim to consumption in t=
he
course of but a very few weeks.
He held out to me a hand, long, thin, and
disagreeably hairy.
"Come in, come in, Mr. Cassilis," sa=
id
he. "Another protector -=
ahem!
- another protector. Always w=
elcome
as a friend of my daughter's, Mr. Cassilis. How they have rallied about me, my=
daughter's
friends! May God in heaven bl=
ess
and reward them for it!"
I gave him my hand, of course, because I could=
not
help it; but the sympathy I had been prepared to feel for Clara's father wa=
s immediately
soured by his appearance, and the wheedling, unreal tones in which he spoke=
.
"Cassilis is a good man," said
Northmour; "worth ten."
"So I hear," cried Mr. Huddlestone e=
agerly
"so my girl tells me. Ah, Mr. Cassilis, my sin has found me out, you
see! I am very low, very low;=
but I
hope equally penitent. We mus=
t all
come to the throne of grace at last, Mr. Cassilis. For my part, I come late indeed; b=
ut
with unfeigned humility, I trust."
"Fiddle-de-dee!" said Northmour roug=
hly.
"No, no, dear Northmour!" cried the
banker. "You must not sa=
y that;
you must not try to shake me. You
forget, my dear, good boy, you forget I may be called this very night befor=
e my
Maker."
His excitement was pitiful to behold; and I fe=
lt
myself grow indignant with Northmour, whose infidel opinions I well knew, a=
nd heartily
derided, as he continued to taunt the poor sinner out of his humour of
repentance.
"Pooh, my dear Huddlestone!" said
he. "You do yourself
injustice. You are a man of the world inside and out, and were up to all ki=
nds of
mischief before I was born. Y=
our
conscience is tanned like South American leather - only you forgot to tan y=
our
liver, and that, if you will believe me, is the seat of the annoyance."=
;
"Rogue, rogue! bad boy!" said Mr.
Huddlestone, shaking his finger. "I am no precisian, if you come to th=
at;
I always hated a precisian; but I never lost hold of something better throu=
gh
it all. I have been a bad boy=
, Mr.
Cassilis; I do not seek to deny that; but it was after my wife's death, and=
you
know, with a widower, it's a different thing: sinful - I won't say no; but there=
is a
gradation, we shall hope. And
talking of that - Hark!" he broke out suddenly, his hand raised, his
fingers spread, his face racked with interest and terror. "Only the rain, bless God!&qu=
ot; he
added, after a pause, and with indescribable relief.
For some seconds he lay back among the pillows
like a man near to fainting; then he gathered himself together, and, in
somewhat tremulous tones, began once more to thank me for the share I was p=
repared
to take in his defence.
"One question, sir," said I, when he=
had
paused. "Is it true that=
you
have money with you?"
He seemed annoyed by the question, but admitted
with reluctance that he had a little.
"Well," I continued, "it is the=
ir
money they are after, is it not? Why not give it up to them?"
"Ah!" replied he, shaking his head,
"I have tried that already, Mr. Cassilis; and alas that it should be s=
o!
but it is blood they want."
"Huddlestone, that's a little less than
fair," said Northmour. "You should mention that what you offered =
them
was upwards of two hundred thousand short.=
The deficit is worth a reference; it is for what they call a cool su=
m,
Frank. Then, you see, the fel=
lows reason
in their clear Italian way; and it seems to them, as indeed it seems to me,
that they may just as well have both while they're about it - money and blo=
od
together, by George, and no more trouble for the extra pleasure."
"Is it in the pavilion?" I asked.
"It is; and I wish it were in the bottom =
of
the sea instead," said Northmour; and then suddenly - "What are y=
ou
making faces at me for?" he cried to Mr. Huddlestone, on whom I had
unconsciously turned my back.
"Do you think Cassilis would sell you?"
Mr. Huddlestone protested that nothing had been
further from his mind.
"It is a good thing," retorted North=
mour
in his ugliest manner. "You might end by wearying us. What were you going to say?" =
he added,
turning to me.
"I was going to propose an occupation for=
the
afternoon,'' said I. "Let us carry that money out, piece by piece, and=
lay
it down before the pavilion door.
If the CARBONARI come, why, it's theirs at any rate."
"No, no," cried Mr. Huddlestone;
"it does not, it cannot belong to them! It should be distributed PRO RATA =
among
all my creditors."
"Come now, Huddlestone," said Northm=
our,
"none of that."
"Well, but my daughter," moaned the
wretched man.
"Your daughter will do well enough. Here are two suitors, Cassilis and=
I,
neither of us beggars, between whom she has to choose. And as for yourself, to make an en=
d of
arguments, you have no right to a farthing, and, unless I'm much mistaken, =
you
are going to die."
It was certainly very cruelly said; but Mr. Hu=
ddlestone
was a man who attracted little sympathy; and, although I saw him wince and =
shudder,
I mentally endorsed the rebuke; nay, I added a contribution of my own.
"Northmour and I," I said, "are
willing enough to help you to save your life, but not to escape with stolen
property."
He struggled for a while with himself, as thou=
gh
he were on the point of giving way to anger, but prudence had the best of t=
he controversy.
"My dear boys," he said, "do wi=
th
me or my money what you will. I leave
all in your hands. Let me com=
pose
myself."
And so we left him, gladly enough I am sure. The last that I saw, he had once m=
ore
taken up his great Bible, and with tremulous hands was adjusting his specta=
cles
to read.
The recollection of that afternoon will always=
be
graven on my mind. Northmour =
and I
were persuaded that an attack was imminent; and if it had been in our power=
to
alter in any way the order of events, that power would have been used to
precipitate rather than delay the critical moment. The worst was to be anticipated; y=
et we could
conceive no extremity so miserable as the suspense we were now suffering. I have never been an eager, though
always a great, reader; but I never knew books so insipid as those which I =
took
up and cast aside that afternoon in the pavilion. Even talk became impossible, as the
hours went on. One or other w=
as
always listening for some sound, or peering from an upstairs window over the
links. And yet not a sign ind=
icated
the presence of our foes.
We debated over and over again my proposal with
regard to the money; and had we been in complete possession of our facultie=
s, I
am sure we should have condemned it as unwise; but we were flustered with
alarm, grasped at a straw, and determined, although it was as much as
advertising Mr. Huddlestone's presence in the pavilion, to carry my proposal
into effect.
The sum was part in specie, part in bank paper,
and part in circular notes payable to the name of James Gregory. We took it out, counted it, enclos=
ed it
once more in a despatch-box belonging to Northmour, and prepared a letter in
Italian which he tied to the handle.
It was signed by both of us under oath, and declared that this was a=
ll
the money which had escaped the failure of the house of Huddlestone. This was, perhaps, the maddest act=
ion
ever perpetrated by two persons professing to be sane. Had the despatch-box fallen into o=
ther
hands than those for which it was intended, we stood criminally convicted o=
n our
own written testimony; but, as I have said, we were neither of us in a cond=
ition
to judge soberly, and had a thirst for action that drove us to do something,
right or wrong, rather than endure the agony of waiting. Moreover, as we were both convince=
d that
the hollows of the links were alive with hidden spies upon our movements, we
hoped that our appearance with the box might lead to a parley, and, perhaps=
, a
compromise.
It was nearly three when we issued from the
pavilion. The rain had taken =
off;
the sun shone quite cheerfully.
I have never seen the gulls fly so close about=
the
house or approach so fearlessly to human beings. On the very doorstep one flapped h=
eavily
past our heads, and uttered its wild cry in my very ear.
"There is an omen for you," said
Northmour, who like all freethinkers was much under the influence of
superstition. "They thin=
k we
are already dead."
I made some light rejoinder, but it was with h=
alf
my heart; for the circumstance had impressed me.
A yard or two before the gate, on a patch of
smooth turf, we set down the despatch-box; and Northmour waved a white
handkerchief over his head. N=
othing
replied. We raised our voices=
, and
cried aloud in Italian that we were there as ambassadors to arrange the qua=
rrel;
but the stillness remained unbroken save by the sea-gulls and the surf. I had a weight at my heart when we
desisted; and I saw that even Northmour was unusually pale. He looked over his shoulder nervou=
sly,
as though he feared that some one had crept between him and the pavilion do=
or.
"By God," he said in a whisper,
"this is too much for me!"
I replied in the same key: "Suppose there should be none,
after all!"
"Look there," he returned, nodding w=
ith
his head, as though he had been afraid to point.
I glanced in the direction indicated; and ther=
e,
from the northern quarter of the Sea-Wood, beheld a thin column of smoke ri=
sing
steadily against the now cloudless sky.
"Northmour," I said (we still contin=
ued
to talk in whispers), "it is not possible to endure this suspense. I prefer death fifty times over. Stay you here to watch the pavilio=
n; I
will go forward and make sure, if I have to walk right into their camp.&quo=
t;
He looked once again all round him with pucker=
ed
eyes, and then nodded assentingly to my proposal.
My heart beat like a sledge-hammer as I set out
walking rapidly in the direction of the smoke; and, though up to that momen=
t I
had felt chill and shivering, I was suddenly conscious of a glow of heat ov=
er
all my body. The ground in th=
is
direction was very uneven; a hundred men might have lain hidden in as many
square yards about my path. B=
ut I
had not practised the business in vain, chose such routes as cut at the very
root of concealment, and, by keeping along the most convenient ridges,
commanded several hollows at a time.
It was not long before I was rewarded for my caution. Coming suddenl=
y on
to a mound somewhat more elevated than the surrounding hummocks, I saw, not
thirty yards away, a man bent almost double, and running as fast as his
attitude permitted, along the bottom of a gully. I had dislodged one of the spies f=
rom
his ambush. As soon as I sigh=
ted
him, I called loudly both in English and Italian; and he, seeing concealment
was no longer possible, straightened himself out, leaped from the gully, and
made off as straight as an arrow for the borders of the wood.
It was none of my business to pursue; I had
learned what I wanted - that we were beleaguered and watched in the pavilio=
n;
and I returned at once, and walking as nearly as possible in my old footste=
ps,
to where Northmour awaited me beside the despatch-box. He was even paler th=
an
when I had left him, and his voice shook a little.
"Could you see what he was like?" he
asked.
"He kept his back turned," I replied=
.
"Let us get into the house, Frank. I don't think I'm a coward, but I =
can
stand no more of this," he whispered.
All was still and sunshiny about the pavilion =
as
we turned to re- enter it; even the gulls had flown in a wider circuit, and
were seen flickering along the beach and sand-hills; and this loneliness te=
rrified
me more than a regiment under arms.
It was not until the door was barricaded that I could draw a full
inspiration and relieve the weight that lay upon my bosom. Northmour and I exchanged a steady
glance; and I suppose each made his own reflections on the white and startl=
ed
aspect of the other.
"You were right," I said. "All is over. Shake hands, old man, for the last
time."
"Yes," replied he, "I will shake
hands; for, as sure as I am here, I bear no malice. But, remember, if, by some impossi=
ble
accident, we should give the slip to these blackguards, I'll take the upper=
hand
of you by fair or foul."
"Oh," said I, "you weary me!&qu=
ot;
He seemed hurt, and walked away in silence to =
the
foot of the stairs, where he paused.
"You do not understand," said he.
"And I stay with you," I returned. "Do you think I would steal a=
march,
even with your permission?"
"Frank," he said, smiling, "it'=
s a
pity you are an ass, for you have the makings of a man. I think I must be FEY to-day; you =
cannot
irritate me even when you try. Do
you know," he continued softly, "I think we are the two most
miserable men in England, you and I? we have got on to thirty without wife =
or
child, or so much as a shop to look after - poor, pitiful, lost devils, bot=
h! And now we clash about a girl! As if there were not several milli=
ons in
the United Kingdom! Ah, Frank,
Frank, the one who loses this throw, be it you or me, he has my pity! It were better for him - how does =
the
Bible say? - that a millstone were hanged about his neck and he were cast i=
nto
the depth of the sea. Let us =
take a
drink," he concluded suddenly, but without any levity of tone.
I was touched by his words, and consented. He sat down on the table in the
dining-room, and held up the glass of sherry to his eye.
"If you beat me, Frank," he said,
"I shall take to drink. =
What will
you do, if it goes the other way?"
"God knows," I returned.
"Well," said he, "here is a toa=
st
in the meantime: 'ITALIA IRRE=
DENTA!'"
The remainder of the day was passed in the same
dreadful tedium and suspense. I
laid the table for dinner, while Northmour and Clara prepared the meal toge=
ther
in the kitchen. I could hear =
their
talk as I went to and fro, and was surprised to find it ran all the time up=
on
myself. Northmour again brack=
eted
us together, and rallied Clara on a choice of husbands; but he continued to
speak of me with some feeling, and uttered nothing to my prejudice unless h=
e included
himself in the condemnation. =
This
awakened a sense of gratitude in my heart, which combined with the
immediateness of our peril to fill my eyes with tears. After all, I thought - and perhaps=
the
thought was laughably vain - we were here three very noble human beings to
perish in defence of a thieving banker.
Before we sat down to table, I looked forth fr=
om
an upstairs window. The day w=
as
beginning to decline; the links were utterly deserted; the despatch-box sti=
ll
lay untouched where we had left it hours before.
Mr. Huddlestone, in a long yellow dressing-gow=
n,
took one end of the table, Clara the other; while Northmour and I faced each
other from the sides. The lam=
p was
brightly trimmed; the wine was good; the viands, although mostly cold,
excellent of their sort. We s=
eemed
to have agreed tacitly; all reference to the impending catastrophe was
carefully avoided; and, considering our tragic circumstances, we made a mer=
rier
party than could have been expected.
From time to time, it is true, Northmour or I would rise from table =
and
make a round of the defences; and, on each of these occasions, Mr. Huddlest=
one
was recalled to a sense of his tragic predicament, glanced up with ghastly
eyes, and bore for an instant on his countenance the stamp of terror. But he hastened to empty his glass,
wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and joined again in the conversat=
ion.
I was astonished at the wit and information he
displayed. Mr. Huddlestone's =
was
certainly no ordinary character; he had read and observed for himself; his
gifts were sound; and, though I could never have learned to love the man, I
began to understand his success in business, and the great respect in which=
he
had been held before his failure.
He had, above all, the talent of society; and though I never heard h=
im
speak but on this one and most unfavourable occasion, I set him down among =
the
most brilliant conversationalists I ever met.
He was relating with great gusto, and seemingl=
y no
feeling of shame, the manoeuvres of a scoundrelly commission merchant whom =
he had
known and studied in his youth, and we were all listening with an odd mixtu=
re
of mirth and embarrassment when our little party was brought abruptly to an=
end
in the most startling manner.
A noise like that of a wet finger on the
window-pane interrupted Mr. Huddlestone's tale; and in an instant we were a=
ll
four as white as paper, and sat tongue-tied and motionless round the table.=
"A snail," I said at last; for I had
heard that these animals make a noise somewhat similar in character.
"Snail be d-d!" said Northmour. "Hush!"
The same sound was repeated twice at regular
intervals; and then a formidable voice shouted through the shutters the Ita=
lian
word "TRADITORE!"
Mr. Huddlestone threw his head in the air; his
eyelids quivered; next moment he fell insensible below the table. Northmour and I had each run to the
armoury and seized a gun. Cla=
ra was
on her feet with her hand at her throat.
So we stood waiting, for we thought the hour of
attack was certainly come; but second passed after second, and all but the =
surf
remained silent in the neighbourhood of the pavilion.
"Quick," said Northmour; "upsta=
irs
with him before they come."
Somehow or other, by hook and crook, and betwe=
en
the three of us, we got Bernard Huddlestone bundled upstairs and laid upon =
the
bed in MY UNCLE'S ROOM. Durin=
g the
whole process, which was rough enough, he gave no sign of consciousness, an=
d he
remained, as we had thrown him, without changing the position of a finger.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> His daughter opened his shirt and =
began
to wet his head and bosom; while Northmour and I ran to the window. The weather continued clear; the m=
oon,
which was now about full, had risen and shed a very clear light upon the li=
nks;
yet, strain our eyes as we might, we could distinguish nothing moving. A few dark spots, more or less, on=
the
uneven expanse were not to be identified; they might be crouching men, they
might be shadows; it was impossible to be sure.
"Thank God," said Northmour, "A=
ggie
is not coming to-night."
Aggie was the name of the old nurse; he had not
thought of her till now; but that he should think of her at all, was a trait
that surprised me in the man.
We were again reduced to waiting. Northmour went to the fireplace and
spread his hands before the red embers, as if he were cold. I followed him mechanically with my
eyes, and in so doing turned my back upon the window. At that moment a very faint report=
was audible
from without, and a ball shivered a pane of glass, and buried itself in the
shutter two inches from my head. I
heard Clara scream; and though I whipped instantly out of range and into a
corner, she was there, so to speak, before me, beseeching to know if I were
hurt. I felt that I could sta=
nd to
be shot at every day and all day long, with such marks of solicitude for a
reward; and I continued to reassure her, with the tenderest caresses and in=
complete
forgetfulness of our situation, till the voice of Northmour recalled me to
myself.
"An air-gun," he said. "They wish to make no noise.&=
quot;
I put Clara aside, and looked at him. He was standing with his back to t= he fire and his hands clasped behind him; and I knew by the black look on his face, that passion was boiling within.&nbs= p; I had seen just such a look before he attacked me, that March night,= in the adjoining chamber; and, though I could make every allowance for his anger, I confess I trembled for the consequences.&n= bsp; He gazed straight before him; but he could see us with the tail of h= is eye, and his temper kept rising like a gale of wind. With regular battle awaiting us ou= tside, this prospect of an internecine strife within the walls began to daunt me.<= o:p>
Suddenly, as I was thus closely watching his
expression and prepared against the worst, I saw a change, a flash, a look =
of relief,
upon his face. He took up the=
lamp
which stood beside him on the table, and turned to us with an air of some
excitement.
"There is one point that we must know,&qu=
ot;
said he. "Are they going=
to
butcher the lot of us, or only Huddlestone? Did they take you for him, or fire=
at
you for your own BEAUX YEUX?"
"They took me for him, for certain,"=
I
replied. "I am near as t=
all,
and my head is fair."
"I am going to make sure," returned
Northmour; and he stepped up to the window, holding the lamp above his head,
and stood there, quietly affronting death, for half a minute.
Clara sought to rush forward and pull him from=
the
place of danger; but I had the pardonable selfishness to hold her back by
force.
"Yes," said Northmour, turning coolly
from the window; "it's only Huddlestone they want."
"Oh, Mr. Northmour!" cried Clara; but
found no more to add; the temerity she had just witnessed seeming beyond the
reach of words.
He, on his part, looked at me, cocking his hea=
d,
with a fire of triumph in his eyes; and I understood at once that he had th=
us hazarded
his life, merely to attract Clara's notice, and depose me from my position =
as
the hero of the hour. He snap=
ped
his fingers.
"The fire is only beginning," said
he. "When they warm up to
their work, they won't be so particular."
A voice was now heard hailing us from the
entrance. From the window we =
could
see the figure of a man in the moonlight; he stood motionless, his face
uplifted to ours, and a rag of something white on his extended arm; and as =
we
looked right down upon him, though he was a good many yards distant on the
links, we could see the moonlight glitter on his eyes.
He opened his lips again, and spoke for some
minutes on end, in a key so loud that he might have been heard in every cor=
ner
of the pavilion, and as far away as the borders of the wood. It was the same voice that had alr=
eady
shouted "TRADITORE!" through the shutters of the dining-room; this
time it made a complete and clear statement. If the traitor "Oddlestone&qu=
ot;
were given up, all others should be spared; if not, no one should escape to=
tell
the tale.
"Well, Huddlestone, what do you say to
that?" asked Northmour, turning to the bed.
