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diff --git a/1622.txt b/1622.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..092dfe9 --- /dev/null +++ b/1622.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15598 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Law and the Lady, by Wilkie Collins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Law and the Lady + +Author: Wilkie Collins + +Posting Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1622] +Release Date: February, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAW AND THE LADY *** + + + + +Produced by John Hamm, and James Rusk + + + + + +THE LAW AND THE LADY + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +NOTE: + +ADDRESSED TO THE READER. + +IN offering this book to you, I have no Preface to write. I have only +to request that you will bear in mind certain established truths, which +occasionally escape your memory when you are reading a work of fiction. +Be pleased, then, to remember (First): That the actions of human beings +are not invariably governed by the laws of pure reason. (Secondly): +That we are by no means always in the habit of bestowing our love on +the objects which are the most deserving of it, in the opinions of +our friends. (Thirdly and Lastly): That Characters which may not have +appeared, and Events which may not have taken place, within the limits +of our own individual experience, may nevertheless be perfectly natural +Characters and perfectly probable Events, for all that. Having said +these few words, I have said all that seems to be necessary at the +present time, in presenting my new Story to your notice. + +W. C. + +LONDON, February 1, 1875. + + + + +THE LAW AND THE LADY. + + + + +PART I. PARADISE LOST. + + + +CHAPTER I. THE BRIDE'S MISTAKE. + +"FOR after this manner in the old time the holy women also who trusted +in God adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands; +even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are +as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement." + +Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those +well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and looked at +me across the altar rails with a hearty expression of interest on his +broad, red face. At the same time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing +by my side, tapped me smartly on the shoulder, and said, + +"Valeria, you are married!" + +Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too +bewildered to know. I started and looked at my new husband. He seemed +to be almost as much bewildered as I was. The same thought had, as +I believe, occurred to us both at the same moment. Was it really +possible--in spite of his mother's opposition to our marriage--that we +were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the question by a second +tap on my shoulder. + +"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all +patience with me. + +I took his arm. + +"Follow your uncle." + +Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who +had assisted him at the marriage. + +The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the +dreary quarters of London, situated between the City and the West +End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a +melancholy little wedding party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood and +the dull day. No relatives or friends of my husband's were present; his +family, as I have already hinted, disapproved of his marriage. Except +my uncle and my aunt, no other relations appeared on my side. I had lost +both my parents, and I had but few friends. My dear father's faithful +old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to "give me away," as the +phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn position, he +was as good as a father to me. + +The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the +marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence of +any information to guide me) I committed a mistake--ominous, in my aunt +Starkweather's opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married instead of +my maiden name. + +"What!" cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriest tones, "you have +forgotten your own name already? Well, well! let us hope you will never +repent parting with it so readily. Try again, Valeria--try again." + +With trembling fingers I struck the pen through my first effort, and +wrote my maiden name, very badly indeed, as follows: + +Valeria Brinton + +When it came to my husband's turn I noticed, with surprise, that his +hand trembled too, and that he produced a very poor specimen of his +customary signature: + +Eustace Woodville + +My aunt, on being requested to sign, complied under protest. "A bad +beginning!" she said, pointing to my first unfortunate signature with +the feather end of her pen. "I hope, my dear, you may not live to regret +it." + +Even then, in the days of my ignorance and my innocence, that curious +outbreak of my aunt's superstition produced a certain uneasy sensation +in my mind. It was a consolation to me to feel the reassuring pressure +of my husband's hand. It was an indescribable relief to hear my uncle's +hearty voice wishing me a happy life at parting. The good man had left +his north-country Vicarage (my home since the death of my parents) +expressly to read the service at my marriage; and he and my aunt had +arranged to return by the mid-day train. He folded me in his great +strong arms, and he gave me a kiss which must certainly have been heard +by the idlers waiting for the bride and bridegroom outside the church +door. + +"I wish you health and happiness, my love, with all my heart. You are +old enough to choose for yourself, and--no offense, Mr. Woodville, you +and I are new friends--and I pray God, Valeria, it may turn out that +you have chosen well. Our house will be dreary enough without you; but +I don't complain, my dear. On the contrary, if this change in your life +makes you happier, I rejoice. Come, come! don't cry, or you will set +your aunt off--and it's no joke at her time of life. Besides, crying +will spoil your beauty. Dry your eyes and look in the glass there, and +you will see that I am right. Good-by, child--and God bless you!" + +He tucked my aunt under his arm, and hurried out. My heart sank a +little, dearly as I loved my husband, when I had seen the last of the +true friend and protector of my maiden days. + +The parting with old Benjamin came next. "I wish you well, my dear; +don't forget me," was all he said. But the old days at home came back +on me at those few words. Benjamin always dined with us on Sundays in my +father's time, and always brought some little present with him for his +master's child. I was very near to "spoiling my beauty" (as my uncle had +put it) when I offered the old man my cheek to kiss, and heard him sigh +to himself, as if he too were not quite hopeful about my future life. + +My husband's voice roused me, and turned my mind to happier thoughts. + +"Shall we go, Valeria?" he asked. + +I stopped him on our way out to take advantage of my uncle's advice; in +other words, to see how I looked in the glass over the vestry fireplace. + +What does the glass show me? + +The glass shows a tall and slender young woman of three-and-twenty years +of age. She is not at all the sort of person who attracts attention in +the street, seeing that she fails to exhibit the popular yellow hair and +the popular painted cheeks. Her hair is black; dressed, in these later +days (as it was dressed years since to please her father), in broad +ripples drawn back from the forehead, and gathered into a simple knot +behind (like the hair of the Venus de Medicis), so as to show the neck +beneath. Her complexion is pale: except in moments of violent agitation +there is no color to be seen in her face. Her eyes are of so dark a blue +that they are generally mistaken for black. Her eyebrows are well enough +in form, but they are too dark and too strongly marked. Her nose just +inclines toward the aquiline bend, and is considered a little too large +by persons difficult to please in the matter of noses. The mouth, her +best feature, is very delicately shaped, and is capable of presenting +great varieties of expression. As to the face in general, it is too +narrow and too long at the lower part, too broad and too low in the +higher regions of the eyes and the head. The whole picture, as reflected +in the glass, represents a woman of some elegance, rather too pale, and +rather too sedate and serious in her moments of silence and repose--in +short, a person who fails to strike the ordinary observer at first +sight, but who gains in general estimation on a second, and sometimes +on a third view. As for her dress, it studiously conceals, instead of +proclaiming, that she has been married that morning. She wears a gray +cashmere tunic trimmed with gray silk, and having a skirt of the +same material and color beneath it. On her head is a bonnet to match, +relieved by a quilling of white muslin with one deep red rose, as a +morsel of positive color, to complete the effect of the whole dress. + +Have I succeeded or failed in describing the picture of myself which I +see in the glass? It is not for me to say. I have done my best to keep +clear of the two vanities--the vanity of depreciating and the vanity of +praising my own personal appearance. For the rest, well written or badly +written, thank Heaven it is done! + +And whom do I see in the glass standing by my side? + +I see a man who is not quite so tall as I am, and who has the misfortune +of looking older than his years. His forehead is prematurely bald. +His big chestnut-colored beard and his long overhanging mustache are +prematurely streaked with gray. He has the color in the face which my +face wants, and the firmness in his figure which my figure wants. He +looks at me with the tenderest and gentlest eyes (of a light brown) that +I ever saw in the countenance of a man. His smile is rare and sweet; his +manner, perfectly quiet and retiring, has yet a latent persuasiveness in +it which is (to women) irresistibly winning. He just halts a little in +his walk, from the effect of an injury received in past years, when he +was a soldier serving in India, and he carries a thick bamboo cane, +with a curious crutch handle (an old favorite), to help himself along +whenever he gets on his feet, in doors or out. With this one little +drawback (if it is a drawback), there is nothing infirm or old or +awkward about him; his slight limp when he walks has (perhaps to my +partial eyes) a certain quaint grace of its own, which is pleasanter to +see than the unrestrained activity of other men. And last and best +of all, I love him! I love him! I love him! And there is an end of my +portrait of my husband on our wedding-day. + +The glass has told me all I want to know. We leave the vestry at last. + +The sky, cloudy since the morning, has darkened while we have been +in the church, and the rain is beginning to fall heavily. The idlers +outside stare at us grimly under their umbrellas as we pass through +their ranks and hasten into our carriage. No cheering; no sunshine; no +flowers strewn in our path; no grand breakfast; no genial speeches; no +bridesmaids; no fathers or mother's blessing. A dreary wedding--there +is no denying it--and (if Aunt Starkweather is right) a bad beginning as +well! + +A _coup_ has been reserved for us at the railway station. The attentive +porter, on the look-out for his fee pulls down the blinds over the side +windows of the carriage, and shuts out all prying eyes in that way. +After what seems to be an interminable delay the train starts. My +husband winds his arm round me. "At last!" he whispers, with love in +his eyes that no words can utter, and presses me to him gently. My arm +steals round his neck; my eyes answer his eyes. Our lips meet in the +first long, lingering kiss of our married life. + +Oh, what recollections of that journey rise in me as I write! Let me dry +my eyes, and shut up my paper for the day. + + + +CHAPTER II. THE BRIDE'S THOUGHTS. + +WE had been traveling for a little more than an hour when a change +passed insensibly over us both. + +Still sitting close together, with my hand in his, with my head on +his shoulder, little by little we fell insensibly into silence. Had we +already exhausted the narrow yet eloquent vocabulary of love? Or had we +determined by unexpressed consent, after enjoying the luxury of passion +that speaks, to try the deeper and finer rapture of passion that thinks? +I can hardly determine; I only know that a time came when, under some +strange influence, our lips were closed toward each other. We traveled +along, each of us absorbed in our own reverie. Was he thinking +exclusively of me--as I was thinking exclusively of him? Before the +journey's end I had my doubts; at a little later time I knew for certain +that his thoughts, wandering far away from his young wife, were all +turned inward on his own unhappy self. + +For me the secret pleasure of filling my mind with him, while I felt him +by my side, was a luxury in itself. + +I pictured in my thoughts our first meeting in the neighborhood of my +uncle's house. + +Our famous north-country trout stream wound its flashing and foaming way +through a ravine in the rocky moorland. It was a windy, shadowy evening. +A heavily clouded sunset lay low and red in the west. A solitary angler +stood casting his fly at a turn in the stream where the backwater lay +still and deep under an overhanging bank. A girl (myself) standing on +the bank, invisible to the fisherman beneath, waited eagerly to see the +trout rise. + +The moment came; the fish took the fly. + +Sometimes on the little level strip of sand at the foot of the bank, +sometimes (when the stream turned again) in the shallower water rushing +over its rocky bed, the angler followed the captured trout, now letting +the line run out and now winding it in again, in the difficult and +delicate process of "playing" the fish. Along the bank I followed to +watch the contest of skill and cunning between the man and the trout. +I had lived long enough with my uncle Starkweather to catch some of his +enthusiasm for field sports, and to learn something, especially, of the +angler's art. Still following the stranger, with my eyes intently fixed +on every movement of his rod and line, and with not so much as a chance +fragment of my attention to spare for the rough path along which I was +walking, I stepped by chance on the loose overhanging earth at the edge +of the bank, and fell into the stream in an instant. + +The distance was trifling, the water was shallow, the bed of the river +was (fortunately for me) of sand. Beyond the fright and the wetting I +had nothing to complain of. In a few moments I was out of the water and +up again, very much ashamed of myself, on the firm ground. Short as the +interval was, it proved long enough to favor the escape of the fish. The +angler had heard my first instinctive cry of alarm, had turned, and had +thrown aside his rod to help me. We confronted each other for the +first time, I on the bank and he in the shallow water below. Our eyes +encountered, and I verily believe our hearts encountered at the same +moment. This I know for certain, we forgot our breeding as lady and +gentleman: we looked at each other in barbarous silence. + +I was the first to recover myself. What did I say to him? + +I said something about my not being hurt, and then something more, +urging him to run back and try if he might not yet recover the fish. + +He went back unwillingly. He returned to me--of course without the fish. +Knowing how bitterly disappointed my uncle would have been in his place, +I apologized very earnestly. In my eagerness to make atonement, I even +offered to show him a spot where he might try again, lower down the +stream. + +He would not hear of it; he entreated me to go home and change my wet +dress. I cared nothing for the wetting, but I obeyed him without knowing +why. + +He walked with me. My way back to the Vicarage was his way back to the +inn. He had come to our parts, he told me, for the quiet and retirement +as much as for the fishing. He had noticed me once or twice from the +window of his room at the inn. He asked if I were not the vicar's +daughter. + +I set him right. I told him that the vicar had married my mother's +sister, and that the two had been father and mother to me since the +death of my parents. He asked if he might venture to call on Doctor +Starkweather the next day, mentioning the name of a friend of his, with +whom he believed the vicar to be acquainted. I invited him to visit us, +as if it had been my house; I was spell-bound under his eyes and under +his voice. I had fancied, honestly fancied, myself to have been in love +often and often before this time. Never in any other man's company had +I felt as I now felt in the presence of _this_ man. Night seemed to fall +suddenly over the evening landscape when he left me. I leaned against +the Vicarage gate. I could not breathe, I could not think; my heart +fluttered as if it would fly out of my bosom--and all this for a +stranger! I burned with shame; but oh, in spite of it all, I was so +happy! + +And now, when little more than a few weeks had passed since that first +meeting, I had him by my side; he was mine for life! I lifted my head +from his bosom to look at him. I was like a child with a new toy--I +wanted to make sure that he was really my own. + +He never noticed the action; he never moved in his corner of the +carriage. Was he deep in his own thoughts? and were they thoughts of Me? + +I laid down my head again softly, so as not to disturb him. My thoughts +wandered backward once more, and showed me another picture in the golden +gallery of the past. + +The garden at the Vicarage formed the new scene. The time was night. We +had met together in secret. We were walking slowly to and fro, out of +sight of the house, now in the shadowy paths of the shrubbery, now in +the lovely moonlight on the open lawn. + +We had long since owned our love and devoted our lives to each other. +Already our interests were one; already we shared the pleasures and the +pains of life. I had gone out to meet him that night with a heavy heart, +to seek comfort in his presence and to find encouragement in his voice. +He noticed that I sighed when he first took me in his arms, and he +gently turned my head toward the moonlight to read my trouble in my +face. How often he had read my happiness there in the earlier days of +our love! + +"You bring bad news, my angel," he said, lifting my hair tenderly from +my forehead as he spoke. "I see the lines here which tell me of anxiety +and distress. I almost wish I loved you less dearly, Valeria." + +"Why?" + +"I might give you back your freedom. I have only to leave this place, +and your uncle would be satisfied, and you would be relieved from all +the cares that are pressing on you now." + +"Don't speak of it, Eustace! If you want me to forget my cares, say you +love me more dearly than ever." + +He said it in a kiss. We had a moment of exquisite forgetfulness of the +hard ways of life--a moment of delicious absorption in each other. I +came back to realities fortified and composed, rewarded for all that +I had gone through, ready to go through it all over again for another +kiss. Only give a woman love, and there is nothing she will not venture, +suffer, and do. + +"No, they have done with objecting. They have remembered at last that +I am of age, and that I can choose for myself. They have been pleading +with me, Eustace, to give you up. My aunt, whom I thought rather a hard +woman, has been crying--for the first time in my experience of her. My +uncle, always kind and good to me, has been kinder and better than ever. +He has told me that if I persist in becoming your wife, I shall not be +deserted on my wedding-day. Wherever we may marry, he will be there +to read the service, and my aunt will go to the church with me. But +he entreats me to consider seriously what I am doing--to consent to a +separation from you for a time--to consult other people on my position +toward you, if I am not satisfied with his opinion. Oh, my darling, they +are as anxious to part us as if you were the worst instead of the best +of men!" + +"Has anything happened since yesterday to increase their distrust of +me?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"You remember referring my uncle to a friend of yours and of his?" + +"Yes. To Major Fitz-David." + +"My uncle has written to Major Fitz-David." + +"Why?" + +He pronounced that one word in a tone so utterly unlike his natural tone +that his voice sounded quite strange to me. + +"You won't be angry, Eustace, if I tell you?" I said. "My uncle, as I +understood him, had several motives for writing to the major. One of +them was to inquire if he knew your mother's address." + +Eustace suddenly stood still. + +I paused at the same moment, feeling that I could venture no further +without the risk of offending him. + +To speak the truth, his conduct, when he first mentioned our engagement +to my uncle, had been (so far as appearances went) a little flighty and +strange. The vicar had naturally questioned him about his family. He had +answered that his father was dead; and he had consented, though not very +readily, to announce his contemplated marriage to his mother. Informing +us that she too lived in the country, he had gone to see her, without +more particularly mentioning her address. In two days he had returned +to the Vicarage with a very startling message. His mother intended no +disrespect to me or my relatives, but she disapproved so absolutely +of her son's marriage that she (and the members of her family, who all +agreed with her) would refuse to be present at the ceremony, if Mr. +Woodville persisted in keeping his engagement with Dr. Starkweather's +niece. Being asked to explain this extraordinary communication, Eustace +had told us that his mother and his sisters were bent on his marrying +another lady, and that they were bitterly mortified and disappointed by +his choosing a stranger to the family. This explanation was enough for +me; it implied, so far as I was concerned, a compliment to my superior +influence over Eustace, which a woman always receives with pleasure. But +it failed to satisfy my uncle and my aunt. The vicar expressed to Mr. +Woodville a wish to write to his mother, or to see her, on the subject +of her strange message. Eustace obstinately declined to mention his +mother's address, on the ground that the vicar's interference would be +utterly useless. My uncle at once drew the conclusion that the mystery +about the address indicated something wrong. He refused to favor Mr. +Woodville's renewed