Up to that moment the banker had given no sign=
of
life, and I, at least, had supposed him to be still lying in a faint; but h=
e replied
at once, and in such tones as I have never heard elsewhere, save from a
delirious patient, adjured and besought us not to desert him. It was the most hideous and abject
performance that my imagination can conceive.
"Enough," cried Northmour; and then =
he
threw open the window, leaned out into the night, and in a tone of exultati=
on,
and with a total forgetfulness of what was due to the presence of a lady, p=
oured
out upon the ambassador a string of the most abominable raillery both in
English and Italian, and bade him be gone where he had come from. I believe that nothing so delighted
Northmour at that moment as the thought that we must all infallibly perish =
before
the night was out.
Meantime the Italian put his flag of truce into
his pocket, and disappeared, at a leisurely pace, among the sand-hills.
"They make honourable war," said
Northmour. "They are all=
gentlemen
and soldiers. For the credit =
of the
thing, I wish we could change sides - you and I, Frank, and you too, Missy,=
my darling
- and leave that being on the bed to some one else. Tut! Don't look shocked! We are all going post to what they=
call eternity,
and may as well be above-board while there's time. As far as I'm concerned, if I could
first strangle Huddlestone and then get Clara in my arms, I could die with =
some
pride and satisfaction. And a=
s it
is, by God, I'll have a kiss!"
Before I could do anything to interfere, he had
rudely embraced and repeatedly kissed the resisting girl. Next moment I had pulled him away =
with
fury, and flung him heavily against the wall. He laughed loud and long, and I fe=
ared
his wits had given way under the strain; for even in the best of days he had
been a sparing and a quiet laugher.
"Now, Frank," said he, when his mirth
was somewhat appeased, "it's your turn. Here's my hand. Good-bye; farewell!" Then, seeing me stand rigid and
indignant, and holding Clara to my side - "Man!" he broke out,
"are you angry? Did you =
think
we were going to die with all the airs and graces of society? I took a kiss; I'm glad I had it; =
and
now you can take another if you like, and square accounts."
I turned from him with a feeling of contempt w=
hich
I did not seek to dissemble.
"As you please," said he. "You've been a prig in life; =
a prig
you'll die."
And with that he sat down in a chair, a rifle =
over
his knee, and amused himself with snapping the lock; but I could see that h=
is ebullition
of light spirits (the only one I ever knew him to display) had already come=
to
an end, and was succeeded by a sullen, scowling humour.
All this time our assailants might have been
entering the house, and we been none the wiser; we had in truth almost
forgotten the danger that so imminently overhung our days. But just then Mr. Huddlestone utte=
red a
cry, and leaped from the bed.
I asked him what was wrong.
"Fire!" he cried. "They have set the house on
fire!"
Northmour was on his feet in an instant, and he
and I ran through the door of communication with the study. The room was illuminated by a red =
and
angry light. Almost at the mo=
ment
of our entrance, a tower of flame arose in front of the window, and, with a
tingling report, a pane fell inwards on the carpet. They had set fire to the lean-to
outhouse, where Northmour used to nurse his negatives.
"Hot work," said Northmour. "Let us try in your old room.=
"
We ran thither in a breath, threw up the casem=
ent,
and looked forth. Along the w=
hole
back wall of the pavilion piles of fuel had been arranged and kindled; and =
it
is probable they had been drenched with mineral oil, for, in spite of the
morning's rain, they all burned bravely.&n=
bsp;
The fire had taken a firm hold already on the outhouse, which blazed
higher and higher every moment; the back door was in the centre of a red-hot
bonfire; the eaves we could see, as we looked upward, were already smoulder=
ing,
for the roof overhung, and was supported by considerable beams of wood. At the same time, hot, pungent, and
choking volumes of smoke began to fill the house. There was not a human being to be =
seen
to right or left.
"Ah, well!" said Northmour, "he=
re's
the end, thank God."
And we returned to MY UNCLE'S ROOM. Mr. Huddlestone was putting on his
boots, still violently trembling, but with an air of determination such as I
had not hitherto observed. Cl=
ara
stood close by him, with her cloak in both hands ready to throw about her s=
houlders,
and a strange look in her eyes, as if she were half hopeful, half doubtful =
of
her father.
"Well, boys and girls," said Northmo=
ur,
"how about a sally? The =
oven
is heating; it is not good to stay here and be baked; and, for my part, I w=
ant
to come to my hands with them, and be done."
"There is nothing else left," I repl=
ied.
And both Clara and Mr. Huddlestone, though wit=
h a
very different intonation, added, "Nothing."
As we went downstairs the heat was excessive, =
and
the roaring of the fire filled our ears; and we had scarce reached the pass=
age before
the stairs window fell in, a branch of flame shot brandishing through the
aperture, and the interior of the pavilion became lit up with that dreadful=
and
fluctuating glare. At the same
moment we heard the fall of something heavy and inelastic in the upper
story. The whole pavilion, it=
was
plain, had gone alight like a box of matches, and now not only flamed sky-h=
igh
to land and sea, but threatened with every moment to crumble and fall in ab=
out our
ears.
Northmour and I cocked our revolvers. Mr. Huddlestone, who had already r=
efused
a firearm, put us behind him with a manner of command.
"Let Clara open the door," said he.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "So, if they fire a volley, s=
he
will be protected. And in the
meantime stand behind me. I a=
m the
scapegoat; my sins have found me out."
I heard him, as I stood breathless by his
shoulder, with my pistol ready, pattering off prayers in a tremulous, rapid
whisper; and I confess, horrid as the thought may seem, I despised him for =
thinking
of supplications in a moment so critical and thrilling. In the meantime, Cl=
ara,
who was dead white but still possessed her faculties, had displaced the
barricade from the front door. Another moment, and she had pulled it open.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Firelight and moonlight illuminate=
d the
links with confused and changeful lustre, and far away against the sky we c=
ould
see a long trail of glowing smoke.
Mr. Huddlestone, filled for the moment with a
strength greater than his own, struck Northmour and myself a back-hander in=
the
chest; and while we were thus for the moment incapacitated from action, lif=
ting
his arms above his head like one about to dive, he ran straight forward out=
of
the pavilion.
"Here am!" he cried -
"Huddlestone! Kill me, a=
nd
spare the others!"
His sudden appearance daunted, I suppose, our
hidden enemies; for Northmour and I had time to recover, to seize Clara bet=
ween
us, one by each arm, and to rush forth to his assistance, ere anything furt=
her
had taken place. But scarce h=
ad we
passed the threshold when there came near a dozen reports and flashes from
every direction among the hollows of the links. Mr. Huddlestone staggered, uttered=
a
weird and freezing cry, threw up his arms over his head, and fell backward =
on
the turf.
"TRADITORE! TRADITORE!" cried the invisible
avengers.
And just then, a part of the roof of the pavil=
ion
fell in, so rapid was the progress of the fire. A loud, vague, and horrible noise =
accompanied
the collapse, and a vast volume of flame went soaring up to heaven. It must have been visible at that =
moment
from twenty miles out at sea, from the shore at Graden Wester, and far inla=
nd from
the peak of Graystiel, the most eastern summit of the Caulder Hills. Bernard Huddlestone, although God =
knows
what were his obsequies, had a fine pyre at the moment of his death.
I should have the greatest difficulty to tell =
you
what followed next after this tragic circumstance. It is all to me, as I look back up=
on it,
mixed, strenuous, and ineffectual, like the struggles of a sleeper in a
nightmare. Clara, I remember,
uttered a broken sigh and would have fallen forward to earth, had not North=
mour
and I supported her insensible body.
I do not think we were attacked; I do not remember even to have seen=
an
assailant; and I believe we deserted Mr. Huddlestone without a glance. I only remember running like a man=
in a
panic, now carrying Clara altogether in my own arms, now sharing her weight
with Northmour, now scuffling confusedly for the possession of that dear
burden. Why we should have ma=
de for
my camp in the Hemlock Den, or how we reached it, are points lost for ever =
to
my recollection. The first mo=
ment
at which I became definitely sure, Clara had been suffered to fall against =
the
outside of my little tent, Northmour and I were tumbling together on the
ground, and he, with contained ferocity, was striking for my head with the =
butt
of his revolver. He had alrea=
dy twice
wounded me on the scalp; and it is to the consequent loss of blood that I am
tempted to attribute the sudden clearness of my mind.
I caught him by the wrist.
"Northmour," I remember saying,
"you can kill me afterwards.
Let us first attend to Clara."
He was at that moment uppermost. Scarcely had the words passed my l=
ips,
when he had leaped to his feet and ran towards the tent; and the next momen=
t,
he was straining Clara to his heart and covering her unconscious hands and =
face
with his caresses.
"Shame!" I cried. "Shame to you, Northmour!&quo=
t;
And, giddy though I still was, I struck him
repeatedly upon the head and shoulders.
He relinquished his grasp, and faced me in the
broken moonlight.
"I had you under, and I let you go,"
said he; "and now you strike me!
Coward!"
"You are the coward," I retorted.
He confronted me for a moment, white and menac=
ing;
then suddenly he stepped aside.
"Help her then," said he.
I threw myself on my knees beside her, and
loosened, as well as I was able, her dress and corset; but while I was thus
engaged, a grasp descended on my shoulder.
"Keep your hands of her," said North=
mour
fiercely. "Do you think =
I have
no blood in my veins?"
"Northmour," I cried, "if you w=
ill
neither help her yourself, nor let me do so, do you know that I shall have =
to
kill you?"
"That is better!" he cried. "Let her die also, where's th=
e harm?
Step aside from that girl! and stand up to fight"
"You will observe," said I, half ris=
ing,
"that I have not kissed her yet."
"I dare you to," he cried.
I do not know what possessed me; it was one of=
the
things I am most ashamed of in my life, though, as my wife used to say, I k=
new
that my kisses would be always welcome were she dead or living; down I fell
again upon my knees, parted the hair from her forehead, and, with the deare=
st
respect, laid my lips for a moment on that cold brow. It was such a caress as a father m=
ight
have given; it was such a one as was not unbecoming from a man soon to die =
to a
woman already dead.
"And now," said I, "I am at your
service, Mr. Northmour."
But I saw, to my surprise, that he had turned =
his
back upon me.
"Do you hear?" I asked.
"Yes," said he, "I do. If you wish to fight, I am ready.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> If not, go on and save Clara. All is one to me."
I did not wait to be twice bidden; but, stoopi=
ng
again over Clara, continued my efforts to revive her. She still lay white and lifeless; I
began to fear that her sweet spirit had indeed fled beyond recall, and horr=
or
and a sense of utter desolation seized upon my heart. I called her by name with the most
endearing inflections; I chafed and beat her hands; now I laid her head low=
, now
supported it against my knee; but all seemed to be in vain, and the lids st=
ill
lay heavy on her eyes.
"Northmour," I said, "there is =
my
hat. For God's sake bring som=
e water
from the spring."
Almost in a moment he was by my side with the
water. "I have brought i=
t in
my own," he said. "=
You do
not grudge me the privilege?"
"Northmour," I was beginning to say,=
as
I laved her head and breast; but he interrupted me savagely.
"Oh, you hush up!" he said. "The best thing you can do is=
to
say nothing."
I had certainly no desire to talk, my mind bei=
ng
swallowed up in concern for my dear love and her condition; so I continued =
in silence
to do my best towards her recovery, and, when the hat was empty, returned i=
t to
him, with one word - "More."&nbs=
p;
He had, perhaps, gone several times upon this errand, when Clara
reopened her eyes.
"Now," said he, "since she is
better, you can spare me, can you not?&nbs=
p;
I wish you a good night, Mr. Cassilis."
And with that he was gone among the thicket. I made a fire, for I had now no fe=
ar of
the Italians, who had even spared all the little possessions left in my
encampment; and, broken as she was by the excitement and the hideous
catastrophe of the evening, I managed, in one way or another - by persuasio=
n,
encouragement, warmth, and such simple remedies as I could lay my hand on -=
to
bring her back to some composure of mind and strength of body.
Day had already come, when a sharp
"Hist!" sounded from the thicket. I started from the ground; but the=
voice
of Northmour was heard adding, in the most tranquil tones: "Come here, Cassilis, and alo=
ne; I
want to show you something."
I consulted Clara with my eyes, and, receiving=
her
tacit permission, left her alone, and clambered out of the den. At some distance of I saw Northmou=
r leaning
against an elder; and, as soon as he perceived me, he began walking
seaward. I had almost overtak=
en him
as he reached the outskirts of the wood.
"Look," said he, pausing.
A couple of steps more brought me out of the
foliage. The light of the mor=
ning
lay cold and clear over that well-known scene. The pavilion was but a blackened w=
reck;
the roof had fallen in, one of the gables had fallen out; and, far and near,
the face of the links was cicatrised with little patches of burnt furze.
"The RED EARL!" I cried. "The RED EARL twelve hours too
late!"
"Feel in your pocket, Frank. Are you armed?" asked Northmo=
ur.
I obeyed him, and I think I must have become
deadly pale. My revolver had =
been
taken from me.
"You see I have you in my power," he
continued. "I disarmed y=
ou last
night while you were nursing Clara; but this morning - here - take your
pistol. No thanks!" he c=
ried,
holding up his hand. "I =
do not
like them; that is the only way you can annoy me now."
He began to walk forward across the links to m=
eet
the boat, and I followed a step or two behind. In front of the pavilion I paused =
to see
where Mr. Huddlestone had fallen; but there was no sign of him, nor so much=
as
a trace of blood.
"Graden Floe," said Northmour.
He continued to advance till we had come to the
head of the beach.
"No farther, please," said he. "Would you like to take her t=
o Graden
House?"
"Thank you," replied I; "I shall
try to get her to the minister's at Graden Wester."
The prow of the boat here grated on the beach,=
and
a sailor jumped ashore with a line in his hand.
"Wait a minute, lads!" cried Northmo=
ur;
and then lower and to my private ear:
"You had better say nothing of all this to her," he added.=
"On the contrary!" I broke out,
"she shall know everything that I can tell."
"You do not understand," he returned,
with an air of great dignity. "It will be nothing to her; she expects =
it
of me. Good-bye!" he add=
ed,
with a nod.
I offered him my hand.
"Excuse me," said he. "It's small, I know; but I ca=
n't
push things quite so far as that. =
span>I
don't wish any sentimental business, to sit by your hearth a white-haired
wanderer, and all that. Quite=
the
contrary: I hope to God I sha=
ll
never again clap eyes on either one of you."
"Well, God bless you, Northmour!" I =
said
heartily.
"Oh, yes," he returned.
He walked down the beach; and the man who was
ashore gave him an arm on board, and then shoved off and leaped into the bo=
ws
himself. Northmour took the tiller; the boat rose to the waves, and the oar=
s between
the thole-pins sounded crisp and measured in the morning air.
They were not yet half-way to the RED EARL, an=
d I
was still watching their progress, when the sun rose out of the sea.
One word more, and my story is done. Years after, Northmour was killed
fighting under the colours of Garibaldi for the liberation of the Tyrol.
=
=
It was
late in November 1456. The sn=
ow
fell over Paris with rigorous, relentless persistence; sometimes the wind m=
ade
a sally and scattered it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and
flake after flake descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous,
interminable. To poor people,
looking up under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all came
from. Master Francis Villon h=
ad
propounded an alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window: was it only Pagan Jupiter plucking=
geese
upon Olympus? or were the holy angels moulting? He was only a poor Master of Arts,=
he
went on; and as the question somewhat touched upon divinity, he durst not
venture to conclude. A silly =
old priest
from Montargis, who was among the company, treated the young rascal to a bo=
ttle
of wine in honour of the jest and the grimaces with which it was accompanie=
d,
and swore on his own white beard that he had been just such another irrever=
ent
dog when he was Villon's age.
The air was raw and pointed, but not far below
freezing; and the flakes were large, damp, and adhesive. The whole city was sheeted up. An army might have marched from en=
d to
end and not a footfall given the alarm.&nb=
sp;
If there were any belated birds in heaven, they saw the island like a
large white patch, and the bridges like slim white spars, on the black grou=
nd
of the river. High up overhea=
d the
snow settled among the tracery of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was drifted full; man=
y a
statue wore a long white bonnet on its grotesque or sainted head. The gargoyles had been transformed=
into
great false noses, drooping towards the point. The crockets were like upright pil=
lows
swollen on one side. In the
intervals of the wind, there was a dull sound of dripping about the precinc=
ts
of the church.
The cemetery of St. John had taken its own sha=
re
of the snow. All the graves w=
ere
decently covered; tall white housetops stood around in grave array; worthy
burghers were long ago in bed, benightcapped like their domiciles; there wa=
s no
light in all the neighbourhood but a little peep from a lamp that hung swin=
ging
in the church choir, and tossed the shadows to and fro in time to its oscil=
lations. The clock was hard on ten when the
patrol went by with halberds and a lantern, beating their hands; and they s=
aw nothing
suspicious about the cemetery of St. John.
Yet there was a small house, backed up against=
the
cemetery wall, which was still awake, and awake to evil purpose, in that
snoring district. There was n=
ot
much to betray it from without; only a stream of warm vapour from the
chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few
half-obliterated footprints at the door.&n=
bsp;
But within, behind the shuttered windows, Master Francis Villon the
poet, and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted, were keeping the
night alive and passing round the bottle.
A great pile of living embers diffused a strong
and ruddy glow from the arched chimney.&nb=
sp;
Before this straddled Dom Nicolas, the Picardy monk, with his skirts
picked up and his fat legs bared to the comfortable warmth. His dilated shadow cut the room in=
half;
and the firelight only escaped on either side of his broad person, and in a
little pool between his outspread feet.&nb=
sp;
His face had the beery, bruised appearance of the continual drinker'=
s;
it was covered with a network of congested veins, purple in ordinary circum=
stances,
but now pale violet, for even with his back to the fire the cold pinched hi=
m on
the other side. His cowl had =
half fallen
back, and made a strange excrescence on either side of his bull neck. So he straddled, grumbling, and cu=
t the
room in half with the shadow of his portly frame.
On the right, Villon and Guy Tabary were huddl=
ed
together over a scrap of parchment; Villon making a ballade which he was to
call the "Ballade of Roast Fish," and Tabary spluttering admirati=
on
at his shoulder. The poet was=
a rag
of a man, dark, little, and lean, with hollow cheeks and thin black locks.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> He carried his four-and- twenty ye=
ars
with feverish animation. Gree=
d had
made folds about his eyes, evil smiles had puckered his mouth. The wolf and pig struggled togethe=
r in
his face. It was an eloquent,
sharp, ugly, earthly countenance.
His hands were small and prehensile, with fingers knotted like a cor=
d;
and they were continually flickering in front of him in violent and express=
ive
pantomime. As for Tabary, a b=
road,
complacent, admiring imbecility breathed from his squash nose and slobbering
lips: he had become a thief, =
just
as he might have become the most decent of burgesses, by the imperious chan=
ce
that rules the lives of human geese and human donkeys.
At the monk's other hand, Montigny and Thevenin
Pensete played a game of chance.
About the first there clung some flavour of good birth and training,=
as
about a fallen angel; something long, lithe, and courtly in the person;
something aquiline and darkling in the face. Thevenin, poor soul, was in great
feather: he had done a good s=
troke
of knavery that afternoon in the Faubourg St. Jacques, and all night he had
been gaining from Montigny. A=
flat
smile illuminated his face; his bald head shone rosily in a garland of red
curls; his little protuberant stomach shook with silent chucklings as he sw=
ept
in his gains.
"Doubles or quits?" said Thevenin. Montigny nodded grimly.
"Some may prefer to dine in state,"
wrote Villon, "On bread and cheese on silver plate. Or - or - help me out, Guido!"=
;
Tabary giggled.
"Or parsley on a golden dish," scrib=
bled
the poet.
The wind was freshening without; it drove the =
snow
before it, and sometimes raised its voice in a victorious whoop, and made s=
epulchral
grumblings in the chimney. Th=
e cold
was growing sharper an the night went on.&=
nbsp;
Villon, protruding his lips, imitated the gust with something betwee=
n a
whistle and a groan. It was a=
n eerie,
uncomfortable talent of the poet's, much detested by the Picardy monk.
"Can't you hear it rattle in the
gibbet?" said Villon.
"They are all dancing the devil's jig on nothing, up there. You may dance, my gallants, you'll=
be
none the warmer! Whew! what a
gust! Down went somebody just
now! A medlar the fewer on the
three-legged medlar-tree! - I say, Dom Nicolas, it'll be cold to-night on t=
he St.
Denis Road?" he asked.
Dom Nicolas winked both his big eyes, and seem=
ed
to choke upon his Adam's apple.
Montfaucon, the great grisly Paris gibbet, stood hard by the St. Den=
is
Road, and the pleasantry touched him on the raw. As for Tabary, he laughed immodera=
tely
over the medlars; he had never heard anything more light-hearted; and he he=
ld
his sides and crowed. Villon
fetched him a fillip on the nose, which turned his mirth into an attack of
coughing.
"Oh, stop that row," said Villon,
"and think of rhymes to 'fish'."
"Doubles or quits," said Montigny
doggedly.
"With all my heart," quoth Thevenin.=
"Is there any more in that bottle?"
asked the monk.
"Open another," said Villon. "How do you ever hope to fill=
that big
hogshead, your body, with little things like bottles? And how do you expect to get to
heaven? How many angels, do y=
ou
fancy, can be spared to carry up a single monk from Picardy? Or do you think yourself another E=
lias -
and they'll send the coach for you?"
"HOMINIBUS IMPOSSIBILE," replied the
monk, as he filled his glass.
Tabary was in ecstasies.
Villon filliped his nose again.
"Laugh at my jokes, if you like," he
said.
"It was very good," objected Tabary.=
Villon made a face at him. "Think of rhymes to 'fish',&q=
uot;
he said. "What have you to do with Latin? You'll wish you knew none of it at=
the
great assizes, when the devil calls for Guido Tabary, clericus - the devil =
with
the hump-back and red-hot finger-nails. Talking of the devil," he adde=
d in
a whisper, "look at Montigny!"
All three peered covertly at the gamester. He did not seem to be enjoying his
luck. His mouth was a little =
to a
side; one nostril nearly shut, and the other much inflated. The black dog was on his back, as =
people
say, in terrifying nursery metaphor; and he breathed hard under the gruesome
burden.
"He looks as if he could knife him,"
whispered Tabary, with round eyes.
The monk shuddered, and turned his face and sp=
read
his open hands to the red embers.
It was the cold that thus affected Dom Nicolas, and not any excess of
moral sensibility
"Come now," said Villon - "about
this ballade. How does it run=
so far?" And beating time with his hand, he=
read
it aloud to Tabary.
They were interrupted at the fourth rhyme by a
brief and fatal movement among the gamesters. The round was completed, and Theve=
nin
was just opening his mouth to claim another victory, when Montigny leaped u=
p,
swift as an adder, and stabbed him to the heart. The blow took effect before he had=
time
to utter a cry, before he had time to move. A tremor or two convulsed his fram=
e; his
hands opened and shut, his heels rattled on the floor; then his head rolled
backward over one shoulder with the eyes wide open; and Thevenin Pensete's
spirit had returned to Him who made it.
Everyone sprang to his feet; but the business =
was
over in two twos. The four living fellows looked at each other in rather a
ghastly fashion; the dead man contemplating a corner of the roof with a sin=
gular
and ugly leer.
"My God!" said Tabary; and he began =
to
pray in Latin.
Villon broke out into hysterical laughter. He came a step forward and ducked a
ridiculous bow at Thevenin, and laughed still louder. Then he sat down
suddenly, all of a heap, upon a stool, and continued laughing bitterly as t=
hough
he would shake himself to pieces.
Montigny recovered his composure first.
"Let's see what he has about him," he
remarked; and he picked the dead man's pockets with a practised hand, and
divided the money into four equal portions on the table. "There's for you," he sa=
id.
The monk received his share with a deep sigh, =
and
a single stealthy glance at the dead Thevenin, who was beginning to sink in=
to
himself and topple sideways of the chair.
"We're all in for it," cried Villon,
swallowing his mirth. "I=
t's a hanging
job for every man jack of us that's here - not to speak of those who
aren't." He made a shock=
ing
gesture in the air with his raised right hand, and put out his tongue and t=
hrew
his head on one side, so as to counterfeit the appearance of one who has be=
en hanged. Then he pocketed his share of the =
spoil,
and executed a shuffle with his feet as if to restore the circulation.
Tabary was the last to help himself; he made a
dash at the money, and retired to the other end of the apartment.
Montigny stuck Thevenin upright in the chair, =
and
drew out the dagger, which was followed by a jet of blood.
"You fellows had better be moving," =
he
said, as he wiped the blade on his victim's doublet.
"I think we had," returned Villon wi=
th a
gulp. "Damn his fat head=
!"
he broke out. "It sticks=
in my
throat like phlegm. What righ=
t has
a man to have red hair when he is dead?" And he fell all of a heap again up=
on the
stool, and fairly covered his face with his hands.
Montigny and Dom Nicolas laughed aloud, even
Tabary feebly chiming in.
"Cry baby," said the monk.
"I always said he was a woman," added
Montigny with a sneer. "=
Sit up,
can't you?" he went on, giving another shake to the murdered body. "Tread out that fire, Nick!&q=
uot;
But Nick was better employed; he was quietly
taking Villon's purse, as the poet sat, limp and trembling, on the stool wh=
ere
he had been making a ballade not three minutes before. Montigny and Tabary dumbly demande=
d a
share of the booty, which the monk silently promised as he passed the little
bag into the bosom of his gown. In many ways an artistic nature unfits a man
for practical existence.
No sooner had the theft been accomplished than Villon shook himself, jumped to his feet, and began helping to scatter and = extinguish the embers. Meanwhile Montigny opened the door and cautiously peered into the street. The coast was clear; there was no meddlesome patrol in sight. S= till it was judged wiser to slip out severally; and as Villon was himself in a h= urry to escape from the neighbourhood of the dead Thevenin, and the rest were in= a still greater hurry to get rid of him before he should discover the loss of his money, he was the first by general consent to issue forth into the street.<= o:p>
The wind had triumphed and swept all the clouds
from heaven. Only a few vapou=
rs, as
thin as moonlight, fleeting rapidly across the stars. It was bitter cold; and by a common
optical effect, things seemed almost more definite than in the broadest
daylight. The sleeping city w=
as
absolutely still: a company of
white hoods, a field full of little Alps, below the twinkling stars. Villon cursed his fortune. Would it were still snowing! Now, wherever he went, he left an
indelible trail behind him on the glittering streets; wherever he went he w=
as
still tethered to the house by the cemetery of St. John; wherever he went he
must weave, with his own plodding feet, the rope that bound him to the crime
and would bind him to the gallows.
The leer of the dead man came back to him with a new significance. He snapped his fingers as if to pl=
uck up
his own spirits, and choosing a street at random, stepped boldly forward in=
the
snow.
Two things preoccupied him as he went: the aspect of the gallows at Montf=
aucon
in this bright windy phase of the night's existence, for one; and for anoth=
er,
the look of the dead man with his bald head and garland of red curls. Both struck cold upon his heart, a=
nd he
kept quickening his pace as if he could escape from unpleasant thoughts by =
mere
fleetness of foot. Sometimes =
he
looked back over his shoulder with a sudden nervous jerk; but he was the on=
ly
moving thing in the white streets, except when the wind swooped round a cor=
ner
and threw up the snow, which was beginning to freeze, in spouts of glitteri=
ng
dust.
Suddenly he saw, a long way before him, a black
clump and a couple of lanterns. The
clump was in motion, and the lanterns swung as though carried by men
walking. It was a patrol. And though it was merely crossing =
his
line of march, he judged it wiser to get out of eyeshot as speedily as he
could. He was not in the humo=
ur to
be challenged, and he was conscious of making a very conspicuous mark upon =
the
snow. Just on his left hand t=
here
stood a great hotel, with some turrets and a large porch before the door; it
was half- ruinous, he remembered, and had long stood empty; and so he made =
three
steps of it and jumped into the shelter of the porch. It was pretty dark inside, after t=
he
glimmer of the snowy streets, and he was groping forward with outspread han=
ds,
when he stumbled over some substance which offered an indescribable mixture=
of resistances,
hard and soft, firm and loose. His
heart gave a leap, and he sprang two steps back and stared dreadfully at the
obstacle. Then he gave a little laugh of relief. It was only a woman, and she dead.=
He knelt beside her to make sure u=
pon
this latter point. She was freezing cold, and rigid like a stick. A little ragged finery fluttered i=
n the
wind about her hair, and her cheeks had been heavily rouged that same
afternoon. Her pockets were q=
uite empty;
but in her stocking, underneath the garter, Villon found two of the small c=
oins
that went by the name of whites. It
was little enough; but it was always something; and the poet was moved with=
a deep
sense of pathos that she should have died before she had spent her money. That seemed to him a dark and piti=
able
mystery; and he looked from the coins in his hand to the dead woman, and ba=
ck
again to the coins, shaking his head over the riddle of man's life. Henry V=
. of
England, dying at Vincennes just after he had conquered France, and this po=
or
jade cut off by a cold draught in a great man's doorway, before she had tim=
e to
spend her couple of whites - it seemed a cruel way to carry on the world. Two whites would have taken such a
little while to squander; and yet it would have been one more good taste in=
the
mouth, one more smack of the lips, before the devil got the soul, and the b=
ody
was left to birds and vermin. He
would like to use all his tallow before the light was blown out and the lan=
tern
broken.
While these thoughts were passing through his
mind, he was feeling, half mechanically, for his purse. Suddenly his heart stopped beating=
; a
feeling of cold scales passed up the back of his legs, and a cold blow seem=
ed
to fall upon his scalp. He st=
ood
petrified for a moment; then he felt again with one feverish movement; and =
then
his loss burst upon him, and he was covered at once with perspiration. To spendthrifts money is so living=
and
actual - it is such a thin veil between them and their pleasures! There is only one limit to their f=
ortune
- that of time; and a spendthrift with only a few crowns is the Emperor of =
Rome
until they are spent. For such a person to lose his money is to suffer the =
most
shocking reverse, and fall from heaven to hell, from all to nothing, in a b=
reath. And all the more if he has put his=
head
in the halter for it; if he may be hanged to-morrow for that same purse, so
dearly earned, so foolishly departed!
Villon stood and cursed; he threw the two whites into the street; he
shook his fist at heaven; he stamped, and was not horrified to find himself
trampling the poor corpse. Th=
en he
began rapidly to retrace his steps towards the house beside the cemetery. He had forgotten all fear of the p=
atrol,
which was long gone by at any rate, and had no idea but that of his lost
purse. It was in vain that he
looked right and left upon the snow:
nothing was to be seen. He
had not dropped it in the streets.
Had it fallen in the house?
He would have liked dearly to go in and see; but the idea of the gri=
sly
occupant unmanned him. And he=
saw
besides, as he drew near, that their efforts to put out the fire had been
unsuccessful; on the contrary, it had broken into a blaze, and a changeful
light played in the chinks of door and window, and revived his terror for t=
he authorities
and Paris gibbet.
He returned to the hotel with the porch, and
groped about upon the snow for the money he had thrown away in his childish
passion. But he could only fi=
nd one
white; the other had probably struck sideways and sunk deeply in. With a single white in his pocket,=
all
his projects for a rousing night in some wild tavern vanished utterly
away. And it was not only ple=
asure
that fled laughing from his grasp; positive discomfort, positive pain, atta=
cked
him as he stood ruefully before the porch.=
His perspiration had dried upon him; and though the wind had now fal=
len,
a binding frost was setting in stronger with every hour, and be felt benumb=
ed
and sick at heart. What was t=
o be
done? Late as was the hour,
improbable as was success, he would try the house of his adopted father, th=
e chaplain
of St. Benoit.
He ran there all the way, and knocked
timidly. There was no answer.=
He knocked again and again, taking=
heart
with every stroke; and at last steps were heard approaching from within.
"Hold up your face to the wicket," s=
aid
the chaplain from within.
"It's only me," whimpered Villon.
"Oh, it's only you, is it?" returned=
the
chaplain; and he cursed him with foul unpriestly oaths for disturbing him at
such an hour, and bade him be off to hell, where he came from.
"My hands are blue to the wrist,"
pleaded Villon; "my feet are dead and full of twinges; my nose aches w=
ith
the sharp air; the cold lies at my heart.&=
nbsp;
I may be dead before morning.
Only this once, father, and before God I will never ask again!"=
"You should have come earlier," said=
the
ecclesiastic coolly. "Young men require a lesson now and then." He shut the wicket and retired
deliberately into the interior of the house.
Villon was beside himself; he beat upon the do=
or
with his hands and feet, and shouted hoarsely after the chaplain.
"Wormy old fox!" he cried. "If I had my hand under your =
twist,
I would send you flying headlong into the bottomless pit."
A door shut in the interior, faintly audible to
the poet down long passages. =
He
passed his hand over his mouth with an oath. And then the humour of the situati=
on
struck him, and he laughed and looked lightly up to heaven, where the stars
seemed to be winking over his discomfiture.
What was to be done? It looked very like a night in the
frosty streets. The idea of t=
he
dead woman popped into his imagination, and gave him a hearty fright; what =
had
happened to her in the early night might very well happen to him before
morning. And he so young! and=
with
such immense possibilities of disorderly amusement before him! He felt quite pathetic over the no=
tion
of his own fate, as if it had been some one else's, and made a little imagi=
native
vignette of the scene in the morning when they should find his body.
He passed all his chances under review, turning
the white between his thumb and forefinger. Unfortunately he was on bad terms =
with some
old friends who would once have taken pity on him in such a plight. He had lampooned them in verses, h=
e had
beaten and cheated them; and yet now, when he was in so close a pinch, he
thought there was at least one who might perhaps relent. It was a chance. It was worth tryi=
ng at
least, and he would go and see.
On the way, two little accidents happened to h=
im
which coloured his musings in a very different manner. For, first, he fell in with the tr=
ack of
a patrol, and walked in it for some hundred yards, although it lay out of h=
is
direction. And this spirited =
him
up; at least he had confused his trail; for he was still possessed with the
idea of people tracking him all about Paris over the snow, and collaring him
next morning before he was awake.
The other matter affected him very differently. He passed a street corner, where, =
not so
long before, a woman and her child had been devoured by wolves. This was just the kind of weather,=
he
reflected, when wolves might take it into their heads to enter Paris again;=
and
a lone man in these deserted streets would run the chance of something worse
than a mere scare. He stopped=
and
looked upon the place with an unpleasant interest - it was a centre where
several lanes intersected each other; and he looked down them all one after=
another,
and held his breath to listen, lest he should detect some galloping black
things on the snow or hear the sound of howling between him and the river.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> He remembered his mother telling h=
im the
story and pointing out the spot, while he was yet a child. His mother! If he only knew where she lived, he
might make sure at least of shelter.
He determined he would inquire upon the morrow; nay, he would go and=
see
her too, poor old girl! So
thinking, he arrived at his destination - his last hope for the night.
The house was quite dark, like its neighbours;=
and
yet after a few taps, he heard a movement overhead, a door opening, and a
cautious voice asking who was there.
The poet named himself in a loud whisper, and waited, not without co=
me
trepidation, the result. Nor =
had he
to wait long. A window was su=
ddenly
opened, and a pailful of slops splashed down upon the doorstep. Villon had not been unprepared for
something of the sort, and had put himself as much in shelter as the nature=
of
the porch admitted; but for all that, he was deplorably drenched below the
waist. His hose began to free=
ze
almost at once. Death from co=
ld and
exposure stared him in the face; he remembered he was of phthisical tendenc=
y,
and began coughing tentatively. But
the gravity of the danger steadied his nerves. He stopped a few hundred yards fro=
m the
door where he had been so rudely used, and reflected with his finger to his
nose. He could only see one w=
ay of
getting a lodging, and that was to take it. He had noticed a house not far awa=
y,
which looked as if it might be easily broken into, and thither he betook
himself promptly, entertaining himself on the way with the idea of a room s=
till
hot, with a table still loaded with the remains of supper, where he might p=
ass
the rest of the black hours, and whence he should issue, on the morrow, wit=
h an
armful of valuable plate. He =
even
considered on what viands and what wines he should prefer; and as he was
calling the roll of his favourite dainties, roast fish presented itself to =
his
mind with an odd mixture of amusement and horror.
"I shall never finish that ballade,"=
he
thought to himself; and then, with another shudder at the recollection,
"Oh, damn his fat head!" he repeated fervently, and spat upon the
snow.
The house in question looked dark at first sig=
ht;
but as Villon made a preliminary inspection in search of the handiest point=
of attack,
a little twinkle of light caught his eye from behind a curtained window.
"The devil!" he thought. "People awake! Some student or some saint, confou=
nd the
crew! Can't they get drunk an=
d lie
in bed snoring like their neighbours?
What's the good of curfew, and poor devils of bell-ringers jumping a=
t a
rope's end in bell-towers? What's the use of day, if people sit up all
night? The gripes to them!&qu=
ot; He grinned as he saw where his log=
ic was
leading him. "Every man to his business, after all," added he,
"and if they're awake, by the Lord, I may come by a supper honestly for
this once, and cheat the devil."
He went boldly to the door and knocked with an
assured hand. On both previous
occasions, he had knocked timidly and with some dread of attracting notice;=
but
now when he had just discarded the thought of a burglarious entry, knocking=
at
a door seemed a mighty simple and innocent proceeding. The sound of his blows echoed thro=
ugh
the house with thin, phantasmal reverberations, as though it were quite emp=
ty;
but these had scarcely died away before a measured tread drew near, a coupl=
e of
bolts were withdrawn, and one wing was opened broadly, as though no guile or
fear of guile were known to those within.&=
nbsp;
A tall figure of a man, muscular and spare, but a little bent,
confronted Villon. The head w=
as
massive in bulk, but finely sculptured; the nose blunt at the bottom, but r=
efining
upward to where it joined a pair of strong and honest eyebrows; the mouth a=
nd
eyes surrounded with delicate markings, and the whole face based upon a thi=
ck
white beard, boldly and squarely trimmed.&=
nbsp;
Seen as it was by the light of a flickering hand-lamp, it looked per=
haps
nobler than it had a right to do; but it was a fine face, honourable rather
than intelligent, strong, simple, and righteous.
"You knock late, sir," said the old =
man
in resonant, courteous tones.
Villon cringed, and brought up many servile wo=
rds
of apology; at a crisis of this sort, the beggar was uppermost in him, and =
the
man of genius hid his head with confusion.
"You are cold," repeated the old man,
"and hungry? Well, step
in." And he ordered him into the house with a noble enough gesture.
"Some great seigneur," thought Villo=
n,
as his host, setting down the lamp on the flagged pavement of the entry, sh=
ot
the bolts once more into their places.
"You will pardon me if I go in front,&quo=
t;
he said, when this was done; and he preceded the poet upstairs into a large
apartment, warmed with a pan of charcoal and lit by a great lamp hanging fr=
om
the roof. It was very bare of
furniture: only some gold pla=
te on
a sideboard; some folios; and a stand of armour between the windows. Some s=
mart
tapestry hung upon the walls, representing the crucifixion of our Lord in o=
ne
piece, and in another a scene of shepherds and shepherdesses by a running
stream. Over the chimney was a
shield of arms.