proposal for my hand, and he wrote the same day to +make inquiries of Mr. Woodville's reference and of his own friend Major +Fitz-David. + +Under such circumstances as these, to speak of my uncle's motives was +to venture on very delicate ground. Eustace relieved me from further +embarrassment by asking a question to which I could easily reply. + +"Has your uncle received any answer from Major Fitz-David?" he inquired. + +"Yes. + +"Were you allowed to read it?" His voice sank as he said those words; +his face betrayed a sudden anxiety which it pained me to see. + +"I have got the answer with me to show you," I said. + +He almost snatched the letter out of my hand; he turned his back on me +to read it by the light of the moon. The letter was short enough to be +soon read. I could have repeated it at the time. I can repeat it now. + +"DEAR VICAR--Mr. Eustace Woodville is quite correct in stating to you +that he is a gentleman by birth and position, and that he inherits +(under his deceased father's will) an independent fortune of two +thousand a year. + + "Always yours, + + "LAWRENCE FITZ-DAVID." + +"Can anybody wish for a plainer answer than that?" Eustace asked, +handing the letter back to me. + +"If _I_ had written for information about you," I answered, "it would +have been plain enough for me." + +"Is it not plain enough for your uncle?" + +"No." + +"What does he say?" + +"Why need you care to know, my darling?" + +"I want to know, Valeria. There must be no secret between us in this +matter. Did your uncle say anything when he showed you the major's +letter?" + +"Yes." + +"What was it?" + +"My uncle told me that his letter of inquiry filled three pages, and he +bade me observe that the major's answer contained one sentence only. He +said, 'I volunteered to go to Major Fitz-David and talk the matter over. +You see he takes no notice of my proposal. I asked him for the address +of Mr. Woodville's mother. He passes over my request, as he has passed +over my proposal--he studiously confines himself to the shortest +possible statement of bare facts. Use your common-sense, Valeria. Isn't +this rudeness rather remarkable on the part of a man who is a gentleman +by birth and breeding, and who is also a friend of mine?'" + +Eustace stopped me there. + +"Did you answer your uncle's question?" he asked. + +"No," I replied. "I only said that I did not understand the major's +conduct." + +"And what did your uncle say next? If you love me, Valeria, tell me the +truth." + +"He used very strong language, Eustace. He is an old man; you must not +be offended with him." + +"I am not offended. What did he say?" + +"He said, 'Mark my words! There is something under the surface in +connection with Mr. Woodville, or with his family, to which Major +Fitz-David is not at liberty to allude. Properly interpreted, Valeria, +that letter is a warning. Show it to Mr. Woodville, and tell him (if you +like) what I have just told you--'" + +Eustace stopped me again. + +"You are sure your uncle said those words?" he asked, scanning my face +attentively in the moonlight. + +"Quite sure. But I don't say what my uncle says. Pray don't think that!" + +He suddenly pressed me to his bosom, and fixed his eyes on mine. His +look frightened me. + +"Good-by, Valeria!" he said. "Try and think kindly of me, my darling, +when you are married to some happier man." + +He attempted to leave me. I clung to him in an agony of terror that +shook me from head to foot. + +"What do you mean?" I asked, as soon as I could speak. "I am yours +and yours only. What have I said, what have I done, to deserve those +dreadful words?" + +"We must part, my angel," he answered, sadly. "The fault is none of +yours; the misfortune is all mine. My Valeria! how can you marry a man +who is an object of suspicion to your nearest and dearest friends? +I have led a dreary life. I have never found in any other woman the +sympathy with me, the sweet comfort and companionship, that I find +in you. Oh, it is hard to lose you! it is hard to go back again to my +unfriended life! I must make the sacrifice, love, for your sake. I +know no more why that letter is what it is than you do. Will your +uncle believe me? will your friends believe me? One last kiss, Valeria! +Forgive me for having loved you--passionately, devotedly loved you. +Forgive me--and let me go!" + +I held him desperately, recklessly. His eyes, put me beside myself; his +words filled me with a frenzy of despair. + +"Go where you may," I said, "I go with you! Friends--reputation--I +care nothing who I lose, or what I lose! Oh, Eustace, I am only a +woman--don't madden me! I can't live without you. I must and will be +your wife!" + +Those wild words were all I could say before the misery and madness in +me forced their way outward in a burst of sobs and tears. + +He yielded. He soothed me with his charming voice; he brought me back to +myself with his tender caresses. He called the bright heaven above us +to witness that he devoted his whole life to me. He vowed--oh, in such +solemn, such eloquent words!--that his one thought, night and day, +should be to prove himself worthy of such love as mine. And had he not +nobly redeemed the pledge? Had not the betrothal of that memorable night +been followed by the betrothal at the altar, by the vows before God! Ah, +what a life was before me! What more than mortal happiness was mine! + +Again I lifted my head from his bosom to taste the dear delight of +seeing him by my side--my life, my love, my husband, my own! + +Hardly awakened yet from the absorbing memories of the past to the sweet +realities of the present, I let my cheek touch his cheek, I whispered to +him softly, "Oh, how I love you! how I love you!" + +The next instant I started back from him. My heart stood still. I put +my hand up to my face. What did I feel on my cheek? (_I_ had not been +weeping--I was too happy.) What did I feel on my cheek? A tear! + +His face was still averted from me. I turned it toward me, with my own +hands, by main force. + +I looked at him--and saw my husband, on our wedding-day, with his eyes +full of tears. + + + +CHAPTER III. RAMSGATE SANDS. + +EUSTACE succeeded in quieting my alarm. But I can hardly say that he +succeeded in satisfying my mind as well. + +He had been thinking, he told me, of the contrast between his past and +his present life. Bitter remembrance of the years that had gone had +risen in his memory, and had filled him with melancholy misgivings of +his capacity to make my life with him a happy one. He had asked himself +if he had not met me too late--if he were not already a man soured and +broken by the disappointments and disenchantments of the past? Doubts +such as these, weighing more and more heavily on his mind, had filled +his eyes with the tears which I had discovered--tears which he now +entreated me, by my love for him, to dismiss from my memory forever. + +I forgave him, comforted him, revived him; but there were moments when +the remembrance of what I had seen troubled me in secret, and when I +asked myself if I really possessed my husband's full confidence as he +possessed mine. + +We left the train at Ramsgate. + +The favorite watering-place was empty; the season was just over. Our +arrangements for the wedding tour included a cruise to the Mediterranean +in a yacht lent to Eustace by a friend. We were both fond of the sea, +and we were equally desirous, considering the circumstances under which +we had married, of escaping the notice of friends and acquaintances. +With this object in view, having celebrated our marriage privately in +London, we had decided on instructing the sailing-master of the yacht to +join us at Ramsgate. At this port (when the season for visitors was at +an end) we could embark far more privately than at the popular yachting +stations situated in the Isle of Wight. + +Three days passed--days of delicious solitude, of exquisite happiness, +never to be forgotten, never to be lived over again, to the end of our +lives! + +Early on the morning of the fourth day, just before sunrise, a trifling +incident happened, which was noticeable, nevertheless, as being strange +to me in my experience of myself. + +I awoke, suddenly and unaccountably, from a deep and dreamless sleep +with an all-pervading sensation of nervous uneasiness which I had never +felt before. In the old days at the Vicarage my capacity as a sound +sleeper had been the subject of many a little harmless joke. From the +moment when my head was on the pillow I had never known what it was to +awake until the maid knocked at my door. At all seasons and times the +long and uninterrupted repose of a child was the repose that I enjoyed. + +And now I had awakened, without any assignable cause, hours before my +usual time. I tried to compose myself to sleep again. The effort was +useless. Such a restlessness possessed me that I was not even able to +lie still in the bed. My husband was sleeping soundly by my side. In the +fear of disturbing him I rose, and put on my dressing-gown and slippers. + +I went to the window. The sun was just rising over the calm gray sea. +For a while the majestic spectacle before me exercised a tranquilizing +influence on the irritable condition of my nerves. But ere long the old +restlessness returned upon me. I walked slowly to and fro in the room, +until I was weary of the monotony of the exercise. I took up a book, and +laid it aside again. My attention wandered; the author was powerless +to recall it. I got on my feet once more, and looked at Eustace, and +admired him and loved him in his tranquil sleep. I went back to the +window, and wearied of the beautiful morning. I sat down before the +glass and looked at myself. How haggard and worn I was already, through +awaking before my usual time! I rose again, not knowing what to do next. +The confinement to the four walls of the room began to be intolerable +to me. I opened the door that led into my husband's dressing-room, and +entered it, to try if the change would relieve me. + +The first object that I noticed was his dressing-case, open on the +toilet-table. + +I took out the bottles and pots and brushes and combs, the knives and +scissors in one compartment, the writing materials in another. I smelled +the perfumes and pomatums; I busily cleaned and dusted the bottles +with my handkerchief as I took them out. Little by little I completely +emptied the dressing-case. It was lined with blue velvet. In one corner +I noticed a tiny slip of loose blue silk. Taking it between my finger +and thumb, and drawing it upward, I discovered that there was a false +bottom to the case, forming a secret compartment for letters and papers. +In my strange condition--capricious, idle, inquisitive--it was an +amusement to me to take out the papers, just as I had taken out +everything else. + +I found some receipted bills, which failed to interest me; some letters, +which it is needless to say I laid aside after only looking at the +addresses; and, under all, a photograph, face downward, with writing on +the back of it. I looked at the writing, and saw these words: + +"To my dear son, Eustace." + +His mother! the woman who had so obstinately and mercilessly opposed +herself to our marriage! + +I eagerly turned the photograph, expecting to see a woman with a stern, +ill-tempered, forbidding countenance. To my surprise, the face showed +the remains of great beauty; the expression, though remarkably