"Will you seat yourself," said the o=
ld
man, "and forgive me if I leave you?&=
nbsp;
I am alone in my house to-night, and if you are to eat I must forage=
for
you myself."
No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped
from the chair on which he had just seated himself, and began examining the
room, with the stealth and passion of a cat. He weighed the gold flagons in his=
hand,
opened all the folios, and investigated the arms upon the shield, and the s=
tuff
with which the seats were lined. He
raised the window curtains, and saw that the windows were set with rich sta=
ined
glass in figures, so far as he could see, of martial import. Then he stood in the middle of the=
room,
drew a long breath, and retaining it with puffed cheeks, looked round and r=
ound
him, turning on his heels, as if to impress every feature of the apartment =
on
his memory.
"Seven pieces of plate," he said.
And just then, hearing the old man's tread
returning along the corridor, he stole back to his chair, and began humbly
toasting his wet legs before the charcoal pan.
His entertainer had a plate of meat in one hand
and a jug of wine in the other. He
set down the plate upon the table, motioning Villon to draw in his chair, a=
nd
going to the sideboard, brought back two goblets, which he filled.
"I drink to your better fortune," he
said, gravely touching Villon's cup with his own.
"To our better acquaintance," said t=
he
poet, growing bold. A mere ma=
n of
the people would have been awed by the courtesy of the old seigneur, but Vi=
llon
was hardened in that matter; he had made mirth for great lords before now, =
and
found them as black rascals as himself.&nb=
sp;
And so he devoted himself to the viands with a ravenous gusto, while=
the
old man, leaning backward, watched him with steady, curious eyes.
"You have blood on your shoulder, my
man," he said. Montigny =
must have
laid his wet right hand upon him as he left the house. He cursed Montigny in his heart.
"It was none of my shedding," he
stammered.
"I had not supposed so," returned his
host quietly.
"A brawl?"
"Well, something of that sort," Vill=
on
admitted with a quaver.
"Perhaps a fellow murdered?"
"Oh no, not murdered," said the poet,
more and more confused. "=
;It was
all fair play - murdered by accident.
I had no hand in it, God strike me dead!" he added fervently.
"One rogue the fewer, I dare say,"
observed the master of the house.
"You may dare to say that," agreed
Villon, infinitely relieved. "As big a rogue as there is between here =
and
Jerusalem. He turned up his t=
oes
like a lamb. But it was a nas=
ty
thing to look at. I dare say =
you've
seen dead men in your time, my lord?" he added, glancing at the armour=
.
"Many," said the old man. "I have followed the wars, as=
you imagine."
Villon laid down his knife and fork, which he =
had
just taken up again.
"Were any of them bald?" he asked.
"Oh yes, and with hair as white as
mine."
"I don't think I should mind the white so
much," said Villon. &quo=
t;His was
red." And he had a retur=
n of
his shuddering and tendency to laughter, which he drowned with a great drau=
ght
of wine. "I'm a little p=
ut out
when I think of it," he went on.
"I knew him - damn him!
And then the cold gives a man fancies - or the fancies give a man co=
ld,
I don't know which."
"Have you any money?" asked the old =
man.
"I have one white," returned the poe=
t,
laughing. "I got it out =
of a
dead jade's stocking in a porch.
She was as dead as Caesar, poor wench, and as cold as a church, with
bits of ribbon sticking in her hair.
This is a hard world in winter for wolves and wenches and poor rogues
like me."
"I," said the old man, "am
Enguerrand de la Feuillee, seigneur de Brisetout, bailly du Patatrac. Who and what may you be?"
Villon rose and made a suitable reverence. "I am called Francis Villon,&=
quot;
he said, "a poor Master of Arts of this university. I know some Latin, and a deal of
vice. I can make chansons, ba=
llades,
lais, virelais, and roundels, and I am very fond of wine. I was born in a
garret, and I shall not improbably die upon the gallows. I may add, my lord, that from this=
night
forward I am your lordship's very obsequious servant to command."
"No servant of mine," said the knigh=
t;
"my guest for this evening, and no more."
"A very grateful guest," said Villon
politely; and he drank in dumb show to his entertainer.
"You are shrewd," began the old man,
tapping his forehead, "very shrewd; you have learning; you are a clerk;
and yet you take a small piece of money off a dead woman in the street. Is it not a kind of theft?"
"It is a kind of theft much practised in =
the
wars, my lord."
"The wars are the field of honour,"
returned the old man proudly. "There a man plays his life upon the cas=
t;
he fights in the name of his lord the king, his Lord God, and all their
lordships the holy saints and angels."
"Put it," said Villon, "that I =
were
really a thief, should I not play my life also, and against heavier odds?&q=
uot;
"For gain, but not for honour."
"Gain?" repeated Villon with a
shrug. "Gain! The poor fellow wants supper, and =
takes
it. So does the soldier in a
campaign. Why, what are all these requisitions we hear so much about? If they are not gain to those who =
take
them, they are loss enough to the others.&=
nbsp;
The men-at-arms drink by a good fire, while the burgher bites his na=
ils
to buy them wine and wood. I =
have
seen a good many ploughmen swinging on trees about the country, ay, I have =
seen
thirty on one elm, and a very poor figure they made; and when I asked some =
one
how all these came to be hanged, I was told it was because they could not
scrape together enough crowns to satisfy the men-at-arms."
"These things are a necessity of war, whi=
ch
the low-born must endure with constancy.&n=
bsp;
It is true that some captains drive over hard; there are spirits in
every rank not easily moved by pity; and indeed many follow arms who are no
better than brigands."
"You see," said the poet, "you
cannot separate the soldier from the brigand; and what is a thief but an
isolated brigand with circumspect manners?=
I steal a couple of mutton chops, without so much as disturbing peop=
le's
sleep; the farmer grumbles a bit, but sups none the less wholesomely on what
remains. You come up blowing
gloriously on a trumpet, take away the whole sheep, and beat the farmer
pitifully into the bargain. I=
have
no trumpet; I am only Tom, Dick, or Harry; I am a rogue and a dog, and
hanging's too good for me - with all my heart; but just you ask the farmer =
which
of us he prefers, just find out which of us he lies awake to curse on cold
nights."
"Look at us two," said his
lordship. "I am old, str=
ong,
and honoured. If I were turne=
d from
my house to-morrow, hundreds would be proud to shelter me. Poor people would go out and pass =
the night
in the streets with their children, if I merely hinted that I wished to be
alone. And I find you up, wan=
dering
homeless, and picking farthings off dead women by the wayside! I fear no man and nothing; I have =
seen
you tremble and lose countenance at a word. I wait God's summons contentedly i=
n my
own house, or, if it please the king to call me out again, upon the field of
battle. You look for the gall=
ows; a
rough, swift death, without hope or honour. Is there no difference between the=
se
two?"
"As far as to the moon," Villon
acquiesced. "But if I ha=
d been
born lord of Brisetout, and you had been the poor scholar Francis, would the
difference have been any the less?
Should not I have been warming my knees at this charcoal pan, and wo=
uld
not you have been groping for farthings in the snow? Should not I have been the soldier=
, and
you the thief?"
"A thief!" cried the old man. "I a thief! If you understood your words, you =
would
repent them."
Villon turned out his hands with a gesture of
inimitable impudence. "If your lordship had done me the honour to foll=
ow
my argument!" he said.
"I do you too much honour in submitting to
your presence," said the knight.
"Learn to curb your tongue when you speak with old and honourab=
le
men, or some one hastier than I may reprove you in a sharper
fashion." And he rose and
paced the lower end of the apartment, struggling with anger and antipathy.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Villon surreptitiously refilled hi=
s cup,
and settled himself more comfortably in the chair, crossing his knees and
leaning his head upon one hand and the elbow against the back of the
chair. He was now replete and=
warm;
and he was in nowise frightened for his host, having gauged him as justly as
was possible between two such different characters. The night was far spent, and in a =
very comfortable
fashion after all; and he felt morally certain of a safe departure on the
morrow.
"Tell me one thing," said the old ma=
n,
pausing in his walk. "Ar=
e you
really a thief?"
"I claim the sacred rights of
hospitality," returned the poet.
"My lord, I am."
"You are very young," the knight
continued.
"I should never have been so old," r=
eplied
Villon, showing his fingers, "if I had not helped myself with these ten
talents. They have been my nu=
rsing
mothers and my nursing fathers."
"You may still repent and change."
"I repent daily," said the poet. "There are few people more gi=
ven to
repentance than poor Francis. As
for change, let somebody change my circumstances. A man must continue to eat, if it =
were only
that he may continue to repent."
"The change must begin in the heart,"
returned the old man solemnly.
"My dear lord," answered Villon,
"do you really fancy that I steal for pleasure? I hate stealing, like any other pi=
ece of
work or of danger. My teeth c=
hatter
when I see a gallows. But I m=
ust
eat, I must drink, I must mix in society of some sort. What the devil! Man is not a solit=
ary
animal - CUI DEUS FAEMINAM TRADIT.
Make me king's pantler - make me abbot of St. Denis; make me bailly =
of
the Patatrac; and then I shall be changed indeed. But as long as you leave me the po=
or
scholar Francis Villon, without a farthing, why, of course, I remain the
same."
"The grace of God is all-powerful."<= o:p>
"I should be a heretic to question it,&qu=
ot;
said Francis. "It has ma=
de you
lord of Brisetout and bailly of the Patatrac; it has given me nothing but t=
he
quick wits under my hat and these ten toes upon my hands. May I help myself to wine? I thank you respectfully. By God's grace, you have a very su=
perior
vintage."
The lord of Brisetout walked to and fro with h=
is
hands behind his back. Perhap=
s he
was not yet quite settled in his mind about the parallel between thieves and
soldiers; perhaps Villon had interested him by some cross-thread of sympath=
y;
perhaps his wits were simply muddled by so much unfamiliar reasoning; but
whatever the cause, he somehow yearned to convert the young man to a better=
way
of thinking, and could not make up his mind to drive him forth again into t=
he
street.
"There is something more than I can
understand in this," he said at length. "Your mouth is full of subtle=
ties,
and the devil has led you very far astray; but the devil is only a very weak
spirit before God's truth, and all his subtleties vanish at a word of true =
honour,
like darkness at morning. Lis=
ten to
me once more. I learned long =
ago
that a gentleman should live chivalrously and lovingly to God, and the king=
, and
his lady; and though I have seen many strange things done, I have still str=
iven
to command my ways upon that rule.
It is not only written in all noble histories, but in every man's he=
art,
if he will take care to read. You
speak of food and wine, and I know very well that hunger is a difficult tri=
al
to endure; but you do not speak of other wants; you say nothing of honour, =
of
faith to God and other men, of courtesy, of love without reproach. It may be that I am not very wise =
- and
yet I think I am - but you seem to me like one who has lost his way and mad=
e a
great error in life. You are
attending to the little wants, and you have totally forgotten the great and
only real ones, like a man who should be doctoring a toothache on the Judgm=
ent
Day. For such things as honou=
r and
love and faith are not only nobler than food and drink, but indeed I think =
that
we desire them more, and suffer more sharply for their absence. I speak to you as I think you will=
most
easily understand me. Are you=
not,
while careful to fill your belly, disregarding another appetite in your hea=
rt,
which spoils the pleasure of your life and keeps you continually wretched?&=
quot;
Villon was sensibly nettled under all this
sermonising. "You think =
I have
no sense of honour!" he cried.
"I'm poor enough, God knows! It's hard to see rich people with
their gloves, and you blowing in your hands. An empty belly is a bitter thing,
although you speak so lightly of it.
If you had had as many as I, perhaps you would change your tune. Any way I'm a thief - make the mos=
t of
that - but I'm not a devil from hell, God strike me dead. I would have you to know I've an h=
onour
of my own, as good as yours, though I don't prate about it all day long, as=
if
it was a God's miracle to have any.
It seems quite natural to me; I keep it in its box till it's
wanted. Why now, look you her=
e, how
long have I been in this room with you?&nb=
sp;
Did you not tell me you were alone in the house? Look at your gold
plate! You're strong, if you =
like,
but you're old and unarmed, and I have my knife. What did I want but a jerk of the =
elbow
and here would have been you with the cold steel in your bowels, and there
would have been me, linking in the streets, with an armful of gold cups!
The old man stretched out his right arm. "I will tell you what you are=
,"
he said. "You are a rogu=
e, my
man, an impudent and a black- hearted rogue and vagabond. I have passed an hour with you.
"Which you please," returned the poe=
t,
rising. "I believe you t=
o be
strictly honourable." He
thoughtfully emptied his cup.
"I wish I could add you were intelligent," he went on,
knocking on his head with his knuckles.&nb=
sp;
"Age, age! the brains stiff and rheumatic."
The old man preceded him from a point of
self-respect; Villon followed, whistling, with his thumbs in his girdle.
"God pity you," said the lord of
Brisetout at the door.
"Good-bye, papa," returned Villon wi=
th a
yawn. "Many thanks for t=
he
cold mutton."
The door closed behind him. The dawn was breaking over the whi=
te roofs. A chill, uncomfortable morning ush=
ered
in the day. Villon stood and
heartily stretched himself in the middle of the road.
"A very dull old gentleman," he
thought. "I wonder what =
his goblets
may be worth."
=
Denis
de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he counted himself a grown man,=
and
a very accomplished cavalier into the bargain. Lads were early formed in that rou=
gh,
warfaring epoch; and when one has been in a pitched battle and a dozen raid=
s,
has killed one's man in an honourable fashion, and knows a thing or two of
strategy and mankind, a certain swagger in the gait is surely to be
pardoned. He had put up his h=
orse
with due care, and supped with due deliberation; and then, in a very agreea=
ble
frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the grey of the evening. It was not a very wise proceeding =
on the
young man's part. He would ha=
ve
done better to remain beside the fire or go decently to bed. For the town was full of the troop=
s of
Burgundy and England under a mixed command; and though Denis was there on
safe-conduct, his safe- conduct was like to serve him little on a chance
encounter.
It was September 1429; the weather had fallen
sharp; a flighty piping wind, laden with showers, beat about the township; =
and
the dead leaves ran riot along the streets. Here and there a window was already
lighted up; and the noise of men-at-arms making merry over supper within, c=
ame
forth in fits and was swallowed up and carried away by the wind. The night fell swiftly; the flag o=
f England,
fluttering on the spire-top, grew ever fainter and fainter against the flyi=
ng
clouds - a black speck like a swallow in the tumultuous, leaden chaos of the
sky. As the night fell the wi=
nd rose,
and began to hoot under archways and roar amid the tree-tops in the valley
below the town.
Denis de Beaulieu walked fast and was soon
knocking at his friend's door; but though he promised himself to stay only a
little while and make an early return, his welcome was so pleasant, and he
found so much to delay him, that it was already long past midnight before he
said good-bye upon the threshold.
The wind had fallen again in the meanwhile; the night was as black as
the grave; not a star, nor a glimmer of moonshine, slipped through the cano=
py
of cloud. Denis was ill-acqua=
inted
with the intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even by daylight he had found s=
ome
trouble in picking his way; and in this absolute darkness he soon lost it
altogether. He was certain of=
one
thing only - to keep mounting the hill; for his friend's house lay at the l=
ower
end, or tail, of Chateau Landon, while the inn was up at the head, under the
great church spire. With this=
clue
to go upon he stumbled and groped forward, now breathing more freely in open
places where there was a good slice of sky overhead, now feeling along the =
wall
in stifling closes. It is an =
eerie
and mysterious position to be thus submerged in opaque blackness in an almo=
st
unknown town. The silence is
terrifying in its possibilities.
The touch of cold window bars to the exploring hand startles the man
like the touch of a toad; the inequalities of the pavement shake his heart =
into
his mouth; a piece of denser darkness threatens an ambuscade or a chasm in =
the
pathway; and where the air is brighter, the houses put on strange and
bewildering appearances, as if to lead him farther from his way. For Denis, who had to regain his i=
nn
without attracting notice, there was real danger as well as mere discomfort=
in
the walk; and he went warily and boldly at once, and at every corner paused=
to
make an observation.
He had been for some time threading a lane so
narrow that he could touch a wall with either hand, when it began to open o=
ut
and go sharply downward. Plai=
nly
this lay no longer in the direction of his inn; but the hope of a little mo=
re
light tempted him forward to reconnoitre.&=
nbsp;
The lane ended in a terrace with a bartizan wall, which gave an out-=
look
between high houses, as out of an embrasure, into the valley lying dark and
formless several hundred feet below. Denis looked down, and could discern a=
few
tree-tops waving and a single speck of brightness where the river ran acros=
s a
weir. The weather was clearin=
g up,
and the sky had lightened, so as to show the outline of the heavier clouds =
and
the dark margin of the hills. By the uncertain glimmer, the house on his le=
ft
hand should be a place of some pretensions; it was surmounted by several
pinnacles and turret-tops; the round stern of a chapel, with a fringe of fl=
ying
buttresses, projected boldly from the main block; and the door was sheltered
under a deep porch carved with figures and overhung by two long gargoyles.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The windows of the chapel gleamed =
through
their intricate tracery with a light as of many tapers, and threw out the
buttresses and the peaked roof in a more intense blackness against the
sky. It was plainly the hotel=
of
some great family of the neighbourhood; and as it reminded Denis of a town =
house
of his own at Bourges, he stood for some time gazing up at it and mentally
gauging the skill of the architects and the consideration of the two famili=
es.
There seemed to be no issue to the terrace but=
the
lane by which he had reached it; he could only retrace his steps, but he had
gained some notion of his whereabouts, and hoped by this means to hit the m=
ain
thoroughfare and speedily regain the inn.&=
nbsp;
He was reckoning without that chapter of accidents which was to make
this night memorable above all others in his career; for he had not gone ba=
ck above
a hundred yards before he saw a light coming to meet him, and heard loud vo=
ices
speaking together in the echoing narrows of the lane. It was a party of men-at-arms goin=
g the
night round with torches. Den=
is
assured himself that they had all been making free with the wine-bowl, and =
were
in no mood to be particular about safe-conducts or the niceties of chivalro=
us
war. It was as like as not th=
at
they would kill him like a dog and leave him where he fell. The situation was inspiriting but
nervous. Their own torches wo=
uld
conceal him from sight, he reflected; and he hoped that they would drown the
noise of his footsteps with their own empty voices. If he were but fleet and silent, he
might evade their notice altogether.
Unfortunately, as he turned to beat a retreat,=
his
foot rolled upon a pebble; he fell against the wall with an ejaculation, and
his sword rang loudly on the stones.
Two or three voices demanded who went there - some in French, some in
English; but Denis made no reply, and ran the faster down the lane. Once upon the terrace, he paused t=
o look
back. They still kept calling=
after
him, and just then began to double the pace in pursuit, with a considerable
clank of armour, and great tossing of the torchlight to and fro in the narr=
ow
jaws of the passage.
Denis cast a look around and darted into the
porch. There he might escape
observation, or - if that were too much to expect - was in a capital posture
whether for parley or defence. So
thinking, he drew his sword and tried to set his back against the door. To his surprise, it yielded behind=
his
weight; and though he turned in a moment, continued to swing back on oiled =
and
noiseless hinges, until it stood wide open on a black interior. When things fall out opportunely f=
or the
person concerned, he is not apt to be critical about the how or why, his own
immediate personal convenience seeming a sufficient reason for the strangest
oddities and resolutions in our sublunary things; and so Denis, without a m=
oment's
hesitation, stepped within and partly closed the door behind him to conceal=
his
place of refuge. Nothing was
further from his thoughts than to close it altogether; but for some inexpli=
cable
reason - perhaps by a spring or a weight - the ponderous mass of oak whipped
itself out of his fingers and clanked to, with a formidable rumble and a no=
ise
like the falling of an automatic bar.