firm, +was yet winning, tender, and kind. The gray hair was arranged in rows +of little quaint old-fashioned curls on either side of the head, under a +plain lace cap. At one corner of the mouth there was a mark, apparently +a mole, which added to the characteristic peculiarity of the face. +I looked and looked, fixing the portrait thoroughly in my mind. This +woman, who had almost insulted me and my relatives, was, beyond all +doubt or dispute, so far as appearances went, a person possessing +unusual attractions--a person whom it would be a pleasure and a +privilege to know. + +I fell into deep thought. The discovery of the photograph quieted me as +nothing had quieted me yet. + +The striking of a clock downstairs in the hall warned me of the flight +of time. I carefully put back all the objects in the dressing-case +(beginning with the photograph) exactly as I had found them, and +returned to the bedroom. As I looked at my husband, still sleeping +peacefully, the question forced itself into my mind, What had made that +genial, gentle mother of his so sternly bent on parting us? so harshly +and pitilessly resolute in asserting her disapproval of our marriage? + +Could I put my question openly to Eustace when he awoke? No; I was +afraid to venture that length. It had been tacitly understood between us +that we were not to speak of his mother--and, besides, he might be +angry if he knew that I had opened the private compartment of his +dressing-case. + +After breakfast that morning we had news at last of the yacht. The +vessel was safely moored in the inner harbor, and the sailing-master was +waiting to receive my husband's orders on board. + +Eustace hesitated at asking me to accompany him to the yacht. It would +be necessary for him to examine the inventory of the vessel, and to +decide questions, not very interesting to a woman, relating to charts +and barometers, provisions and water. He asked me if I would wait for +his return. The day was enticingly beautiful, and the tide was on +the ebb. I pleaded for a walk on the sands; and the landlady at our +lodgings, who happened to be in the room at the time, volunteered to +accompany me and take care of me. It was agreed that we should walk +as far as we felt inclined in the direction of Broadstairs, and that +Eustace should follow and meet us on the sands, after having completed +his arrangements on board the yacht. + +In half an hour more the landlady and I were out on the beach. + +The scene on that fine autumn morning was nothing less than enchanting. +The brisk breeze, the brilliant sky, the flashing blue sea, the +sun-bright cliffs and the tawny sands at their feet, the gliding +procession of ships on the great marine highway of the English +Channel--it was all so exhilarating, it was all so delightful, that I +really believe if I had been by myself I could have danced for joy like +a child. The one drawback to my happiness was the landlady's untiring +tongue. She was a forward, good-natured, empty-headed woman, who +persisted in talking, whether I listened or not, and who had a habit of +perpetually addressing me as "Mrs. Woodville," which I thought a little +overfamiliar as an assertion of equality from a person in her position +to a person in mine. + +We had been out, I should think, more than half an hour, when we +overtook a lady walking before us on the beach. + +Just as we were about to pass the stranger she took her handkerchief +from her pocket, and accidentally drew out with it a letter, which fell +unnoticed by her, on the sand. I was nearest to the letter, and I picked +it up and offered it to the lady. + +The instant she turned to thank me, I stood rooted to the spot. There +was the original of the photographic portrait in the dressing-case! +there was my husband's mother, standing face to face with me! I +recognized the quaint little gray curls, the gentle, genial expression, +the mole at the corner of the mouth. No mistake was possible. His mother +herself! + +The old lady, naturally enough, mistook my confusion for shyness. With +perfect tact and kindness she entered into conversation with me. In +another minute I was walking side by side with the woman who had sternly +repudiated me as a member of her family; feeling, I own, terribly +discomposed, and not knowing in the least whether I ought or ought not +to assume the responsibility, in my husband's absence, of telling her +who I was. + +In another minute my familiar landlady, walking on the other side of +my mother-in-law, decided the question for me. I happened to say that +I supposed we must by that time be near the end of our walk--the little +watering-place called Broadstairs. "Oh no, Mrs. Woodville!" cried the +irrepressible woman, calling me by my name, as usual; "nothing like so +near as you think!" + +I looked with a beating heart at the old lady. + +To my unutterable amazement, not the faintest gleam of recognition +appeared in her face. Old Mrs. Woodville went on talking to young Mrs. +Woodville just as composedly as if she had never heard her own name +before in her life! + +My face and manner must have betrayed something of the agitation that I +was suffering. Happening to look at me at the end of her next sentence, +the old lady started, and said, in her kindly way, + +"I am afraid you have overexerted yourself. You are very pale--you are +looking quite exhausted. Come and sit down here; let me lend you my +smelling-bottle." + +I followed her, quite helplessly, to the base of the cliff. Some fallen +fragments of chalk offered us a seat. I vaguely heard the voluble +landlady's expressions of sympathy and regret; I mechanically took the +smelling-bottle which my husband's mother offered to me, after hearing +my name, as an act of kindness to a stranger. + +If I had only had myself to think of, I believe I should have provoked +an explanation on the spot. But I had Eustace to think of. I was +entirely ignorant of the relations, hostile or friendly, which existed +between his mother and himself. What could I do? + +In the meantime the old lady was still speaking to me with the most +considerate sympathy. She too was fatigued, she said. She had passed a +weary night at the bedside of a near relative staying at Ramsgate. Only +the day before she had received a telegram announcing that one of her +sisters was seriously ill. She was herself thank God, still active and +strong, and she had thought it her duty to start at once for Ramsgate. +Toward the morning the state of the patient had improved. "The doctor +assures me ma'am, that there is no immediate danger; and I thought it +might revive me, after my long night at the bedside, if I took a little +walk on the beach." + +I heard the words--I understood what they meant--but I was still too +bewildered and too intimidated by my extraordinary position to be able +to continue the conversation. The landlady had a sensible suggestion to +make--the landlady was the next person who spoke. + +"Here is a gentleman coming," she said to me, pointing in the direction +of Ramsgate. "You can never walk back. Shall we ask him to send a chaise +from Broadstairs to the gap in the cliff?" + +The gentleman advanced a little nearer. + +The landlady and I recognized him at the same moment. It was Eustace +coming to meet us, as we had arranged. The irrepressible landlady gave +the freest expression to her feelings. "Oh, Mrs. Woodville, ain't it +lucky? here is Mr. Woodville himself." + +Once more I looked at my mother-in-law. Once more the name failed to +produce the slightest effect on her. Her sight was not so keen as ours; +she had not recognized her son yet. He had young eyes like us, and +he recognized his mother. For a moment he stopped like a man +thunderstruck. Then he came on--his ruddy face white with suppressed +emotion, his eyes fixed on his mother. + +"You here!" he said to her. + +"How do you do, Eustace?" she quietly rejoined. "Have _you_ heard of +your aunt's illness too? Did you know she was staying at Ramsgate?" + +He made no answer. The landlady, drawing the inevitable inference from +the words that she had just heard, looked from me to my mother-in-law in +a state of amazement, which paralyzed even her tongue. I waited with +my eyes on my husband, to see what he would do. If he had delayed +acknowledging me another moment, the whole future course of my life +might have been altered--I should have despised him. + +He did _not_ delay. He came to my side and took my hand. + +"Do you know who this is?" he said to his mother. + +She answered, looking at me with a courteous bend of her head: + +"A lady I met on the beach, Eustace, who kindly restored to me a letter +that I dropped. I think I heard the name" (she turned to the landlady): +"Mrs. Woodville, was it not?" + +My husband's fingers unconsciously closed on my hand with a grasp that +hurt me. He set his mother right, it is only just to say, without one +cowardly moment of hesitation. + +"Mother," he said to her, very quietly, "this lady is my wife." + +She had hitherto kept her seat. She now rose slowly and faced her son in +silence. The first expression of surprise passed from her face. It was +succeeded by the most terrible look of mingled indignation and contempt +that I ever saw in a woman's eyes. + +"I pity your wife," she said. + +With those words and no more, lifting her hand she waved him back from +her, and went on her way again, as we had first found her, alone. + + + +CHAPTER IV. ON THE WAY HOME. + +LEFT by ourselves, there was a moment of silence among us. Eustace spoke +first. + +"Are you able to walk back?" he said to me. "Or shall we go on to +Broadstairs, and return to Ramsgate by the railway?" + +He put those questions as composedly, so far as his manner was +concerned, as if nothing remarkable had happened. But his eyes and his +lips betrayed him. They told me that he was suffering keenly in secret. +The extraordinary scene that had just passed, far from depriving me of +the last remains of my courage, had strung up my nerves and restored +my self-possession. I must have been more or less than woman if my +self-respect had not been wounded, if my curiosity had not been wrought +to the highest pitch, by the extraordinary conduct of my husband's +mother when Eustace presented me to her. What was the secret of +her despising him, and pitying me? Where was the explanation of her +incomprehensible apathy when my name was twice pronounced in her +hearing? Why had she left us, as if the bare idea of remaining in our +company was abhorrent to her? The foremost interest of my life was now +the interest of penetrating these mysteries. Walk? I was in such a fever +of expectation that I felt as if I could have walked to the world's end, +if I could only keep my husband by my side, and question him on the way. + +"I am quite recovered," I said. "Let us go back, as we came, on foot." + +Eustace glanced at the landlady. The landlady understood him. + +"I won't intrude my company on you, sir," she said, sharply. "I have +some business to do at Broadstairs, and, now I am so near, I may as well +go on. Good-morning, Mrs. Woodville." + +She laid a marked emphasis on my name, and she added one significant +look at parting, which (in the preoccupied state of my mind at that +moment) I entirely failed to comprehend. There was neither time +nor opportunity to ask her what she meant. With a stiff little bow, +addressed to Eustace, she left us as his