The round, at that very moment, debauched upon=
the
terrace and proceeded to summon him with shouts and curses. He heard them ferreting in the dark
corners; the stock of a lance even rattled along the outer surface of the d=
oor
behind which he stood; but these gentlemen were in too high a humour to be =
long
delayed, and soon made off down a corkscrew pathway which had escaped Denis=
's observation,
and passed out of sight and hearing along the battlements of the town.
Denis breathed again. He gave them a few minutes' grace =
for
fear of accidents, and then groped about for some means of opening the door=
and
slipping forth again. The inn=
er
surface was quite smooth, not a handle, not a moulding, not a projection of=
any
sort. He got his finger-nails=
round
the edges and pulled, but the mass was immovable. He shook it, it was as firm as a
rock. Denis de Beaulieu frown=
ed and
gave vent to a little noiseless whistle.&n=
bsp;
What ailed the door? he wondered.&n=
bsp;
Why was it open? How c=
ame it
to shut so easily and so effectually after him? There was something obscure and
underhand about all this, that was little to the young man's fancy. It looked like a snare; and yet who
could suppose a snare in such a quiet by-street and in a house of so prospe=
rous
and even noble an exterior? A=
nd yet
- snare or no snare, intentionally or unintentionally - here he was, pretti=
ly
trapped; and for the life of him he could see no way out of it again. The darkness began to weigh upon
him. He gave ear; all was sil=
ent
without, but within and close by he seemed to catch a faint sighing, a fain=
t sobbing
rustle, a little stealthy creak - as though many persons were at his side,
holding themselves quite still, and governing even their respiration with t=
he
extreme of slyness. The idea =
went to
his vitals with a shock, and he faced about suddenly as if to defend his
life. Then, for the first tim=
e, he
became aware of a light about the level of his eyes and at some distance in=
the
interior of the house - a vertical thread of light, widening towards the
bottom, such as might escape between two wings of arras over a doorway. To see anything was a relief to De=
nis;
it was like a piece of solid ground to a man labouring in a morass; his min=
d seized
upon it with avidity; and he stood staring at it and trying to piece togeth=
er
some logical conception of his surroundings. Plainly there was a flight of
steps ascending from his own level to that of this illuminated doorway; and
indeed he thought he could make out another thread of light, as fine as a
needle and as faint as phosphorescence, which might very well be reflected
along the polished wood of a handrail.&nbs=
p;
Since he had begun to suspect that he was not alone, his heart had
continued to beat with smothering violence, and an intolerable desire for
action of any sort had possessed itself of his spirit. He was in deadly peril, he believe=
d. What could be more natural than to=
mount
the staircase, lift the curtain, and confront his difficulty at once? At least he would be dealing with
something tangible; at least he would be no longer in the dark. He stepped slowly forward with
outstretched hands, until his foot struck the bottom step; then he rapidly =
scaled
the stairs, stood for a moment to compose his expression, lifted the arras =
and
went in.
He found himself in a large apartment of polis=
hed
stone. There were three doors=
; one
on each of three sides; all similarly curtained with tapestry. The fourth side was occupied by two
large windows and a great stone chimney-piece, carved with the arms of the
Maletroits. Denis recognised =
the
bearings, and was gratified to find himself in such good hands. The room was strongly illuminated;=
but
it contained little furniture except a heavy table and a chair or two, the
hearth was innocent of fire, and the pavement was but sparsely strewn with
rushes clearly many days old.
On a high chair beside the chimney, and direct=
ly
facing Denis as he entered, sat a little old gentleman in a fur tippet. He sat with his legs crossed and h=
is
hands folded, and a cup of spiced wine stood by his elbow on a bracket on t=
he
wall. His countenance had a s=
trongly
masculine cast; not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, the goa=
t,
or the domestic boar; something equivocal and wheedling, something greedy,
brutal, and dangerous. The up=
per
lip was inordinately full, as though swollen by a blow or a toothache; and =
the
smile, the peaked eyebrows, and the small, strong eyes were quaintly and al=
most
comically evil in expression.
Beautiful white hair hung straight all round his head, like a saint'=
s,
and fell in a single curl upon the tippet.=
His beard and moustache were the pink of venerable sweetness. Age, probably in consequence of in=
ordinate
precautions, had left no mark upon his hands; and the Maletroit hand was
famous. It would be difficult=
to
imagine anything at once so fleshy and so delicate in design; the taper, se=
nsual
fingers were like those of one of Leonardo's women; the fork of the thumb m=
ade
a dimpled protuberance when closed; the nails were perfectly shaped, and of=
a
dead, surprising whiteness. It rendered his aspect tenfold more redoubtable,
that a man with hands like these should keep them devoutly folded in his lap
like a virgin martyr - that a man with so intense and startling an expressi=
on
of face should sit patiently on his seat and contemplate people with an
unwinking stare, like a god, or a god's statue. His quiescence seemed ironical and
treacherous, it fitted so poorly with his looks.
Such was Alain, Sire de Maletroit.
Denis and he looked silently at each other for=
a
second or two.
"Pray step in," said the Sire de
Maletroit. "I have been
expecting you all the evening."
He had not risen, but he accompanied his words
with a smile and a slight but courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the smile, partly from=
the
strange musical murmur with which the Sire prefaced his observation, Denis =
felt
a strong shudder of disgust go through his marrow. And what with disgust and honest
confusion of mind, he could scarcely get words together in reply.
"I fear," he said, "that this i=
s a
double accident. I am not the=
person
you suppose me. It seems you =
were
looking for a visit; but for my part, nothing was further from my thoughts -
nothing could be more contrary to my wishes - than this intrusion."
"Well, well," replied the old gentle=
man
indulgently, "here you are, which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put =
yourself
entirely at your ease. We sha=
ll
arrange our little affairs presently."
Denis perceived that the matter was still
complicated with some misconception, and he hastened to continue his
explanations.
"Your door . . . " he began.
"About my door?" asked the other,
raising his peaked eyebrows.
"A little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged his shoulders. "A hospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not
desirous of making my acquaintance.
We old people look for such reluctance now and then; and when it tou=
ches
our honour, we cast about until we find some way of overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe =
me,
very welcome."
"You persist in error, sir," said
Denis. "There can be no
question between you and me. =
I am a
stranger in this countryside. My
name is Denis, damoiseau de Beaulieu.
If you see me in your house, it is only - "
"My young friend," interrupted the
other, "you will permit me to have my own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours at=
the
present moment," he added with a leer, "but time will show which =
of
us is in the right."
Denis was convinced he had to do with a
lunatic. He seated himself wi=
th a
shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued, during which he thou=
ght
he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as of prayer from behind the arras
immediately opposite him. Sometimes there seemed to be but one person engag=
ed,
sometimes two; and the vehemence of the voice, low as it was, seemed to
indicate either great haste or an agony of spirit. It occurred to him that this piece=
of
tapestry covered the entrance to the chapel he had noticed from without.
The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from
head to foot with a smile, and from time to time emitted little noises like=
a
bird or a mouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction. Th=
is
state of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put an end to =
it,
remarked politely that the wind had gone down.
The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent
laughter, so prolonged and violent that he became quite red in the face.
"Sir," he said, "if you are in =
your
wits, you have affronted me grossly.
If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find better employment
for my brains than to talk with lunatics.&=
nbsp;
My conscience is clear; you have made a fool of me from the first mo=
ment;
you have refused to hear my explanations; and now there is no power under G=
od
will make me stay here any longer; and if I cannot make my way out in a more
decent fashion, I will hack your door in pieces with my sword."
The Sire de Maletroit raised his right hand and
wagged it at Denis with the fore and little fingers extended.
"My dear nephew," he said, "sit
down."
"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you =
lie
in your throat;" and he snapped his fingers in his face.
"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old
gentleman, in a sudden, harsh voice, like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy," he went =
on, "that
when I had made my little contrivance for the door I had stopped short with
that? If you prefer to be bou=
nd
hand and foot till your bones ache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to remain a free you=
ng
buck, agreeably conversing with an old gentleman - why, sit where you are in
peace, and God be with you."
"Do you mean I am a prisoner?" deman=
ded
Denis.
"I state the facts," replied the
other. "I would rather l=
eave
the conclusion to yourself."
Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pret=
ty
calm; but within, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with apprehens=
ion. He no longer felt convinced that h=
e was
dealing with a madman. And if=
the
old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look for? What absurd or tragical adventure =
had
befallen him? What countenanc=
e was
he to assume?
While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the
arras that overhung the chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his ro=
bes
came forth and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an un=
dertone
to Sire de Maletroit.
"She is in a better frame of spirit?"
asked the latter.
"She is more resigned, messire," rep=
lied
the priest.
"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to
please!" sneered the old gentleman.&n=
bsp;
"A likely stripling - not ill-born - and of her own choosing,
too? Why, what more would the=
jade
have?"
"The situation is not usual for a young
damsel," said the other, "and somewhat trying to her blushes.&quo=
t;
"She should have thought of that before s=
he
began the dance. It was none =
of my
choosing, God knows that: but=
since
she is in it, by our Lady, she shall carry it to the end." And then addressing Denis, "M=
onsieur
de Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my niece? She has been waiting your arrival,=
I may
say, with even greater impatience than myself."
Denis had resigned himself with a good grace -=
all
he desired was to know the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose =
at once,
and bowed in acquiescence. Th=
e Sire
de Maletroit followed his example and limped, with the assistance of the
chaplain's arm, towards the chapel door.&n=
bsp;
The priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. The building had considerable
architectural pretensions. A =
light
groining sprang from six stout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants =
from
the centre of the vault. The =
place
terminated behind the altar in a round end, embossed and honeycombed with a
superfluity of ornament in relief, and pierced by many little windows shaped
like stars, trefoils, or wheels. These windows were imperfectly glazed, so =
that
the night air circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of which there must ha=
ve
been half a hundred burning on the altar, were unmercifully blown about; and
the light went through many different phases of brilliancy and
semi-eclipse. On the steps in=
front
of the altar knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled over Denis as he
observed her costume; he fought with desperate energy against the conclusion
that was being thrust upon his mind; it could not - it should not - be as he
feared.
"Blanche," said the Sire, in his most
flute-like tones, "I have brought a friend to see you, my little girl;
turn round and give him your pretty hand.&=
nbsp;
It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to be polite, my
niece."
The girl rose to her feet and turned towards t=
he
new comers. She moved all of a
piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every line of her fresh y=
oung
body; and she held her head down and kept her eyes upon the pavement, as she
came slowly forward. In the c=
ourse
of her advance, her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet - feet of which=
he
was justly vain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegant accoutrement =
even
while travelling. She paused -
started, as if his yellow boots had conveyed some shocking meaning - and
glanced suddenly up into the wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame ga=
ve
place to horror and terror in her looks; the blood left her lips; with a
piercing scream she covered her face with her hands and sank upon the chapel
floor.
"That is not the man!" she cried.
The Sire de Maletroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said=
; "I
expected as much. It was so
unfortunate you could not remember his name."
"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I
have never seen this person till this moment - I have never so much as set =
eyes
upon him - I never wish to see him again.&=
nbsp;
Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman,=
you
will bear me out. Have I ever=
seen
you - have you ever seen me - before this accursed hour?"
"To speak for myself, I have never had th=
at
pleasure," answered the young man.&nb=
sp;
"This is the first time, messire, that I have met with your
engaging niece."
The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders.
"I am distressed to hear it," he
said. "But it is never t=
oo
late to begin. I had little m=
ore
acquaintance with my own late lady ere I married her; which proves," he
added with a grimace, "that these impromptu marriages may often produc=
e an
excellent understanding in the long-run.&n=
bsp;
As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I will give him =
two
hours to make up for lost time before we proceed with the ceremony." And he turned towards the door, fo=
llowed
by the clergyman.
The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in e=
arnest,"
she said. "I declare bef=
ore
God I will stab myself rather than be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids=
such
marriages; you dishonour your white hair.&=
nbsp;
Oh, my uncle, pity me! There
is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such a nuptial. Is it possible," she added, f=
altering
- "is it possible that you do not believe me - that you still think
this" - and she pointed at Denis with a tremor of anger and contempt -
"that you still think THIS to be the man?"
"Frankly," said the old gentleman,
pausing on the threshold, "I do. But let me explain to you once for al=
l,
Blanche de Maletroit, my way of thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to
dishonour my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for m=
ore
than three-score years, you forfeited, not only the right to question my
designs, but that of looking me in the face. If your father had been alive,=
he
would have spat on you and turned you out of doors. His was the hand of iron. You may bless your God you have on=
ly to
deal with the hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get you marri=
ed
without delay. Out of pure go=
odwill,
I have tried to find your own gallant for you. And I believe I have succeeded.
And with that he went out, with the chaplain at
his heels; and the arras fell behind the pair.
The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes.=
"And what, sir," she demanded, "=
;may
be the meaning of all this?"
"God knows," returned Denis
gloomily. "I am a prison=
er in
this house, which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do I
understand."
"And pray how came you here?" she as=
ked.
He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest," he added=
, "perhaps
you will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all these riddles, and
what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it."
She stood silent for a little, and he could see
her lips tremble and her tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed her forehead in b=
oth
hands.
"Alas, how my head aches!" she said
wearily - "to say nothing of my poor heart! But it is due to you to know my st=
ory,
unmaidenly as it must seem. I=
am
called Blanche de Maletroit; I have been without father or mother for - oh!=
for
as long as I can recollect, and indeed I have been most unhappy all my
life. Three months ago a young
captain began to stand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleased him; I =
am
much to blame, but I was so glad that any one should love me; and when he
passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it with great
pleasure. Since that time he =
has
written many. He was so anxio=
us to
speak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave the door open some
evening that we might have two words upon the stair. For he knew how much my uncle trus=
ted
me." She gave something =
like a
sob at that, and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is a hard man, but =
he is
very shrewd," she said at last.
"He has performed many feats in war, and was a great person at
court, and much trusted by Queen Isabeau in old days. How he came to suspect me I cannot=
tell;
but it is hard to keep anything from his knowledge; and this morning, as we
came from mass, he took my hand in his, forced it open, and read my little
billet, walking by my side all the while.&=
nbsp;
When he had finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. It contained another request to ha=
ve the
door left open; and this has been the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my ro=
om until
evening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me - a hard mockery=
for
a young girl, do you not think so?
I suppose, when he could not prevail with me to tell him the young
captain's name, he must have laid a trap for him: into which, alas! you have fallen =
in the
anger of God. I looked for mu=
ch
confusion; for how could I tell whether he was willing to take me for his w=
ife
on these sharp terms? He migh=
t have
been trifling with me from the first; or I might have made myself too cheap=
in
his eyes. But truly I had not
looked for such a shameful punishment as this! I could not think that God would l=
et a
girl be so disgraced before a young man.&n=
bsp;
And now I have told you all; and I can scarcely hope that you will n=
ot
despise me."
Denis made her a respectful inclination.
"Madam," he said, "you have
honoured me by your confidence. It remains
for me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honour. Is Messire de Maletroit at hand?&q=
uot;
"I believe he is writing in the salle
without," she answered.
"May I lead you thither, madam?" ask=
ed
Denis, offering his hand with his most courtly bearing.
She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the
chapel, Blanche in a very drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strut=
ting
and ruffling in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certainty of
accomplishing it with honour.
The Sire de Maletroit rose to meet them with an
ironical obeisance.
"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest
possible air, "I believe I am to have some say in the matter of this
marriage; and let me tell you at once, I will be no party to forcing the
inclination of this young lady. Had
it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud to accept her hand, =
for
I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful; but as things are, I have now
the honour, messire, of refusing."
Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her ey=
es;
but the old gentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positive=
ly sickening
to Denis.
"I am afraid," he said, "Monsie=
ur
de Beaulieu, that you do not perfectly understand the choice I have to offer
you. Follow me, I beseech you=
, to
this window." And he led=
the
way to one of the large windows which stood open on the night. "You observe," he went o=
n,
"there is an iron ring in the upper masonry, and reeved through that, a
very efficacious rope. Now, m=
ark my
words; if you should find your disinclination to my niece's person insurmou=
ntable,
I shall have you hanged out of this window before sunrise. I shall only proceed to such an
extremity with the greatest regret, you may believe me. For it is not at all your death th=
at I
desire, but my niece's establishment in life. At the same time, it must come to =
that
if you prove obstinate. Your =
family,
Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if you sprang from
Charlemagne, you should not refuse the hand of a Maletroit with impunity - =
not
if she had been as common as the Paris road - not if she were as hideous as=
the
gargoyle over my door. Neithe=
r my
niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move me at all in this matter.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The honour of my house has been co=
mpromised;
I believe you to be the guilty person; at least you are now in the secret; =
and
you can hardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If you will not, your blood be on =
your
own head! It will be no great
satisfaction to me to have your interesting relics kicking their heels in t=
he
breeze below my windows; but half a loaf is better than no bread, and if I
cannot cure the dishonour, I shall at least stop the scandal."
There was a pause.
"I believe there are other ways of settli=
ng
such imbroglios among gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear=
you
have used it with distinction."
The Sire de Maletroit made a signal to the cha=
plain,
who crossed the room with long silent strides and raised the arras over the=
third
of the three doors. It was on=
ly a
moment before he let it fall again; but Denis had time to see a dusky passa=
ge
full of armed men.
"When I was a little younger, I should ha=
ve
been delighted to honour you, Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire Alain;
"but I am now too old.
Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ the stre=
ngth
I have. This is one of the ha=
rdest
things to swallow as a man grows up in years; but with a little patience, e=
ven
this becomes habitual. You an=
d the
lady seem to prefer the salle for what remains of your two hours; and as I =
have
no desire to cross your preference, I shall resign it to your use with all =
the
pleasure in the world. No
haste!" he added, holding up his hand, as he saw a dangerous look come
into Denis de Beaulieu's face.
"If your mind revolts against hanging, it will be time enough t=
wo
hours hence to throw yourself out of the window or upon the pikes of my
retainers. Two hours of life =
are
always two hours. A great many things may turn up in even as little a while=
as
that. And, besides, if I understand her appearance, my niece has still some=
thing
to say to you. You will not
disfigure your last hours by a want of politeness to a lady?"
Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an
imploring gesture.
It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely
pleased at this symptom of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and add=
ed sweetly: "If you will give me your wor=
d of
honour, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await my return at the end of the two hours
before attempting anything desperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let
you speak in greater privacy with mademoiselle."
Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to
beseech him to agree.
"I give you my word of honour," he s=
aid.
Messire de Maletroit bowed, and proceeded to l=
imp
about the apartment, clearing his throat the while with that odd musical ch=
irp
which had already grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Beaulieu. He first possessed himself of some
papers which lay upon the table; then he went to the mouth of the passage a=
nd
appeared to give an order to the men behind the arras; and lastly he hobble=
d out
through the door by which Denis had come in, turning upon the threshold to
address a last smiling bow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain
with a hand-lamp.
No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced
towards Denis with her hands extended.&nbs=
p;
Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shone with tears.
"You shall not die!" she cried,
"you shall marry me after all."
"You seem to think, madam," replied
Denis, "that I stand much in fear of death."
"Oh no, no," she said, "I see y=
ou
are no poltroon. It is for my=
own
sake - I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple."
"I am afraid," returned Denis,
"that you underrate the difficulty, madam. What you may be too generous to re=
fuse,
I may be too proud to accept. In a
moment of noble feeling towards me, you forgot what you perhaps owe to
others."