mother had left us taking the +way to Broadstairs, and walking rapidly. + +At last we were alone. + +I lost no time in beginning my inquiries; I wasted no words in prefatory +phrases. In the plainest terms I put the question to him: + +"What does your mother's conduct mean?" + +Instead of answering, he burst into a fit of laughter--loud, coarse, +hard laughter, so utterly unlike any sound I had ever yet heard issue +from his lips, so strangely and shockingly foreign to his character +as _I_ understood it, that I stood still on the sands and openly +remonstrated with him. + +"Eustace! you are not like yourself," I said. "You almost frighten me." + +He took no notice. He seemed to be pursuing some pleasant train of +thought just started in his mind. + +"So like my mother!" he exclaimed, with the air of a man who felt +irresistibly diverted by some humorous idea of his own. "Tell me all +about it, Valeria!" + +"Tell _you_!" I repeated. "After what has happened, surely it is your +duty to enlighten _me_." + +"You don't see the joke," he said. + +"I not only fail to see the joke," I rejoined, "I see something in +your mother's language and your mother's behavior which justifies me in +asking you for a serious explanation." + +"My dear Valeria, if you understood my mother as well as I do, a serious +explanation of her conduct would be the last thing in the world that you +would expect from me. The idea of taking my mother seriously!" He burst +out laughing again. "My darling, you don't know how you amuse me." + +It was all forced: it was all unnatural. He, the most delicate, the most +refined of men--a gentleman in the highest sense of the word--was coarse +and loud and vulgar! My heart sank under a sudden sense of misgiving +which, with all my love for him, it was impossible to resist. In +unutterable distress and alarm I asked myself, "Is my husband beginning +to deceive me? is he acting a part, and acting it badly, before we have +been married a week?" I set myself to win his confidence in a new way. +He was evidently determined to force his own point of view on me. I +determined, on my side, to accept his point of view. + +"You tell me I don't understand your mother," I said, gently. "Will you +help me to understand her?" + +"It is not easy to help you to understand a woman who doesn't understand +herself," he answered. "But I will try. The key to my poor dear mother's +character is, in one word--Eccentricity." + +If he had picked out the most inappropriate word in the whole dictionary +to describe the lady whom I had met on the beach, "Eccentricity" would +have been that word. A child who had seen what I saw, who had heard what +I heard would have discovered that he was trifling--grossly, recklessly +trifling--with the truth. + +"Bear in mind what I have said," he proceeded; "and if you want to +understand my mother, do what I asked you to do a minute since--tell me +all about it. How came you to speak to her, to begin with?" + +"Your mother told you, Eustace. I was walking just behind her, when she +dropped a letter by accident--" + +"No accident," he interposed. "The letter was dropped on purpose." + +"Impossible!" I exclaimed. "Why should your mother drop the letter on +purpose?" + +"Use the key to her character, my dear. Eccentricity! My mother's odd +way of making acquaintance with you." + +"Making acquaintance with me? I have just told you that I was walking +behind her. She could not have known of the existence of such a person +as myself until I spoke to her first." + +"So you suppose, Valeria." + +"I am certain of it." + +"Pardon me--you don't know my mother as I do." + +I began to lose all patience with him. + +"Do you mean to tell me," I said, "that your mother was out on the sands +to-day for the express purpose of making acquaintance with Me?" + +"I have not the slightest doubt of it," he answered, coolly. + +"Why, she didn't even recognize my name!" I burst out. "Twice over the +landlady called me Mrs. Woodville in your mother's hearing, and twice +over, I declare to you on my word of honor, it failed to produce the +slightest impression on her. She looked and acted as if she had never +heard her own name before in her life." + +"'Acted' is the right word," he said, just as composedly as before. +"The women on the stage are not the only women who can act. My mother's +object was to make herself thoroughly acquainted with you, and to throw +you off your guard by speaking in the character of a stranger. It is +exactly like her to take that roundabout way of satisfying her curiosity +about a daughter-in-law she disapproves of. If I had not joined you when +I did, you would have been examined and cross-examined about yourself +and about me, and you would innocently have answered under the +impression that you were speaking to a chance acquaintance. There is my +mother all over! She is your enemy, remember--not your friend. She is +not in search of your merits, but of your faults. And you wonder why +no impression was produced on her when she heard you addressed by your +name! Poor innocent! I can tell you this--you only discovered my +mother in her own character when I put an end to the mystification by +presenting you to each other. You saw how angry she was, and now you +know why." + +I let him go on without saying a word. I listened--oh! with such a heavy +heart, with such a crushing sense of disenchantment and despair! The +idol of my worship, the companion, guide, protector of my life--had he +fallen so low? could he stoop to such shameless prevarication as this? + +Was there one word of truth in all that he had said to me? Yes! If I +had not discovered his mother's portrait, it was certainly true that I +should not have known, not even have vaguely suspected, who she really +was. Apart from this, the rest was lying, clumsy lying, which said one +thing at least for him, that he was not accustomed to falsehood and +deceit. Good Heavens! if my husband was to be believed, his mother must +have tracked us to London, tracked us to the church, tracked us to the +railway station, tracked us to Ramsgate! To assert that she knew me by +sight as the wife of Eustace, and that she had waited on the sands and +dropped her letter for the express purpose of making acquaintance with +me, was also to assert every one of these monstrous probabilities to be +facts that had actually happened! + +I could say no more. I walked by his side in silence, feeling the +miserable conviction that there was an abyss in the shape of a family +secret between my husband and me. In the spirit, if not in the body, we +were separated, after a married life of barely four days. + +"Valeria," he asked, "have you nothing to say to me?" + +"Nothing." + +"Are you not satisfied with my explanation?" + +I detected a slight tremor in his voice as he put that question. The +tone was, for the first time since we had spoken together, a tone that +my experience associated with him in certain moods of his which I had +already learned to know well. Among the hundred thousand mysterious +influences which a man exercises over a woman who loves him, I doubt if +there is any more irresistible to her than the influence of his voice. I +am not one of those women who shed tears on the smallest provocation: +it is not in my temperament, I suppose. But when I heard that little +natural change in his tone my mind went back (I can't say why) to the +happy day when I first owned that I loved him. I burst out crying. + +He suddenly stood still, and took me by the hand. He tried to look at +me. + +I kept my head down and my eyes on the ground. I was ashamed of my +weakness and my want of spirit. I was determined not to look at him. + +In the silence that followed he suddenly dropped on his knees at my +feet, with a cry of despair that cut through me like a knife. + +"Valeria! I am vile--I am false--I am unworthy of you. Don't believe +a word of what I have been saying--lies, lies, cowardly, contemptible +lies! You don't know what I have gone through; you don't know how I have +been tortured. Oh, my darling, try not to despise me! I must have been +beside myself when I spoke to you as I did. You looked hurt; you +looked offended; I didn't know what to do. I wanted to spare you even a +moment's pain--I wanted to hush it up, and have done with it. For +God's sake don't ask me to tell you any more! My love! my angel! it's +something between my mother and me; it's nothing that need disturb you; +it's nothing to anybody now. I love you, I adore you; my whole heart and +soul are yours. Be satisfied with that. Forget what has happened. You +shall never see my mother again. We will leave this place to-morrow. We +will go away in the yacht. Does it matter where we live, so long as we +live for each other? Forgive and forget! Oh, Valeria, Valeria, forgive +and forget!" + +Unutterable misery was in his face; unutterable misery was in his voice. +Remember this. And remember that I loved him. + +"It is easy to forgive," I said, sadly. "For your sake, Eustace, I will +try to forget." + +I raised him gently as I spoke. He kissed my hands with the air of a +man who was too humble to venture on any more familiar expression of his +gratitude than that. The sense of embarrassment between us as we slowly +walked on again was so unendurable that I actually cast about in my +mind for a subject of conversation, as if I had been in the company of a +stranger! In mercy to _him_, I asked him to tell me about the yacht. + +He seized on the subject as a drowning man seizes on the hand that +rescues him. + +On that one poor little topic of the yacht he talked, talked, talked, +as if his life depended upon his not being silent for an instant on +the rest of the way back. To me it was dreadful to hear him. I could +estimate what he was suffering by the violence which he--ordinarily a +silent and thoughtful man--was now doing to his true nature, and to +the prejudices and habits of his life. With the greatest difficulty I +preserved my self-control until we reached the door of our lodgings. +There I was obliged to plead fatigue, and ask him to let me rest for a +little while in the solitude of my own room. + +"Shall we sail to-morrow?" he called after me suddenly, as I ascended +the stairs. + +Sail with him to the Mediterranean the next day? Pass weeks and weeks +absolutely alone with him, in the narrow limits of a vessel, with his +horrible secret parting us in sympathy further and further from each +other day by day? I shuddered at the thought of it. + +"To-morrow is rather a short notice," I said. "Will you give me a little +longer time to prepare for the voyage?" + +"Oh yes--take any time you like," he answered, not (as I thought) very +willingly. "While you are resting--there are still one or two little +things to be settled--I think I will go back to the yacht. Is there +anything I can do for you, Valeria, before I go?" + +"Nothing--thank you, Eustace." + +He hastened away to the harbor. Was he afraid of his own thoughts, if he +were left by himself in the house. Was the company of the sailing-master +and the steward better than no company at all? + +It was useless to ask. What did I know about him or his thoughts? I +locked myself into my room. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE LANDLADY'S DISCOVERY. + +I SAT down, and tried to compose my spirits. Now or never was the time +to decide what it was my duty to my husband and my duty to myself to do +next. + +The effort was beyond me. Worn out in mind and body alike, I was +perfectly incapable of pursuing any regular train of thought. I vaguely +felt--if I left things as they were--that I could never hope to remove +the shadow which now rested on the married life that had begun so +brightly. We might live together, so as to save appearances. But to +forget what had happened, or to feel satisfied with my position, was +beyond the power of my will. My tranquillity as a woman--perhaps my +dearest interests as a wife--depended absolutely on penetrating the +mystery of my mother-in-law's conduct, and on discovering the true +meaning of the wild words of penitence and self-reproach which my +husband had addressed to me on our way home. + +So far I could advance toward realizing my position--and no further. +When I asked myself what was to be done next, hopeless confusion, +maddening doubt, filled my mind, and transformed me into the most +listless and helpless of living women. + +I gave up the struggle. In dull, stupid, obstinate despair, I threw +myself on my bed, and fell from sheer fatigue into a broken, uneasy +sleep. + +I was awakened by a knock at the door of my room. + +Was it my husband? I started to my feet as the idea occurred to me. Was +some new trial of my patience and my fortitude at hand? Half nervously, +half irritably, I asked who was there. + +The landlady's voice answered me. + +"Can I speak to you for a moment, if you please?" + +I opened the door. There is no disguising it--though I loved him so +dearly, though I had left home and friends for his sake--it was a relief +to me, at that miserable time, to know that Eustace had not returned to +the house. + +The landlady came in, and took a seat, without waiting to be invited, +close by my side. She was no longer satisfied with merely asserting +herself as my equal. Ascending another step on the social ladder, she +took her stand on the platform of patronage, and charitably looked down +on me as an object of pity. + +"I have just returned from Broadstairs," she began. "I hope you will do +me the justice to believe that I sincerely regret what has happened." + +I bowed, and said nothing. + +"As a gentlewoman myself," proceeded the landlady--"reduced by family +misfortunes to let lodgings, but still a gentlewoman--I feel sincere +sympathy with you. I will even go further than that. I will take it on +myself to say that I don't blame _you_. No, no. I noticed that you were +as much shocked and surprised at your mother-in-law's conduct as I was; +and that is saying a great deal--a great deal indeed. However, I have +a duty to perform. It is disagreeable, but it is not the less a duty +on that account. I am a single woman; not from want of opportunities of +changing my condition--I beg you will understand that--but from choice. +Situated as I am, I receive only the most respectable persons into my +house. There must be no mystery about the positions of _my_ lodgers. +Mystery in the position of a lodger carries with it--what shall I say? I +don't wish to offend you--I will say, a certain Taint. Very well. Now I +put it to your own common-sense. Can a person in my position be expected +to expose herself to--Taint? I make these remarks in a sisterly and +Christian spirit. As a lady yourself--I will even go the length of +saying a cruelly used lady--you will, I am sure, understand--" + +I could endure it no longer. I stopped her there. + +"I understand," I said, "that you wish to give us notice to quit your +lodgings. When do you want us to go?" + +The landlady held up a long, lean, red hand, in a sorrowful and sisterly +protest. + +"No," she said. "Not that tone; not those looks. It's natural you should +be annoyed; it's natural you should be angry. But do--now do please try +and control yourself. I put it to your own common-sense (we will say a +week for the notice to quit)--why not treat me like a friend? You don't +know what a sacrifice, what a cruel sacrifice, I have made--entirely for +your sake. + +"You?" I exclaimed. "What sacrifice?" + +"What sacrifice?" repeated the landlady. "I have degraded myself as a +gentlewoman. I have forfeited my own self-respect." She paused for a +moment, and suddenly seized my hand in a perfect frenzy of friendship. +"Oh, my poor dear!" cried this intolerable person. "I have discovered +everything. A villain has deceived you. You are no more married than I +am!" + +I snatched my hand out of hers, and rose angrily from my chair. + +"Are you mad?" I asked. + +The landlady raised her eyes to the ceiling with the air of a person who +had deserved martyrdom, and who submitted to it cheerfully. + +"Yes," she said. "I begin to think I _am_ mad--mad to have devoted +myself to an ungrateful woman, to a person who doesn't appreciate a +sisterly and Christian sacrifice of self. Well, I won't do it again. +Heaven forgive me--I won't do it again!" + +"Do what again?" I asked. + +"Follow your mother-in-law," cried the landlady, suddenly dropping the +character of a martyr, and assuming the character of a vixen in its +place. "I blush when I think of it. I followed that most respectable +person every step of the way to her own door." + +Thus far my pride had held me up. It sustained me no longer. I dropped +back again into my chair, in undisguised dread of what was coming next. + +"I gave you a look when I left you on the beach," pursued the landlady, +growing louder and louder and redder and redder as she went on. "A +grateful woman would have understood that look. Never mind! I won't +do it again I overtook your mother-in-law at the gap in the cliff. I +followed her--oh, how I feel the disgrace of it _now!_--I followed her +to the station at Broadstairs. She went back by train to Ramsgate. _I_ +went back by train to Ramsgate. She walked to her lodgings. _I_ walked +to her lodgings. Behind her. Like a dog. Oh, the disgrace of it! +Providentially, as I then thought--I don't know what to think of it +now--the landlord of the house happened to be a friend of mine, and +happened to be at home. We have no secrets from each other where +lodgers are concerned. I am in a position to tell you, madam, what your +mother-in-law's name really is. She knows nothing about any such person +as Mrs. Woodville, for an excellent reason. Her name is _not_ Woodville. +Her name (and consequently her son's name) is Macallan--Mrs. Macallan, +widow of the late General Macallan. Yes! your husband is _not_ your +husband. You are neither maid, wife, nor widow. You are worse than +nothing, madam, and you leave my house!" + +I stopped her as she opened the door to go out. She had roused _my_ +temper by this time. The doubt that she had cast on my marriage was more +than mortal resignation could endure. + +"Give me Mrs. Macallan's address," I said. + +The landlady's anger receded into the background, and the landlady's +astonishment appeared in its place. + +"You don't mean to tell me you are going to the old lady herself?" she +said. + +"Nobody but the old lady can tell me what I want to know," I answered. +"Your discovery (as you call it) may be enough for _you_; it is not +enough for _me_. How do we know that Mrs. Macallan may not have been +twice married? and that her first husband's name may not have been +Woodville?" + +The landlady's astonishment subsided in its turn, and the landlady's +curiosity succeeded as the ruling influence of the moment. +Substantially, as I have already said of her, she was a good-natured +woman. Her fits of temper (as is usual with good-natured people) were of +the hot and the short-lived sort, easily roused and easily appeased. + +"I never thought of that," she said. "Look here! if I give you the +address, will you promise to tell me all about it when you come back?" + +I gave the required promise, and received the address in return. + +"No malice," said the landlady, suddenly resuming all her old +familiarity with me. + +"No malice," I answered, with all possible cordiality on my side. + +In ten minutes more I was at my mother-in-law's lodgings. + + + +CHAPTER VI. MY OWN DISCOVERY. + +FORTUNATELY for me, the landlord did not open the door when I rang. A +stupid maid-of-all-work, who never thought of asking me for my name, let +me in. Mrs. Macallan was at home, and had no visitors with her. Giving +me this information, the maid led the way upstairs, and showed me into +the drawing-room without a word of announcement. + +My mother-in-law was sitting alone, near a work-table, knitting. The +moment I appeared in the doorway she laid aside her work, and, rising, +signed to me with a commanding gesture of her hand to let her speak +first. + +"I know what you have come here for," she said. "You have come here to +ask questions. Spare yourself, and spare me. I warn you beforehand that +I will not answer any questions relating to my son." + +It was firmly, but not harshly said. I spoke firmly in my turn. + +"I have not come here, madam, to ask questions about your son," I +answered. "I have come, if you will excuse me, to ask you a question +about yourself." + +She started, and looked at me keenly over her spectacles. I had +evidently taken her by surprise. + +"What is the question?" she inquired. + +"I now know for the first time, madam, that your name is Macallan," I +said. "Your son has married me under the name of Woodville. The only +honorable explanation of this circumstance, so far as I know, is that my +husband is your son by a first marriage. The happiness of my life is at +stake. Will you kindly consider my position? Will you let me ask you if +you have been twice married, and if the name of your first husband was +Woodville?" + +She considered a little before she replied. + +"The question is a perfectly natural one in your position," she said. +"But I think I had better not answer it." + +"May I as k why?" + +"Certainly. If I answered you, I should only lead to other questions, +and I should be obliged to decline replying to them. I am sorry to +disappoint you. I repeat what I said on the beach--I have no other +feeling than a feeling of sympathy toward _you._ If you had consulted me +before your marriage, I should willingly have admitted you to my fullest +confidence. It is now too late. You are married. I recommend you to make +the best of your position, and to rest satisfied with things as they +are." + +"Pardon me, madam," I remonstrated. "As things are, I don't know that I +_am_ married. All I know, unless you enlighten me, is that your son has +married me under a name that is not his own. How can I be sure whether I +am or am not his lawful wife?" + +"I believe there can be no doubt that you are lawfully my son's wife," +Mrs. Macallan answered. "At any rate it is easy to take a legal opinion +on the subject. If the opinion is that you are _not_ lawfully married, +my son (whatever his faults and failings may be) is a gentleman. He is +incapable of willfully deceiving a woman who loves and trusts him. He +will do you justice. On my side, I will do you justice, too. If the +legal opinion is adverse to your rightful claims, I will promise to +answer any questions which you may choose to put to me. As it is, I +believe you to be lawfully my son's wife; and I say again, make the best +of your position. Be satisfied with your husband's affectionate devotion +to you. If you value your peace of mind and the happiness of your life +to come, abstain from attempting to know more than you know