He had the decency to keep his eyes upon the f=
loor
as he said this, and after he had finished, so as not to spy upon her
confusion. She stood silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and fa=
lling
on her uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was in the acme of
embarrassment. He looked roun=
d, as
if to seek for inspiration, and seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for
something to do. There he sat,
playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishing himself dead a thousand t=
imes
over, and buried in the nastiest kitchen-heap in France. His eyes wandered round the apartm=
ent,
but found nothing to arrest them.
There were such wide spaces between the furniture, the light fell so
baldly and cheerlessly over all, the dark outside air looked in so coldly t=
hrough
the windows, that he thought he had never seen a church so vast, nor a tomb=
so
melancholy. The regular sobs =
of
Blanche de Maletroit measured out the time like the ticking of a clock. He read the device upon the shield=
over
and over again, until his eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corn=
ers
until he imagined they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now a=
nd
again he awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were runni=
ng,
and death was on the march.
Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did =
his
glance settle on the girl herself.
Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands, and she was
shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccup of grief. Even thus she was not an unpleasant
object to dwell upon, so plump and yet so fine, with a warm brown skin, and=
the
most beautiful hair, Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind. Her ha=
nds
were like her uncle's; but they were more in place at the end of her young
arms, and looked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue =
eyes
had shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And the more he dwelt on her
perfections, the uglier death looked, and the more deeply was he smitten wi=
th penitence
at her continued tears. Now h=
e felt
that no man could have the courage to leave a world which contained so
beautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty minutes of his last=
hour
to have unsaid his cruel speech.
Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow =
rose
to their ears from the dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in the s=
ilence
of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook them both out of
their reflections.
"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?"
she said, looking up.
"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine
irrelevancy, "if I have said anything to wound you, believe me, it was=
for
your own sake and not for mine."
She thanked him with a tearful look.
"I feel your position cruelly," he w=
ent
on. "The world has been =
bitter
hard on you. Your uncle is a
disgrace to mankind. Believe =
me,
madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of my
opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service."
"I know already that you can be very brave
and generous," she answered.
"What I WANT to know is whether I can serve you - now or afterw=
ards,"
she added, with a quaver.
"Most certainly," he answered with a
smile. "Let me sit besid=
e you as
if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget how awkwar=
dly
we are placed to one another; make my last moments go pleasantly; and you w=
ill
do me the chief service possible."
"You are very gallant," she added, w=
ith
a yet deeper sadness . . . "very gallant . . . and it somehow pains
me. But draw nearer, if you p=
lease;
and if you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of a =
very
friendly listener. Ah! Monsie=
ur de Beaulieu,"
she broke forth - "ah!
Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And she fell to weeping again with=
a renewed
effusion.
"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand=
in
both of his, "reflect on the little time I have before me, and the gre=
at
bitterness into which I am cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, the
spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life."
"I am very selfish," answered
Blanche. "I will be brav=
er,
Monsieur de Beaulieu, for your sake.
But think if I can do you no kindness in the future - if you have no
friends to whom I could carry your adieux.=
Charge me as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so
little, the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do something=
more
for you than weep."
"My mother is married again, and has a yo=
ung
family to care for. My brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am =
not
in error, that will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapour that passe=
th
away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in a fair way a=
nd
sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself to make a very impo=
rtant
figure in the world. His horse whinnies to him; the trumpets blow and the g=
irls
look out of window as he rides into town before his company; he receives ma=
ny
assurances of trust and regard - sometimes by express in a letter - sometim=
es
face to face, with persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful if his head is
turned for a time. But once h=
e is
dead, were he as brave as Hercules or as wise as Solomon, he is soon
forgotten. It is not ten years
since my father fell, with many other knights around him, in a very fierce
encounter, and I do not think that any one of them, nor so much as the name=
of
the fight, is now remembered. No,
no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark and dust=
y corner,
where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut after him till the
judgment day. I have few frie=
nds
just now, and once I am dead I shall have none."
"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she
exclaimed, "you forget Blanche de Maletroit."
"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you =
are
pleased to estimate a little service far beyond its worth."
"It is not that," she answered. "You mistake me if you think =
I am so
easily touched by my own concerns.
I say so, because you are the noblest man I have ever met; because I
recognise in you a spirit that would have made even a common person famous =
in
the land."
"And yet here I die in a mouse-trap - wit=
h no
more noise about it than my own squeaking," answered he.
A look of pain crossed her face, and she was
silent for a little while. Th=
en a
fight came into her eyes, and with a smile she spoke again.
"I cannot have my champion think meanly of
himself. Any one who gives hi=
s life
for another will be met in Paradise by all the heralds and angels of the Lo=
rd
God. And you have no such cau=
se to hang
your head. For . . . Pray, do=
you
think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep flush.
"Indeed, madam, I do," he said.
"I am glad of that," she answered
heartily. "Do you think =
there are
many men in France who have been asked in marriage by a beautiful maiden - =
with
her own lips - and who have refused her to her face? I know you men would half despise =
such a
triumph; but believe me, we women know more of what is precious in love.
"You are very good," he said; "= but you cannot make me forget that I was asked in pity and not for love."<= o:p>
"I am not so sure of that," she repl=
ied,
holding down her head. "Hear me to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; I =
feel
you are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy one thought of y=
our
mind, although, alas! you must die for me this morning. But when I asked you to marry me,
indeed, and indeed, it was because I respected and admired you, and loved y=
ou with
my whole soul, from the very moment that you took my part against my
uncle. If you had seen yourse=
lf,
and how noble you looked, you would pity rather than despise me. And now," she went on, hurrie=
dly
checking him with her hand, "although I have laid aside all reserve and
told you so much, remember that I know your sentiments towards me already.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I would not, believe me, being nob=
ly
born, weary you with importunities into consent. I too have a pride of my own: and I declare before the holy moth=
er of
God, if you should now go back from your word already given, I would no more
marry you than I would marry my uncle's groom."
Denis smiled a little bitterly.
"It is a small love," he said,
"that shies at a little pride."
She made no answer, although she probably had =
her
own thoughts.
"Come hither to the window," he said,
with a sigh. "Here is th=
e dawn."
And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hollow of the sky was full of
essential daylight, colourless and clean; and the valley underneath was flo=
oded
with a grey reflection. A few=
thin vapours
clung in the coves of the forest or lay along the winding course of the
river. The scene disengaged a
surprising effect of stillness, which was hardly interrupted when the cocks
began once more to crow among the steadings. Perhaps the same fellow who had ma=
de so
horrid a clangour in the darkness not half-an-hour before, now sent up the
merriest cheer to greet the coming day.&nb=
sp;
A little wind went bustling and eddying among the tree-tops undernea=
th
the windows. And still the da=
ylight
kept flooding insensibly out of the east, which was soon to grow incandesce=
nt
and cast up that red- hot cannon-ball, the rising sun.
Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a
shiver. He had taken her hand=
, and
retained it in his almost unconsciously.
"Has the day begun already?" she sai=
d;
and then, illogically enough:
"the night has been so long!&n=
bsp;
Alas, what shall we say to my uncle when he returns?"
"What you will," said Denis, and he
pressed her fingers in his.
She was silent.
"Blanche," he said, with a swift,
uncertain, passionate utterance, "you have seen whether I fear death.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> You must know well enough that I w=
ould
as gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as lay a finger on you
without your free and full consent.
But if you care for me at all do not let me lose my life in a misapp=
rehension;
for I love you better than the whole world; and though I will die for you
blithely, it would be like all the joys of Paradise to live on and spend my
life in your service."
As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring
loudly in the interior of the house; and a clatter of armour in the corridor
showed that the retainers were returning to their post, and the two hours w=
ere at
an end.
"After all that you have heard?" she
whispered, leaning towards him with her lips and eyes.
"I have heard nothing," he replied.<= o:p>
"The captain's name was Florimond de
Champdivers," she said in his ear.
"I did not hear it," he answered, ta=
king
her supple body in his arms and covering her wet face with kisses.
A melodious chirping was audible behind, follo=
wed
by a beautiful chuckle, and the voice of Messire de Maletroit wished his ne=
w nephew
a good morning.
Monsieur Leon Berthelini had a great care of h=
is
appearance, and sedulously suited his deportment to the costume of the
hour. He affected something S=
panish
in his air, and something of the bandit, with a flavour of Rembrandt at
home. In person he was decide=
dly small
and inclined to be stout; his face was the picture of good humour; his dark
eyes, which were very expressive, told of a kind heart, a brisk, merry natu=
re,
and the most indefatigable spirits. If he had worn the clothes of the period
you would have set him down for a hitherto undiscovered hybrid between the
barber, the innkeeper, and the affable dispensing chemist. But in the outrageous bravery of v=
elvet
jacket and flapped hat, with trousers that were more accurately described as
fleshings, a white handkerchief cavalierly knotted at his neck, a shock of
Olympian curls upon his brow, and his feet shod through all weathers in the=
slenderest
of Moliere shoes - you had but to look at him and you knew you were in the
presence of a Great Creature. When
he wore an overcoat he scorned to pass the sleeves; a single button held it=
round
his shoulders; it was tossed backwards after the manner of a cloak, and car=
ried
with the gait and presence of an Almaviva.=
I am of opinion that M. Berthelini was nearing forty. But he had a boy's heart, gloried =
in his
finery, and walked through life like a child in a perpetual dramatic
performance. If he were not
Almaviva after all, it was not for lack of making believe. And he enjoyed the artist's
compensation. If he were not =
really
Almaviva, he was sometimes just as happy as though he were.
I have seen him, at moments when he has fancied
himself alone with his Maker, adopt so gay and chivalrous a bearing, and
represent his own part with so much warmth and conscience, that the illusio=
n became
catching, and I believed implicitly in the Great Creature's pose.
But, alas! life cannot be entirely conducted on
these principles; man cannot live by Almavivery alone; and the Great Creatu=
re,
having failed upon several theatres, was obliged to step down every evening
from his heights, and sing from half-a-dozen to a dozen comic songs, twang a
guitar, keep a country audience in good humour, and preside finally over the
mysteries of a tombola.
Madame Berthelini, who was art and part with h=
im
in these undignified labours, had perhaps a higher position in the scale of=
beings,
and enjoyed a natural dignity of her own.&=
nbsp;
But her heart was not any more rightly placed, for that would have b=
een impossible;
and she had acquired a little air of melancholy, attractive enough in its w=
ay,
but not good to see like the wholesome, sky-scraping, boyish spirits of her
lord.
He, indeed, swam like a kite on a fair wind, h=
igh
above earthly troubles. Deton=
ations
of temper were not unfrequent in the zones he travelled; but sulky fogs and
tearful depressions were there alike unknown. A well-delivered blow upon a table=
, or a
noble attitude, imitated from Melingne or Frederic, relieved his irritation
like a vengeance. Though the =
heaven
had fallen, if he had played his part with propriety, Berthelini had been
content! And the man's atmosphere, if not his example, reacted on his wife;=
for
the couple doated on each other, and although you would have thought they
walked in different worlds, yet continued to walk hand in hand.
It chanced one day that Monsieur and Madame Berthelini descended with two boxes and a guitar in a fat case at the stati= on of the little town of Castel-le-Gachis, and the omnibus carried them with t= heir effects to the Hotel of the Black Head.&nb= sp; This was a dismal, conventual building in a narrow street, capable of standing siege when once the gates were shut, and smelling strangely in the= interior of straw and chocolate and old feminine apparel. Berthelini paused upon the threshold with a painful premonition. In some former state, it seemed to hi= m, he had visited a hostelry that smelt not otherwise, and been ill received.<= o:p>
The landlord, a tragic person in a large felt =
hat,
rose from a business table under the key-rack, and came forward, removing h=
is hat
with both hands as he did so.
"Sir, I salute you. May I inquire what is your charge =
for artists?"
inquired Berthelini, with a courtesy at once splendid and insinuating.
"For artists?" said the landlord.
A commercial traveller is received, he also, u=
pon
a reduction - yet is he welcome, yet can he command the fatted calf; but an
artist, had he the manners of an Almaviva, were he dressed like Solomon in =
all
his glory, is received like a dog and served like a timid lady travelling
alone.
Accustomed as he was to the rubs of his profession, Berthelini was unpleasantly affected by the landlord's manner.<= o:p>
"Elvira," said he to his wife,
"mark my words:
Castel-le-Gachis is a tragic folly."
"Wait till we see what we take," rep=
lied
Elvira.
"We shall take nothing," returned
Berthelini; "we shall feed upon insults. I have an eye, Elvira: I have a spirit of divination; and=
this
place is accursed. The landlo=
rd has
been discourteous, the Commissary will be brutal, the audience will be sord=
id
and uproarious, and you will take a cold upon your throat. We have been besotted enough to co=
me;
the die is cast - it will be a second Sedan."
Sedan was a town hateful to the Berthelinis, n=
ot
only from patriotism (for they were French, and answered after the flesh to=
the
somewhat homely name of Duval), but because it had been the scene of their =
most
sad reverses. In that place t=
hey
had lain three weeks in pawn for their hotel bill, and had it not been for =
a surprising
stroke of fortune they might have been lying there in pawn until this day.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> To mention the name of Sedan was f=
or the
Berthelinis to dip the brush in earthquake and eclipse. Count Almaviva slouched his hat wi=
th a
gesture expressive of despair, and even Elvira felt as if ill-fortune had b=
een
personally invoked.
"Let us ask for breakfast," said she,
with a woman's tact.
The Commissary of Police of Castel-le-Gachis w=
as a
large red Commissary, pimpled, and subject to a strong cutaneous transpirat=
ion. I have repeated the name of his of=
fice
because he was so very much more a Commissary than a man. The spirit of his dignity had ente=
red
into him. He carried his
corporation as if it were something official. Whenever he insulted a common citi=
zen it
seemed to him as if he were adroitly flattering the Government by a side wi=
nd;
in default of dignity he was brutal from an overweening sense of duty. His office was a den, whence passe=
rs-by
could hear rude accents laying down, not the law, but the good pleasure of =
the Commissary.
Six several times in the course of the day did=
M.
Berthelini hurry thither in quest of the requisite permission for his eveni=
ng's
entertainment; six several times he found the official was abroad. Leon
Berthelini began to grow quite a familiar figure in the streets of
Castel-le-Gachis; he became a local celebrity, and was pointed out as "=
;the
man who was looking for the Commissary." Idle children attached themselves =
to his
footsteps, and trotted after him back and forward between the hotel and the
office. Leon might try as he =
liked;
he might roll cigarettes, he might straddle, he might cock his hat at a doz=
en
different jaunty inclinations - the part of Almaviva was, under the
circumstances, difficult to play.
As he passed the market-place upon the seventh
excursion the Commissary was pointed out to him, where he stood, with his w=
aistcoat
unbuttoned and his hands behind his back, to superintend the sale and
measurement of butter. Berthe=
lini
threaded his way through the market stalls and baskets, and accosted the
dignitary with a bow which was a triumph of the histrionic art.
"I have the honour," he asked, "=
;of
meeting M. le Commissaire?"
The Commissary was affected by the nobility of=
his
address. He excelled Leon in =
the
depth if not in the airy grace of his salutation.
"The honour," said he, "is
mine!"
"I am," continued the strolling-play=
er,
"I am, sir, an artist, and I have permitted myself to interrupt you on=
an
affair of business. To-night I give a trifling musical entertainment at the
Cafe of the Triumphs of the Plough - permit me to offer you this little pro=
gramme
- and I have come to ask you for the necessary authorisation."
At the word "artist," the Commissary=
had
replaced his hat with the air of a person who, having condescended too far,
should suddenly remember the duties of his rank.
"Go, go," said he, "I am busy -=
I
am measuring butter."
"Heathen Jew!" thought Leon. "Permit me, sir," he res=
umed
aloud. "I have gone six times already - "
"Put up your bills if you choose,"
interrupted the Commissary.
"In an hour or so I will examine your papers at the office. But now go; I am busy."
"Measuring butter!" thought
Berthelini. "Oh, France,=
and
it is for this that we made '93!"
The preparations were soon made; the bills pos=
ted,
programmes laid on the dinner-table of every hotel in the town, and a stage
erected at one end of the Cafe of the Triumphs of the Plough; but when Leon=
returned
to the office, the Commissary was once more abroad.
"He is like Madame Benoiton," thought
Leon, "Fichu Commissaire!"
And just then he met the man face to face.
"Here, sir," said he, "are my
papers. Will you be pleased t=
o verify?"
But the Commissary was now intent upon dinner.=
"No use," he replied, "no use; =
I am
busy; I am quite satisfied. Give your entertainment."
And he hurried on.
"Fichu Commissaire!" thought Leon.
The audience was pretty large; and the proprie=
tor
of the cafe made a good thing of it in beer. But the Berthelinis exerted themse=
lves in
vain.
Leon was radiant in velveteen; he had a rakish=
way
of smoking a cigarette between his songs that was worth money in itself; he=
underlined
his comic points, so that the dullest numskull in Castel-le-Gachis had a no=
tion
when to laugh; and he handled his guitar in a manner worthy of himself. Indeed his play with that instrume=
nt was
as good as a whole romantic drama; it was so dashing, so florid, and so
cavalier.
Elvira, on the other hand, sang her patriotic =
and
romantic songs with more than usual expression; her voice had charm and
plangency; and as Leon looked at her, in her low-bodied maroon dress, with =
her arms
bare to the shoulder, and a red flower set provocatively in her corset, he
repeated to himself for the many hundredth time that she was one of the
loveliest creatures in the world of women.
Alas! when she went round with the tambourine,=
the
golden youth of Castel-le-Gachis turned from her coldly. Here and there a single halfpenny =
was
forthcoming; the net result of a collection never exceeded half a franc; and
the Maire himself, after seven different applications, had contributed exac=
tly
twopence. A certain chill beg=
an to
settle upon the artists themselves; it seemed as if they were singing to sl=
ugs;
Apollo himself might have lost heart with such an audience. The Berthelinis struggled against =
the impression;
they put their back into their work, they sang loud and louder, the guitar
twanged like a living thing; and at last Leon arose in his might, and burst
with inimitable conviction into his great song, "Y a des honnetes gens
partout!" Never had he g=
iven more
proof of his artistic mastery; it was his intimate, indefeasible conviction
that Castel-le-Gachis formed an exception to the law he was now lyrically
proclaiming, and was peopled exclusively by thieves and bullies; and yet, a=
s I
say, he flung it down like a challenge, he trolled it forth like an article=
of faith;
and his face so beamed the while that you would have thought he must make
converts of the benches.
He was at the top of his register, with his he=
ad
thrown back and his mouth open, when the door was thrown violently open, an=
d a
pair of new comers marched noisily into the cafe. It was the Commissary, followed by=
the
Garde Champetre.
The undaunted Berthelini still continued to
proclaim, "Y a des honnetes gens partout!" But now the sentiment produced an
audible titter among the audience.
Berthelini wondered why; he did not know the antecedents of the Garde
Champetre; he had never heard of a little story about postage stamps. But the public knew all about the
postage stamps and enjoyed the coincidence hugely.
The Commissary planted himself upon a vacant c=
hair
with somewhat the air of Cromwell visiting the Rump, and spoke in occasiona=
l whispers
to the Garde Champetre, who remained respectfully standing at his back. The eyes of both were directed upon
Berthelini, who persisted in his statement.
"Y a des honnetes gens partout," he =
was
just chanting for the twentieth time; when up got the Commissary upon his f=
eet
and waved brutally to the singer with his cane.
"Is it me you want?" inquired Leon,
stopping in his song.