now." + +She sat down again with the air of a woman who had said her last word. + +Further remonstrance would be useless; I could see it in her face; I +could hear it in her voice. I turned round to open the drawing-room +door. + +"You are hard on me, madam," I said at parting. "I am at your mercy, and +I must submit." + +She suddenly looked up, and answered me with a flush on her kind and +handsome old face. + +"As God is my witness, child, I pity you from the bottom of my heart!" + +After that extraordinary outburst of feeling, she took up her work with +one hand, and signed to me with the other to leave her. + +I bowed to her in silence, and went out. + +I had entered the house far from feeling sure of the course I ought +to take in the future. I left the house positively resolved, come what +might of it, to discover the secret which the mother and son were hiding +from me. As to the question of the name, I saw it now in the light in +which I ought to have seen it from the first. If Mrs. Macallan _had_ +been twice married (as I had rashly chosen to suppose), she would +certainly have shown some signs of recognition when she heard me +addressed by her first husband's name. Where all else was mystery, +there was no mystery here. Whatever his reasons might be, Eustace had +assuredly married me under an assumed name. + +Approaching the door of our lodgings, I saw my husband walking backward +and forward before it, evidently waiting for my return. If he asked me +the question, I decided to tell him frankly where I had been, and what +had passed between his mother and myself. + +He hurried to meet me with signs of disturbance in his face and manner. + +"I have a favor to ask of you, Valeria," he said. "Do you mind returning +with me to London by the next train?" + +I looked at him. In the popular phrase, I could hardly believe my own +ears. + +"It's a matter of business," he went on, "of no interest to any one but +myself, and it requires my presence in London. You don't wish to sail +just yet, as I understand? I can't leave you here by yourself. Have you +any objection to going to London for a day or two?" + +I made no objection. I too was eager to go back. + +In London I could obtain the legal opinion which would tell me whether +I were lawfully married to Eustace or not. In London I should be within +reach of the help and advice of my father's faithful old clerk. I could +confide in Benjamin as I could confide in no one else. Dearly as I +loved my uncle Starkweather, I shrank from communicating with him in my +present need. His wife had told me that I made a bad beginning when I +signed the wrong name in the marriage register. Shall I own it? My pride +shrank from acknowledging, before the honeymoon was over, that his wife +was right. + +In two hours more we were on the railway again. Ah, what a contrast that +second journey presented to the first! On our way to Ramsgate everybody +could see that we were a newly wedded couple. On our way to London +nobody noticed us; nobody would have doubted that we had been married +for years. + +We went to a private hotel in the neighborhood of Portland Place. + +After breakfast the next morning Eustace announced that he must leave me +to attend to his business. I had previously mentioned to him that I had +some purchases to make in London. He was quite willing to let me go out +alone, on the condition that I should take a carriage provided by the +hotel. + +My heart was heavy that morning: I felt the unacknowledged estrangement +that had grown up between us very keenly. My husband opened the door +to go out, and came back to kiss me before he left me by myself. That +little after-thought of tenderness touched me. Acting on the impulse of +the moment, I put my arm round his neck, and held him to me gently. + +"My darling," I said, "give me all your confidence. I know that you love +me. Show that you can trust me too." + +He sighed bitterly, and drew back from me--in sorrow, not in anger. + +"I thought we had agreed, Valeria, not to return to that subject again," +he said. "You only distress yourself and distress me." + +He left the room abruptly, as if he dare not trust himself to say more. +It is better not to dwell on what I felt after this last repulse. I +ordered the carriage at once. I was eager to find a refuge from my own +thoughts in movement and change. + +I drove to the shops first, and made the purchases which I had mentioned +to Eustace by way of giving a reason for going out. Then I devoted +myself to the object which I really had at heart. I went to old +Benjamin's little villa, in the by-ways of St. John's Wood. + +As soon as he had got over the first surprise of seeing me, he noticed +that I looked pale and care-worn. I confessed at once that I was in +trouble. We sat down together by the bright fireside in his little +library (Benjamin, as far as his means would allow, was a great +collector of books), and there I told my old friend, frankly and truly, +all that I have told here. + +He was too distressed to say much. He fervently pressed my hand; he +fervently thanked God that my father had not lived to hear what he +had heard. Then, after a pause, he repeated my mother-in-law's name to +himself in a doubting, questioning tone. "Macallan?" he said. "Macallan? +Where have I heard that name? Why does it sound as if it wasn't strange +to me?" + +He gave up pursuing the lost recollection, and asked, very earnestly, +what he could do for me. I answered that he could help me, in the first +place, to put an end to the doubt--an unendurable doubt to _me_--whether +I were lawfully married or not. His energy of the old days when he had +conducted my father's business showed itself again the moment I said +those words. + +"Your carriage is at the door, my dear," he answered. "Come with me to +my own lawyer, without wasting another moment." + +We drove to Lincoln's Inn Fields. + +At my request Benjamin put my case to the lawyer as the case of a friend +in whom I was interested. The answer was given without hesitation. I had +married, honestly believing my husband's name to be the name under which +I had known him. The witnesses to my marriage--my uncle, my aunt, and +Benjamin--had acted, as I had acted, in perfect good faith. Under those +circumstances, there was no doubt about the law. I was legally married. +Macallan or Woodville, I was his wife. + +This decisive answer relieved me of a heavy anxiety. I accepted my old +friend's invitation to return with him to St. John's Wood, and to make +my luncheon at his early dinner. + +On our way back I reverted to the one other subject which was now +uppermost in my mind. I reiterated my resolution to discover why Eustace +had not married me under the name that was really his own. + +My companion shook his head, and entreated me to consider well +beforehand what I proposed doing. His advice to me--so strangely do +extremes meet!--was my mother-in-law's advice, repeated almost word for +word. "Leave things as they are, my dear. In the interest of your own +peace of mind be satisfied with your husband's affection. You know +that you are his wife, and you know that he loves you. Surely that is +enough?" + +I had but one answer to this. Life, on such conditions as my good friend +had just stated, would be simply unendurable to me. Nothing could alter +my resolution--for this plain reason, that nothing could reconcile me to +living with my husband on the terms on which we were living now. It only +rested with Benjamin to say whether he would give a helping hand to his +master's daughter or not. + +The old man's answer was thoroughly characteristic of him. + +"Mention what you want of me, my dear," was all he said. + +We were then passing a street in the neighborhood of Portman Square. I +was on the point of speaking again, when the words were suspended on my +lips. I saw my husband. + +He was just descending the steps of a house--as if leaving it after a +visit. His eyes were on the ground: he did not look up when the-carriage +passed. As the servant closed the door behind him, I noticed that the +number of the house was Sixteen. At the next corner I saw the name of +the street. It was Vivian Place. + +"Do you happen to know who lives at Number Sixteen Vivian Place?" I +inquired of my companion. + +Benjamin started. My question was certainly a strange one, after what he +had just said to me. + +"No," he replied. "Why do you ask?" + +"I have just seen Eustace leaving that house." + +"Well, my dear, and what of that?" + +"My mind is in a bad way, Benjamin. Everything my husband does that I +don't understand rouses my suspicion now." + +Benjamin lifted his withered old hands, and let them drop on his knees +again in mute lamentation over me. + +"I tell you again," I went on, "my life is unendurable to me. I won't +answer for what I may do if I am left much longer to live in doubt of +the one man on earth whom I love. You have had experience of the world. +Suppose you were shut out from Eustace's confidence, as I am? Suppose +you were as fond of him as I am, and felt your position as bitterly as I +feel it--what would you do?" + +The question was plain. Benjamin met it with a plain answer. + +"I think I should find my way, my dear, to some intimate friend of your +husband's," he said, "and make a few discreet inquiries in that quarter +first." + +Some intimate friend of my husband's? I considered with myself. There +was but one friend of his whom I knew of--my uncle's correspondent, +Major Fitz-David. My heart beat fast as the name recurred to my memory. +Suppose I followed Benjamin's advice? Suppose I applied to Major +Fitz-David? Even if he, too, refused to answer my questions, my position +would not be more helpless than it was now. I determined to make the +attempt. The only difficulty in the way, so far, was to discover the +Major's address. I had given back his letter to Doctor Starkweather, +at my uncle's own request. I remembered that the address from which the +Major wrote was somewhere in London--and I remembered no more. + +"Thank you, old friend; you have given me an idea already," I said to +Benjamin. "Have you got a Directory in your house?" + +"No, my dear," he rejoined, looking very much puzzled. "But I can easily +send out and borrow one." + +We returned to the villa. The servant was sent at once to the nearest +stationer's to borrow a Directory. She returned with the book just as we +sat down to dinner. Searching for the Major's name under the letter F, I +was startled by a new discovery. + +"Benjamin!" I said. "This is a strange coincidence. Look here!" + +He looked where I pointed. Major Fitz-David's address was Number Sixteen +Vivian Place--the very house which I had seen my husband leaving as we +passed in the carriage! + + + +CHAPTER VII. ON THE WAY TO THE MAJOR. + +"YES," said Benjamin. "It _is_ a coincidence certainly. Still--" + +He stopped and looked at me. He seemed a little doubtful how I might +receive what he had it in his mind to say to me next. + +"Go on," I said. + +"Still, my dear, I see nothing suspicious in what has happened," he +resumed. "To my mind it is quite natural that your husband, being in +London, should pay a visit to one of his friends. And it's equally +natural that we should pass through Vivian Place on our way back here. +This seems to be the reasonable view. What do _you_ say?" + +"I have told you already that my mind is in a bad way about Eustace," +I answered. "_I_ say there is some motive at the bottom of his visit to +Major Fitz-David. It is not an ordinary call. I am firmly convinced it +is not an ordinary call!" + +"Suppose we get on with our dinner?" said Benjamin, resignedly. "Here is +a loin of mutton, my dear--an ordinary loin of mutton. Is there anything +suspicious in _that?