"It is you," replied the potentate.<= o:p>
"Fichu Commissaire!" thought Leon, a=
nd
he descended from the stage and made his way to the functionary.
"How does it happen, sir," said the
Commissary, swelling in person, "that I find you mountebanking in a pu=
blic
cafe without my permission?"
"Without?" cried the indignant
Leon. "Permit me to remi=
nd you
- "
"Come, come, sir!" said the Commissa=
ry,
"I desire no explanations."
"I care nothing about what you desire,&qu=
ot;
returned the singer. "I =
choose
to give them, and I will not be gagged.&nb=
sp;
I am an artist, sir, a distinction that you cannot comprehend. I received your permission and sta=
nd
here upon the strength of it; interfere with me who dare."
"You have not got my signature, I tell
you," cried the Commissary. "Show me my signature! Where is my signature?"
That was just the question; where was his
signature? Leon recognised th=
at he
was in a hole; but his spirit rose with the occasion, and he blustered nobl=
y,
tossing back his curls. The C=
ommissary
played up to him in the character of tyrant; and as the one leaned farther
forward, the other leaned farther back - majesty confronting fury. The audience had transferred their
attention to this new performance, and listened with that silent gravity co=
mmon
to all Frenchmen in the neighbourhood of the Police. Elvira had sat down, she was used =
to
these distractions, and it was rather melancholy than fear that now oppress=
ed
her.
"Another word," cried the Commissary,
"and I arrest you."
"Arrest me?" shouted Leon. "I defy you!"
"I am the Commissary of Police,' said the
official.
Leon commanded his feelings, and replied, with
great delicacy of innuendo -
"So it would appear."
The point was too refined for Castel-le-Gachis=
; it
did not raise a smile; and as for the Commissary, he simply bade the singer
follow him to his office, and directed his proud footsteps towards the door=
. There was nothing for it but to
obey. Leon did so with a prop=
er
pantomime of indifference, but it was a leek to eat, and there was no denyi=
ng
it.
The Maire had slipped out and was already wait=
ing
at the Commissary's door. Now=
the
Maire, in France, is the refuge of the oppressed. He stands between his people and t=
he
boisterous rigours of the Police.
He can sometimes understand what is said to him; he is not always pu=
ffed
up beyond measure by his dignity.
'Tis a thing worth the knowledge of travellers. When all seems over, and a man has=
made
up his mind to injustice, he has still, like the heroes of romance, a little
bugle at his belt whereon to blow; and the Maire, a comfortable DEUS EX
MACHINA, may still descend to deliver him from the minions of the law. The Maire of Castel-le- Gachis, al=
though
inaccessible to the charms of music as retailed by the Berthelinis, had no
hesitation whatever as to the rights of the matter. He instantly fell foul of the Comm=
issary
in very high terms, and the Commissary, pricked by this humiliation, accept=
ed battle
on the point of fact. The arg=
ument
lasted some little while with varying success, until at length victory incl=
ined
so plainly to the Commissary's side that the Maire was fain to reassert him=
self
by an exercise of authority. =
He had
been out-argued, but he was still the Maire. And so, turning from his interlocu=
tor,
he briefly but kindly recommended Leon to get back instanter to his concert=
.
"It is already growing late," he add=
ed.
Leon did not wait to be told twice. He returned to the Cafe of the Tri=
umphs
of the Plough with all expedition.
Alas! the audience had melted away during his absence; Elvira was
sitting in a very disconsolate attitude on the guitar-box; she had watched =
the company
dispersing by twos and threes, and the prolonged spectacle had somewhat
overwhelmed her spirits. Each=
man,
she reflected, retired with a certain proportion of her earnings in his poc=
ket,
and she saw to-night's board and to-morrow's railway expenses, and finally =
even
to-morrow's dinner, walk one after another out of the cafe door and disappe=
ar
into the night.
"What was it?" she asked languidly.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But Leon did not answer. He was looking round him on the sc=
ene of
defeat. Scarce a score of lis=
teners
remained, and these of the least promising sort. The minute hand of the clock was a=
lready
climbing upward towards eleven.
"It's a lost battle," said he, and t=
hen
taking up the money-box he turned it out.&=
nbsp;
"Three francs seventy-five!" he cried, "as against fo=
ur
of board and six of railway fares; and no time for the tombola! Elvira, this is Waterloo."
"Let us get the things together and be
off," returned Elvira.
"We might try another song, but there is not six halfpence in t=
he room."
"Six halfpence?" cried Leon, "s=
ix
hundred thousand devils! Ther=
e is
not a human creature in the town - nothing but pigs and dogs and commissair=
es! Pray heaven, we get safe to bed.&q=
uot;
"Don't imagine things!" exclaimed
Elvira, with a shudder.
And with that they set to work on their
preparations. The tobacco- ja=
r, the
cigarette-holder, the three papers of shirt-studs, which were to have been =
the
prices of the tombola had the tombola come off, were made into a bundle with
the music; the guitar was stowed into the fat guitar-case; and Elvira having
thrown a thin shawl about her neck and shoulders, the pair issued from the =
cafe
and set off for the Black Head.
As they crossed the market-place the church be=
ll
rang out eleven. It was a dark, mild night, and there was no one in the
streets.
"It is all very fine," said Leon;
"but I have a presentiment.
The night is not yet done."
The "Black Head" presented not a sin=
gle
chink of light upon the street, and the carriage gate was closed.
"This is unprecedented," observed
Leon. "An inn closed by =
five minutes
after eleven! And there were
several commercial travellers in the cafe up to a late hour. Elvira, my heart misgives me. Let us ring the bell."
The bell had a potent note; and being swung un=
der
the arch it filled the house from top to bottom with surly, clanging reverb=
erations. The sound accentuated the conventu=
al
appearance of the building; a wintry sentiment, a thought of prayer and mor=
tification,
took hold upon Elvira's mind; and, as for Leon, he seemed to be reading the
stage directions for a lugubrious fifth act.
"This is your fault," said Elvira: "this is what comes of fancyi=
ng things!"
Again Leon pulled the bell-rope; again the sol=
emn
tocsin awoke the echoes of the inn; and ere they had died away, a light
glimmered in the carriage entrance, and a powerful voice was heard upraised=
and
tremulous with wrath.
"What's all this?" cried the tragic =
host
through the spars of the gate.
"Hard upon twelve, and you come clamouring like Prussians at the
door of a respectable hotel?
Oh!" he cried, "I know you now! Common singers! People in trouble with the police!=
And you present yourselves at midn=
ight
like lords and ladies? Be off=
with you!"
"You will permit me to remind you,"
replied Leon, in thrilling tones, "that I am a guest in your house, th=
at I
am properly inscribed, and that I have deposited baggage to the value of fo=
ur hundred
francs."
"You cannot get in at this hour,"
returned the man. "This =
is no thieves'
tavern, for mohocks and night rakes and organ-grinders."
"Brute!" cried Elvira, for the
organ-grinders touched her home.
"Then I demand my baggage," said Leo=
n,
with unabated dignity.
"I know nothing of your baggage,"
replied the landlord.
"You detain my baggage? You dare to detain my baggage?&quo=
t;
cried the singer.
"Who are you?" returned the
landlord. "It is dark - I
cannot recognise you."
"Very well, then - you detain my
baggage," concluded Leon.
"You shall smart for this.&nbs=
p;
I will weary out your life with persecutions; I will drag you from c=
ourt
to court; if there is justice to be had in France, it shall be rendered bet=
ween
you and me. And I will make y=
ou a
by-word - I will put you in a song - a scurrilous song - an indecent song -=
a
popular song - which the boys shall sing to you in the street, and come and
howl through these spars at mid-night!"
He had gone on raising his voice at every phra=
se,
for all the while the landlord was very placidly retiring; and now, when the
last glimmer of light had vanished from the arch, and the last footstep died
away in the interior, Leon turned to his wife with a heroic countenance.
"Elvira," said he, "I have now a
duty in life. I shall destroy=
that
man as Eugene Sue destroyed the concierge.=
Let us come at once to the Gendarmerie and begin our vengeance."=
;
He picked up the guitar-case, which had been
propped against the wall, and they set forth through the silent and ill-lig=
hted
town with burning hearts.
The Gendarmerie was concealed beside the teleg=
raph
office at the bottom of a vast court, which was partly laid out in gardens;=
and
here all the shepherds of the public lay locked in grateful sleep. It took a
deal of knocking to waken one; and he, when he came at last to the door, co=
uld
find no other remark but that "it was none of his business." Leon reasoned with him, threatened=
him,
besought him; "here," he said, "was Madame Berthelini in eve=
ning
dress - a delicate woman - in an interesting condition" - the last was
thrown in, I fancy, for effect; and to all this the man-at-arms made the sa=
me
answer:
"It is none of my business," said he=
.
"Very well," said Leon, "then we
shall go to the Commissary." Thither they went; the office was closed =
and
dark; but the house was close by, and Leon was soon swinging the bell like a
madman. The Commissary's wife appeared at a window. She was a thread-paper creature, a=
nd
informed them that the Commissary had not yet come home.
"Is he at the Maire's?" demanded Leo=
n.
She thought that was not unlikely.
"Where is the Maire's house?" he ask=
ed.
And she gave him some rather vague information=
on
that point.
"Stay you here, Elvira," said Leon,
"lest I should miss him by the way.&n=
bsp;
If, when I return, I find you here no longer, I shall follow at once=
to
the Black Head."
And he set out to find the Maire's. It took him some ten minutes wande=
ring
among blind lanes, and when he arrived it was already half-an-hour past
midnight. A long white garden=
wall
overhung by some thick chestnuts, a door with a letter-box, and an iron bel=
l- pull,
that was all that could be seen of the Maire's domicile. Leon took the
bell-pull in both hands, and danced furiously upon the side-walk. The bell itself was just upon the =
other
side of the wall, it responded to his activity, and scattered an alarming c=
langour
far and wide into the night.
A window was thrown open in a house across the
street, and a voice inquired the cause of this untimely uproar.
"I wish the Maire," said Leon.
"He has been in bed this hour," retu=
rned
the voice.
"He must get up again," retorted Leo=
n,
and he was for tackling the bell-pull once more.
"You will never make him hear,"
responded the voice. "The
garden is of great extent, the house is at the farther end, and both the Ma=
ire
and his housekeeper are deaf."
"Aha!" said Leon, pausing. "The Maire is deaf, is he?
"And you might ring all night," added
the voice, "and be none the better for it. You would only keep me awake."=
;
"Thank you, neighbour," replied the
singer. "You shall
sleep."
And he made off again at his best pace for the
Commissary's. Elvira was still walking to and fro before the door.
"He has not come?" asked Leon.
"Not he," she replied.
"Good," returned Leon. "I am sure our man's inside.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Let me see the guitar-case. I shall lay this siege in form, El=
vira;
I am angry; I am indignant; I am truculently inclined; but I thank my Maker=
I
have still a sense of fun. The
unjust judge shall be importuned in a serenade, Elvira. Set him up - and set him up."=
He had the case opened by this time, struck a =
few
chords, and fell into an attitude which was irresistibly Spanish.
"Now," he continued, "feel your
voice. Are you ready? Follow me!"
The guitar twanged, and the two voices upraise=
d,
in harmony and with a startling loudness, the chorus of a song of old
Beranger's:-
=
"Commissaire!
Commissaire! Colin bat sa menagere."
=
The
stones of Castel-le-Gachis thrilled at this audacious innovation. Hitherto had the night been sacred=
to
repose and nightcaps; and now what was this? Window after window was opened; ma=
tches
scratched, and candles began to flicker; swollen sleepy faces peered forth =
into
the starlight. There were the=
two
figures before the Commissary's house, each bolt upright, with head thrown =
back
and eyes interrogating the starry heavens; the guitar wailed, shouted, and
reverberated like half an orchestra; and the voices, with a crisp and spiri=
ted
delivery, hurled the appropriate burden at the Commissary's window. All the echoes repeated the functi=
onary's
name. It was more like an ent=
r'acte
in a farce of Moliere's than a passage of real life in Castel-le-Gachis.
The Commissary, if he was not the first, was n=
ot
the last of the neighbours to yield to the influence of music, and furiously
throw open the window of his bedroom.
He was beside himself with rage. He leaned far over the window-sill,
raying and gesticulating; the tassel of his white night-cap danced like a t=
hing
of life: he opened his mouth =
to
dimensions hitherto unprecedented, and yet his voice, instead of escaping f=
rom
it in a roar, came forth shrill and choked and tottering. A little more serenading, and it w=
as
clear he would be better acquainted with the apoplexy.
I scorn to reproduce his language; he touched =
upon
too many serious topics by the way for a quiet story-teller. Although he was known for a man wh=
o was
prompt with his tongue, and had a power of strong expression at command, he
excelled himself so remarkably this night that one maiden lady, who had got=
out
of bed like the rest to hear the serenade, was obliged to shut her window at
the second clause. Even what she had heard disquieted her conscience; and n=
ext
day she said she scarcely reckoned as a maiden lady any longer.
Leon tried to explain his predicament, but he
received nothing but threats of arrest by way of answer.
"If I come down to you!" cried the
Commissary.
"Aye," said Leon, "do!"
"I will not!" cried the Commissary.<= o:p>
"You dare not!" answered Leon.
At that the Commissary closed his window.
"All is over," said the singer. "The serenade was perhaps ill=
- judged. These boors have no sense of
humour."
"Let us get away from here," said
Elvira, with a shiver. "=
All these
people looking - it is so rude and so brutal." And then giving way once more to p=
assion
- "Brutes!" she cried aloud to the candle-lit spectators -
"brutes! brutes! brutes!"
"Sauve qui peut," said Leon. "You have done it now!"<= o:p>
And taking the guitar in one hand and the case=
in
the other, he led the way with something too precipitate to be merely calle=
d precipitation
from the scene of this absurd adventure.
To the west of Castel-le-Gachis four rows of
venerable lime-trees formed, in this starry night, a twilit avenue with two
side aisles of pitch darkness. Here
and there stone benches were disposed between the trunks. There was not a breath of wind; a =
heavy atmosphere
of perfume hung about the alleys; and every leaf stood stock-still upon its
twig. Hither, after vainly kn=
ocking
at an inn or two, the Berthelinis came at length to pass the night. After an amiable contention, Leon
insisted on giving his coat to Elvira, and they sat down together on the fi=
rst
bench in silence. Leon made a=
cigarette,
which he smoked to an end, looking up into the trees, and, beyond them, at =
the
constellations, of which he tried vainly to recall the names. The silence was broken by the chur=
ch
bell; it rang the four quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then follo=
wed
a single deep stroke that died slowly away with a thrill; and stillness res=
umed
its empire.
"One," said Leon. "Four hours till daylight.
"Leon," she said fiercely, "how=
can
you talk such wicked, infamous nonsense?&n=
bsp;
To pass all night out-of-doors - it is like a nightmare! We shall
die."
"You suffer yourself to be led away,"=
; he
replied soothingly. "It =
is not
unpleasant here; only you brood. Come, now, let us repeat a scene. Shall we try Alceste and Celimene?=
No?
Or a passage from the 'Two Orphans'? Come, now, it will occupy your min=
d; I
will play up to you as I never have played before; I feel art moving in my
bones."
"Hold your tongue," she cried, "=
;or
you will drive me mad! Will n=
othing
solemnise you - not even this hideous situation?"
"Oh, hideous!" objected Leon. "Hideous is not the word. Why, where would you be? 'Dites, la jeune belle, ou voulez-=
vous aller?'"
he carolled. "Well, now,=
"
he went on, opening the guitar- case, "there's another idea for you -
sing. Sing 'Dites, la jeune b=
elle!' It will compose your spirits, Elvi=
ra, I
am sure."
And without waiting an answer he began to strum
the symphony. The first chords
awoke a young man who was lying asleep upon a neighbouring bench.
"Hullo!" cried the young man, "=
who
are you?"
"Under which king, Bezonian?" declai=
med
the artist. "Speak or di=
e!"
Or if it was not exactly that, it was somethin=
g to
much the same purpose from a French tragedy.
The young man drew near in the twilight. He was a tall, powerful, gentleman=
ly
fellow, with a somewhat puffy face, dressed in a grey tweed suit, with a
deer-stalker hat of the same material; and as he now came forward he carrie=
d a
knapsack slung upon one arm.
"Are you camping out here too?" he
asked, with a strong English accent.
"I'm not sorry for company."
Leon explained their misadventure; and the oth=
er
told them that he was a Cambridge undergraduate on a walking tour, that he =
had
run short of money, could no longer pay for his night's lodging, had already
been camping out for two nights, and feared he should require to continue t=
he
same manoeuvre for at least two nights more.
"Luckily, it's jolly weather," he
concluded.
"You hear that, Elvira," said Leon.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "Madame Berthelini," he =
went on,
"is ridiculously affected by this trifling occurrence. For my part, I find it romantic an=
d far
from uncomfortable; or at least," he added, shifting on the stone benc=
h,
"not quite so uncomfortable as might have been expected. But pray be seated."
"Yes," returned the undergraduate,
sitting down, "it's rather nice than otherwise when once you're used to
it; only it's devilish difficult to get washed. I like the fresh air and these sta=
rs and
things."
"Aha!" said Leon, "Monsieur is =
an
artist."
"An artist?" returned the other, wit=
h a
blank stare. "Not if I k=
now
it!"
"Pardon me," said the actor. "What you said this moment ab=
out
the orbs of heaven - "
"Oh, nonsense!" cried the
Englishman. "A fellow may
admire the stars and be anything he likes."
"You have an artist's nature, however,
Mr.- I beg your pardon; may I,
without indiscretion, inquire your name?" asked Leon.
"My name is Stubbs," replied the
Englishman.
"I thank you," returned Leon. "Mine is Berthelini - Leon Be=
rthelini,
ex-artist of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre. Humble as you see me, I have creat=
ed
with applause more than one important ROLE. The Press were unanimous in praise=
of my
Howling Devil of the Mountains, in the piece of the same name. Madame, whom I now present to you,=
is
herself an artist, and I must not omit to state, a better artist than her
husband. She also is a creato=
r; she
created nearly twenty successful songs at one of the principal Parisian mus=
ic-halls. But, to continue, I was saying you=
had
an artist's nature, Monsieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be a judge in
such a question. I trust you =
will
not falsify your instincts; let me beseech you to follow the career of an
artist."
"Thank you," returned Stubbs, with a
chuckle. "I'm going to b=
e a banker."
"No," said Leon, "do not say
so. Not that. A man with such a nature as yours =
should
not derogate so far. What are=
a few
privations here and there, so long as you are working for a high and noble
goal?"
"This fellow's mad," thought Stubbs;
"but the woman's rather pretty, and he's not bad fun himself, if you c=
ome
to that." What he said w=
as
different. "I thought yo=
u said
you were an actor?"
"I certainly did so," replied Leon.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "I am one, or, alas! I was."
"And so you want me to be an actor, do
you?" continued the undergraduate.&nb=
sp;
"Why, man, I could never so much as learn the stuff; my memory's
like a sieve; and as for acting, I've no more idea than a cat."
"The stage is not the only course," =
said
Leon. "Be a sculptor, be=
a
dancer, be a poet or a novelist; follow your heart, in short, and do some
thorough work before you die."
"And do you call all these things ART?&qu=
ot;
inquired Stubbs.
"Why, certainly!" returned Leon. "Are they not all branches?&q=
uot;
"Oh!&nbs=
p;
I didn't know," replied the Englishman. "I thought an artist meant a =
fellow
who painted."
The singer stared at him in some surprise.
"It is the difference of language," =
he
said at last. "This Towe=
r of
Babel, when shall we have paid for it?&nbs=
p;
If I could speak English you would follow me more readily."
"Between you and me, I don't believe I
should," replied the other. "You seem to have thought a devil of a
lot about this business. For my part, I admire the stars, and like to have =
them
shining - it's so cheery - but hang me if I had an idea it had anything to =
do with
art! It's not in my line, you
see. I'm not intellectual; I =
have
no end of trouble to scrape through my exams., I can tell you! But I'm not a
bad sort at bottom," he added, seeing his interlocutor looked distress=
ed
even in the dim starshine, "and I rather like the play, and music, and
guitars, and things."
Leon had a perception that the understanding w=
as
incomplete. He changed the su=
bject.
"And so you travel on foot?" he cont=
inued. "How romantic! How courageous! And how are you pleased with my
land? How does the scenery af=
fect
you among these wild hills of ours?"
"Well, the fact is," began Stubbs - =
he
was about to say that he didn't care for scenery, which was not at all true,
being, on the contrary, only an athletic undergraduate pretension; but he h=
ad begun
to suspect that Berthelini liked a different sort of meat, and substituted
something else - "The fact is, I think it jolly. They told me it was no
good up here; even the guide-book said so; but I don't know what they
meant. I think it is deuced p=
retty
- upon my word, I do."
At this moment, in the most unexpected manner,
Elvira burst into tears.
"My voice!" she cried. "Leon, if I stay here longer I
shall lose my voice!"
"You shall not stay another moment,"
cried the actor. "If I h=
ave to
beat in a door, if I have to burn the town, I shall find you shelter."=
With that he replaced the guitar, and comforti=
ng
her with some caresses, drew her arm through his.
"Monsieur Stubbs," said he, taking of
his hat, "the reception I offer you is rather problematical; but let me
beseech you to give us the pleasure of your society. You are a little embarrassed for t=
he
moment; you must, indeed, permit me to advance what may be necessary. I ask it as a favour; we must not =
part
so soon after having met so strangely."
"Oh, come, you know," said Stubbs,
"I can't let a fellow like you - " And there he paused, feeling someh=
ow or
other on a wrong tack.
"I do not wish to employ menaces,"
continued Leon, with a smile; "but if you refuse, indeed I shall not t=
ake
it kindly."
"I don't quite see my way out of it,"
thought the undergraduate; and then, after a pause, he said, aloud and
ungraciously enough, "All right.
I - I'm very much obliged, of course." And he proceeded to follow them,
thinking in his heart, "But it's bad form, all the same, to force an
obligation on a fellow."
Leon strode ahead as if he knew exactly where =
he
was going; the sobs of Madame were still faintly audible, and no one uttere=
d a word. A dog barked furiously in a courty=
ard as
they went by; then the church clock struck two, and many domestic clocks
followed or preceded it in piping tones.&n=
bsp;
And just then Berthelini spied a light. It burned in a small house on the
outskirts of the town, and thither the party now directed their steps.
"It is always a chance," said Leon.<= o:p>
The house in question stood back from the stre=
et
behind an open space, part garden, part turnip-field; and several outhouses
stood forward from either wing at right angles to the front. One of these had recently undergon=
e some
change. An enormous window, l=
ooking
towards the north, had been effected in the wall and roof, and Leon began to
hope it was a studio.
"If it's only a painter," he said wi=
th a
chuckle, "ten to one we get as good a welcome as we want."
"I thought painters were principally
poor," said Stubbs.
"Ah!" cried Leon, "you do not k=
now
the world as I do. The poorer=
the
better for us!"
And the trio advanced into the turnip-field.
The light was in the ground floor; as one wind=
ow
was brightly illuminated and two others more faintly, it might be supposed =
that
there was a single lamp in one corner of a large apartment; and a certain
tremulousness and temporary dwindling showed that a live fire contributed to
the effect. The sound of a vo=
ice
now became audible; and the trespassers paused to listen. It was pitched in a high, angry ke=
y, but
had still a good, full, and masculine note in it. The utterance was voluble, too vol=
uble
even to be quite distinct; a stream of words, rising and falling, with ever=
and
again a phrase thrown out by itself, as if the speaker reckoned on its virt=
ue.
Suddenly another voice joined in. This time it was a woman's; and if=
the
man were angry, the woman was incensed to the degree of fury. There was that absolutely blank
composure known to suffering males; that colourless unnatural speech which
shows a spirit accurately balanced between homicide and hysterics; the tone=
in which
the best of women sometimes utter words worse than death to those most dear=
to
them. If Abstract
Bones-and-Sepulchre were to be endowed with the gift of speech, thus, and n=
ot
otherwise, would it discourse. Leon
was a brave man, and I fear he was somewhat sceptically given (he had been
educated in a Papistical country), but the habit of childhood prevailed, an=
d he
crossed himself devoutly. He =
had
met several women in his career. It
was obvious that his instinct had not deceived him, for the male voice brok=
e forth
instantly in a towering passion.
The undergraduate, who had not understood the
significance of the woman's contribution, pricked up his ears at the change
upon the man.
"There's going to be a free fight," =
he
opined.
There was another retort from the woman, still=
calm
but a little higher.
"Hysterics?" asked Leon of his
wife. "Is that the stage=
direction?"
"How should I know?" returned Elvira,
somewhat tartly.
"Oh, woman, woman!" said Leon, begin=
ning
to open the guitar-case. "It is one of the burdens of my life, Monsieur
Stubbs; they support each other; they always pretend there is no system; th=
ey
say it's nature. Even Madame
Berthelini, who is a dramatic artist!"
"You are heartless, Leon," said Elvi=
ra;
"that woman is in trouble."
"And the man, my angel?" inquired Berthelini, passing the ribbon of his guitar. "And the man, M'AMOUR?"<= o:p>
"He is a man," she answered.
"You hear that?" said Leon to
Stubbs. "It is not too l=
ate
for you. Mark the intonation. And
now," he continued, "what are we to give them?"
"Are you going to sing?" asked Stubb=
s.
"I am a troubadour," replied Leon. "I claim a welcome by and for=
my
art. If I were a banker could=
I do
as much?"
"Well, you wouldn't need, you know,"
answered the undergraduate.
"Egad," said Leon, "but that's
true. Elvira, that is true.&q=
uot;
"Of course it is," she replied. "Did you not know it?"
"My dear," answered Leon impressivel=
y,
"I know nothing but what is agreeable. Even my knowledge of life is a wor=
k of
art superiorly composed. But =
what
are we to give them? It shoul=
d be
something appropriate."
Visions of "Let dogs delight" passed
through the undergraduate's mind; but it occurred to him that the poetry was
English and that he did not know the air.&=
nbsp;
Hence he contributed no suggestion.
"Something about our houselessness,"
said Elvira.
"I have it," cried Leon. And he broke forth into a song of =
Pierre
Dupont's:-
=
"Savez-vous
ou gite, Mai, ce joli mois?"
=
Elvira
joined in; so did Stubbs, with a good ear and voice, but an imperfect
acquaintance with the music. =
Leon
and the guitar were equal to the situation. The actor dispensed his throat-not=
es
with prodigality and enthusiasm; and, as he looked up to heaven in his hero=
ic
way, tossing the black ringlets, it seemed to him that the very stars
contributed a dumb applause to his efforts, and the universe lent him its
silence for a chorus. That is=
one
of the best features of the heavenly bodies, that they belong to everybody =
in
particular; and a man like Leon, a chronic Endymion who managed to get along
without encouragement, is always the world's centre for himself.
He alone
- and it is to be noted, he was the worst singer of the three - took=
the
music seriously to heart, and judged the serenade from a high artistic poin=
t of
view. Elvira, on the other ha=
nd,
was preoccupied about their reception; and, as for Stubbs, he considered the
whole affair in the light of a broad joke.
"Know you the lair of May, the lovely
month?" went the three voices in the turnip-field.
The inhabitants were plainly fluttered; the li=
ght
moved to and fro, strengthening in one window, paling in another; and then =
the
door was thrown open, and a man in a blouse appeared on the threshold carry=
ing
a lamp. He was a powerful you=
ng
fellow, with bewildered hair and beard, wearing his neck open; his blouse w=
as
stained with oil-colours in a harlequinesque disorder; and there was someth=
ing rural
in the droop and bagginess of his belted trousers.
From immediately behind him, and indeed over h=
is
shoulder, a woman's face looked out into the darkness; it was pale and a li=
ttle
weary, although still young; it wore a dwindling, disappearing prettiness, =
soon
to be quite gone, and the expression was both gentle and sour, and reminded=
one
faintly of the taste of certain drugs.&nbs=
p;
For all that, it was not a face to dislike; when the prettiness had
vanished, it seemed as if a certain pale beauty might step in to take its
place; and as both the mildness and the asperity were characters of youth, =
it
might be hoped that, with years, both would merge into a constant, brave, a=
nd
not unkindly temper.
"What is all this?" cried the man.
Leon had his hat in his hand at once. He came forward with his customary
grace; it was a moment which would have earned him a round of cheering on t=
he
stage. Elvira and Stubbs adva=
nced
behind him, like a couple of Admetus's sheep following the god Apollo.
"Sir," said Leon, "the hour is
unpardonably late, and our little serenade has the air of an impertinence.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Believe me, sir, it is an appeal.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Monsieur is an artist, I perceive.=
We are here three artists benighte=
d and
without shelter, one a woman - a delicate woman - in evening dress - in an
interesting situation. This w=
ill not
fail to touch the woman's heart of Madame, whom I perceive indistinctly beh=
ind
Monsieur her husband, and whose face speaks eloquently of a well-regulated
mind. Ah! Monsieur, Madame - =
one generous
movement, and you make three people happy!=
Two or three hours beside your fire - I ask it of Monsieur in the na=
me
of Art - I ask it of Madame by the sanctity of womanhood."
The two, as by a tacit consent, drew back from=
the
door.
"Come in," said the man.
"Entrez, Madame," said the woman.
The door opened directly upon the kitchen of t=
he
house, which was to all appearance the only sitting-room. The furniture was both plain and s=
canty;
but there were one or two landscapes on the wall handsomely framed, as if t=
hey
had already visited the committee- rooms of an exhibition and been thence
extruded. Leon walked up to t=
he
pictures and represented the part of a connoisseur before each in turn, with
his usual dramatic insight and force.
The master of the house, as if irresistibly attracted, followed him =
from
canvas to canvas with the lamp.
Elvira was led directly to the fire, where she proceeded to warm
herself, while Stubbs stood in the middle of the floor and followed the
proceedings of Leon with mild astonishment in his eyes.
"You should see them by daylight," s=
aid
the artist.
"I promise myself that pleasure," sa=
id
Leon. "You possess, sir,=
if you
will permit me an observation, the art of composition to a T."
"You are very good," returned the
other. "But should you n=
ot
draw nearer to the fire?"
"With all my heart," said Leon.
And the whole party was soon gathered at the t=
able
over a hasty and not an elegant cold supper, washed down with the least of
small wines. Nobody liked the=
meal,
but nobody complained; they put a good face upon it, one and all, and made a
great clattering of knives and forks.
To see Leon eating a single cold sausage was to see a triumph; by the
time he had done he had got through as much pantomime as would have sufficed
for a baron of beef, and he had the relaxed expression of the over-eaten.
As Elvira had naturally taken a place by the s=
ide
of Leon, and Stubbs as naturally, although I believe unconsciously, by the =
side
of Elvira, the host and hostess were left together. Yet it was to be noted that they n=
ever
addressed a word to each other, nor so much as suffered their eyes to
meet. The interrupted skirmis=
h still
survived in ill-feeling; and the instant the guests departed it would break
forth again as bitterly as ever.
The talk wandered from this to that subject - for with one accord the
party had declared it was too late to go to bed; but those two never relaxe=
d towards
each other; Goneril and Regan in a sisterly tiff were not more bent on enmi=
ty.
It chanced that Elvira was so much tired by all
the little excitements of the night, that for once she laid aside her compa=
ny manners,
which were both easy and correct, and in the most natural manner in the wor=
ld
leaned her head on Leon's shoulder.
At the same time, fatigue suggesting tenderness, she locked the fing=
ers
of her right hand into those of her husband's left; and, half closing her e=
yes,
dozed off into a golden borderland between sleep and waking. But all the time she was not aware=
of
what was passing, and saw the painter's wife studying her with looks between
contempt and envy.
It occurred to Leon that his constitution dema=
nded
the use of some tobacco; and he undid his fingers from Elvira's in order to
roll a cigarette. It was gent=
ly
done, and he took care that his indulgence should in no other way disturb h=
is
wife's position. But it seeme=
d to
catch the eye of the painter's wife with a special significancy. She looked straight before her for=
an
instant, and then, with a swift and stealthy movement, took hold of her hus=
band's
hand below the table. Alas! s=
he
might have spared herself the dexterity.&n=
bsp;
For the poor fellow was so overcome by this caress that he stopped w=
ith
his mouth open in the middle of a word, and by the expression of his face
plainly declared to all the company that his thoughts had been diverted into
softer channels.
If it had not been rather amiable, it would ha=
ve
been absurdly droll. His wife=
at
once withdrew her touch; but it was plain she had to exert some force. Thereupon the young man coloured a=
nd looked
for a moment beautiful.
Leon and Elvira both observed the byplay, and a
shock passed from one to the other; for they were inveterate match-makers, =
especially
between those who were already married.
"I beg your pardon," said Leon
suddenly. "I see no use =
in pretending. Before we came in here we heard so=
unds
indicating - if I may so express myself - an imperfect harmony."
"Sir - " began the man.
But the woman was beforehand.
"It is quite true," she said. "I see no cause to be ashamed=
. If my husband is mad I shall at le=
ast do
my utmost to prevent the consequences.&nbs=
p;
Picture to yourself, Monsieur and Madame," she went on, for she
passed Stubbs over, "that this wretched person - a dauber, an incompet=
ent,
not fit to be a sign-painter - receives this morning an admirable offer fro=
m an
uncle - an uncle of my own, my mother's brother, and tenderly beloved - of a
clerkship with nearly a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and that he - pict=
ure
to yourself! - he refuses it!
Why? For the sake of A=
rt, he
says. Look at his art, I say - look at it!=
Is it fit to be seen? =
Ask him
- is it fit to be sold? And i=
t is
for this, Monsieur and Madame, that he condemns me to the most deplorable
existence, without luxuries, without comforts, in a vile suburb of a countr=
y town. O non!" she cried, "non =
- je
ne me tairai pas - c'est plus fort que moi! I take these gentlemen and this la=
dy for
judges - is this kind? is it decent? is it manly? Do I not deserve better at his han=
ds
after having married him and" - (a visible hitch) - "done everyth=
ing
in the world to please him."
I doubt if there were ever a more embarrassed
company at a table; every one looked like a fool; and the husband like the
biggest.
"The art of Monsieur, however," said
Elvira, breaking the silence, "is not wanting in distinction."
"It has this distinction," said the
wife, "that nobody will buy it."
"I should have supposed a clerkship - &qu=
ot;
began Stubbs.
"Art is Art," swept in Leon. "I salute Art. It is the beautiful, the divine; i=
t is
the spirit of the world, and the pride of life. But - " And the actor paused.
"A clerkship - " began Stubbs.
"I'll tell you what it is," said the
painter. "I am an artist=
, and as
this gentleman says, Art is this and the other; but of course, if my wife is
going to make my life a piece of perdition all day long, I prefer to go and
drown myself out of hand."
"Go!" said his wife. "I should like to see you!&qu=
ot;
"I was going to say," resumed Stubbs,
"that a fellow may be a clerk and paint almost as much as he likes.
To both the women this seemed a plank of safet=
y;
each hopefully interrogated the countenance of her lord; even Elvira, an ar=
tist
herself! - but indeed there must be something permanently mercantile in the
female nature. The two men
exchanged a glance; it was tragic; not otherwise might two philosophers sal=
ute,
as at the end of a laborious life each recognised that he was still a myste=
ry
to his disciples.
Leon arose.
"Art is Art," he repeated sadly. "It is not water-colour sketc=
hes, nor
practising on a piano. It is =
a life
to be lived."
"And in the meantime people starve!"
observed the woman of the house.
"If that's a life, it is not one for me."
"I'll tell you what," burst forth Le=
on;
"you, Madame, go into another room and talk it over with my wife; and =
I'll
stay here and talk it over with your husband. It may come to nothing, but let's =
try."
"I am very willing," replied the you=
ng
woman; and she proceeded to light a candle. "This way if you please."=
; And she led Elvira upstairs into a
bedroom. "The fact is,&q=
uot;
said she, sitting down, "that my husband cannot paint."
"No more can mine act," replied Elvi=
ra.
"I should have thought he could,"
returned the other; "he seems clever."
"He is so, and the best of men besides,&q=
uot;
said Elvira; "but he cannot act."
"At least he is not a sheer humbug like m=
ine;
he can at least sing."
"You mistake Leon," returned his wife warmly. "He does not eve= n pretend to sing; he has too fine a taste; he does so for a living. And, believe me, neither of the men are humbugs. They are people with a mission - which they cannot carry out."<= o:p>
"Humbug or not," replied the other,
"you came very near passing the night in the fields; and, for my part,=
I
live in terror of starvation. I
should think it was a man's mission to think twice about his wife. But it appears not. Nothing is their mission but to pl=
ay the
fool. Oh!" she broke out,
"is it not something dreary to think of that man of mine? If he could only do it, who would =
care? But no - not he - no more than I
can!"
"Have you any children?" asked Elvir=
a.
"No; but then I may."
"Children change so much," said Elvi=
ra,
with a sigh.
And just then from the room below there flew u=
p a
sudden snapping chord on the guitar; one followed after another; then the v=
oice
of Leon joined in; and there was an air being played and sung that stopped =
the
speech of the two women. The =
wife
of the painter stood like a person transfixed; Elvira, looking into her eye=
s,
could see all manner of beautiful memories and kind thoughts that were pass=
ing
in and out of her soul with every note; it was a piece of her youth that we=
nt
before her; a green French plain, the smell of apple-flowers, the far and
shining ringlets of a river, and the words and presence of love.
"Leon has hit the nail," thought Elv=
ira
to herself. "I wonder ho=
w."
The how was plain enough. Leon had asked the painter if ther=
e were
no air connected with courtship and pleasant times; and having learnt what =
he
wished, and allowed an interval to pass, he had soared forth into
=
"O
mon amante, O mon desir, Sachons cueillir L'heure charmante!"
=
"Pardon
me, Madame," said the painter's wife, "your husband sings admirab=
ly
well."
"He sings that with some feeling,"
replied Elvira, critically, although she was a little moved herself, for the
song cut both ways in the upper chamber; "but it is as an actor and no=
t as
a musician."
"Life is very sad," said the other;
"it so wastes away under one's fingers."
"I have not found it so," replied
Elvira. "I think the good
parts of it last and grow greater every day."
"Frankly, how would you advise me?"<= o:p>
"Frankly, I would let my husband do what =
he
wished. He is obviously a very
loving painter; you have not yet tried him as a clerk. And you know - if it were only as =
the
possible father of your children - it is as well to keep him at his best.&q=
uot;
"He is an excellent fellow," said the
wife.
=
They
kept it up till sunrise with music and all manner of good fellowship; and at
sunrise, while the sky was still temperate and clear, they separated on the
threshold with a thousand excellent wishes for each other's welfare. Castel-le-Gachis was beginning to s=
end up
its smoke against the golden East; and the church bell was ringing six.
"My guitar is a familiar spirit," sa=
id
Leon, as he and Elvira took the nearest way towards the inn, "it
resuscitated a Commissary, created an English tourist, and reconciled a man=
and
wife."
Stubbs, on his part, went off into the morning
with reflections of his own.
"They are all mad," thought he,
"all mad - but wonderfully decent."