_ Very well, then. Show me you have confidence in +the mutton; please eat. There's the wine, again. No mystery, Valeria, +in that claret--I'll take my oath it's nothing but innocent juice of the +grape. If we can't believe in anything else, let's believe in juice of +the grape. Your good health, my dear." + +I adapted myself to the old man's genial humor as readily as I could. +We ate and we drank, and we talked of by-gone days. For a little while I +was almost happy in the company of my fatherly old friend. Why was I not +old too? Why had I not done with love, with its certain miseries, its +transient delights, its cruel losses, its bitterly doubtful gains? The +last autumn flowers in the window basked brightly in the last of the +autumn sunlight. Benjamin's little dog digested his dinner in perfect +comfort on the hearth. The parrot in the next house screeched his vocal +accomplishments cheerfully. I don't doubt that it is a great privilege +to be a human being. But may it not be the happier destiny to be an +animal or a plant? + +The brief respite was soon over; all my anxieties came back. I was once +more a doubting, discontented, depressed creature when I rose to say +good-by. + +"Promise, my dear, you will do nothing rash," said Benjamin, as he +opened the door for me. + +"Is it rash to go to Major Fitz-David?" I asked. + +"Yes--if you go by yourself. You don't know what sort of man he is; you +don't know how he may receive you. Let me try first, and pave the way, +as the saying is. Trust my experience, my dear. In matters of this sort +there is nothing like paving the way." + +I considered a moment. It was due to my good friend to consider before I +said No. + +Reflection decided me on taking the responsibility, whatever it might +be, upon my own shoulders. Good or bad, compassionate or cruel, the +Major was a man. A woman's influence was the safest influence to trust +with him, where the end to be gained was such an end as I had in view. +It was not easy to say this to Benjamin without the danger of mortifying +him. I made an appointment with the old man to call on me the next +morning at the hotel, and talk the matter over again. Is it very +disgraceful to me to add that I privately determined (if the thing could +be accomplished) to see Major Fitz-David in the interval? + +"Do nothing rash, my dear. In your own interests, do nothing rash!" + +Those were Benjamin's last words when we parted for the day. + +I found Eustace waiting for me in our sitting-room at the hotel. His +spirits seemed to have revived since I had seen him last. He advanced to +meet me cheerfully, with an open sheet of paper in his hand. + +"My business is settled, Valeria, sooner than I had expected," he began, +gayly. "Are your purchases all completed, fair lady? Are _you_ free +too?" + +I had learned already (God help me!) to distrust his fits of gayety. I +asked, cautiously, + +"Do you mean free for to-day?" + +"Free for to-day, and to-morrow, and next week, and next month--and next +year too, for all I know to the contrary," he answered, putting his arm +boisterously round my waist. "Look here!" + +He lifted the open sheet of paper which I had noticed in his hand, and +held it for me to read. It was a telegram to the sailing-master of the +yacht, informing him that we had arranged to return to Ramsgate that +evening, and that we should be ready to sail for the Mediterranean with +the next tide. + +"I only waited for your return," said Eustace, "to send the telegram to +the office." + +He crossed the room as he spoke to ring the bell. I stopped him. + +"I am afraid I can't go to Ramsgate to-day," I said. + +"Why not?" he asked, suddenly changing his tone, and speaking sharply. + +I dare say it will seem ridiculous to some people, but it is really true +that he shook my resolution to go to Major Fitz-David when he put his +arm round me. Even a mere passing caress from _him_ stole away my heart, +and softly tempted me to yield. But the ominous alteration in his tone +made another woman of me. I felt once more, and felt more strongly than +ever, that in my critical position it was useless to stand still, and +worse than useless to draw back. + +"I am sorry to disappoint you," I answered. "It is impossible for me (as +I told you at Ramsgate) to be ready to sail at a moment's notice. I want +time." + +"What for?" + +Not only his tone, but his look, when he put that second question, +jarred on every nerve in me. He roused in my mind--I can't tell how or +why--an angry sense of the indignity that he had put upon his wife in +marrying her under a false name. Fearing that I should answer rashly, +that I should say something which my better sense might regret, if I +spoke at that moment, I said nothing. Women alone can estimate what it +cost me to be silent. And men alone can understand how irritating my +silence must have been to my husband. + +"You want time?" he repeated. "I ask you again--what for?" + +My self-control, pushed to its extremest limits, failed me. The rash +reply flew out of my lips, like a bird set free from a cage. + +"I want time," I said, "to accustom myself to my right name." + +He suddenly stepped up to me with a dark look. + +"What do you mean by your 'right name?'" + +"Surely you know," I answered. "I once thought I was Mrs. Woodville. I +have now discovered that I am Mrs. Macallan." + +He started back at the sound of his own name as if I had struck him--he +started back, and turned so deadly pale that I feared he was going to +drop at my feet in a swoon. Oh, my tongue! my tongue! Why had I not +controlled my miserable, mischievous woman's tongue! + +"I didn't mean to alarm you, Eustace," I said. "I spoke at random. Pray +forgive me." + +He waved his hand impatiently, as if my penitent words were tangible +things--ruffling, worrying things, like flies in summer--which he was +putting away from him. + +"What else have you discovered?" he asked, in low, stern tones. + +"Nothing, Eustace." + +"Nothing?" He paused as he repeated the word, and passed his hand over +his forehead in a weary way. "Nothing, of course," he resumed, speaking +to himself, "or she would not be here." He paused once more, and looked +at me searchingly. "Don't say again what you said just now," he went on. +"For your own sake, Valeria, as well as for mine." He dropped into the +nearest chair, and said no more. + +I certainly heard the warning; but the only words which really produced +an impression on my mind were the words preceding it, which he had +spoken to himself. He had said: "Nothing, of course, _or she could not +be here."_ If I had found out some other truth besides the truth about +the name, would it have prevented me from ever returning to my husband? +Was that what he meant? Did the sort of discovery that he contemplated +mean something so dreadful that it would have parted us at once and +forever? I stood by his chair in silence, and tried to find the answer +to those terrible questions in his face. It used to speak to me so +eloquently when it spoke of his love. It told me nothing now. + +He sat for some time without looking at me, lost in his own thoughts. +Then he rose on a sudden and took his hat. + +"The friend who lent me the yacht is in town," he said. "I suppose I had +better see him, and say our plans are changed." He tore up the telegram +with an air of sullen resignation as he spoke. "You are evidently +determined not to go to sea with me," he resumed. "We had better give it +up. I don't see what else is to be done. Do you?" + +His tone was almost a tone of contempt. I was too depressed about +myself, too alarmed about _him,_ to resent it. + +"Decide as you think best, Eustace," I said, sadly. "Every way, the +prospect seems a hopeless one. As long as I am shut out from your +confidence, it matters little whether we live on land or at sea--we +cannot live happily." + +"If you could control your curiosity." he answered, sternly, "we might +live happily enough. I thought I had married a woman who was superior to +the vulgar failings of her sex. A good wife should know better than to +pry into affairs of her husband's with which she had no concern." + +Surely it was hard to bear this? However, I bore it. + +"Is it no concern of mine?" I asked, gently, "when I find that my +husband has not married me under his family name? Is it no concern of +mine when I hear your mother say, in so many words, that she pities your +wife? It is hard, Eustace, to accuse me of curiosity because I cannot +accept the unendurable position in which you have placed me. Your cruel +silence is a blight on my happiness and a threat to my future. Your +cruel silence is estranging us from each other at the beginning of our +married life. And you blame me for feeling this? You tell me I am prying +into affairs which are yours only? They are _not_ yours only: I have my +interest in them too. Oh, my darling, why do you trifle with our love +and our confidence in each other? Why do you keep me in the dark?" + +He answered with a stern and pitiless brevity, + +"For your own good." + +I turned away from him in silence. He was treating me like a child. + +He followed me. Putting one hand heavily on my shoulder, he forced me to +face him once more. + +"Listen to this," he said. "What I am now going to say to you I say for +the first and last time. Valeria! if you ever discover what I am +now keeping from your knowledge--from that moment you live a life of +torture; your tranquillity is gone. Your days will be days of terror; +your nights will be full of horrid dreams--through no fault of mine, +mind! through no fault of mine! Every day of your life you will feel +some new distrust, some growing fear of me, and you will be doing me the +vilest injustice all the time. On my faith as a Christian, on my honor +as a man, if you stir a step further in this matter, there is an end to +your happiness for the rest of your life! Think seriously of what I have +said to you; you will have time to reflect. I am going to tell my friend +that our plans for the Mediterranean are given up. I shall not be +back before the evening." He sighed, and looked at me with unutterable +sadness. "I love you, Valeria," he said. "In spite of all that has +passed, as God is my witness, I love you more dearly than ever." + +So he spoke. So he left me. + +I must write the truth about myself, however strange it may appear. I +don't pretend to be able to analyze my own motives; I don't pretend even +to guess how other women might have acted in my place. It is true of me, +that my husband's terrible warning--all the more terrible in its mystery +and its vagueness--produced no deterrent effect on my mind: it only +stimulated my resolution to discover what he was hiding from me. He +had not been gone two minutes before I rang the bell and ordered the +carriage, to take me to Major Fitz-David's house in Vivian Place. + +Walking to and fro while I was waiting--I was in such a fever of +excitement that it was impossible for me to sit still--I accidentally +caught sight of myself in the glass. + +My own face startled me, it looked so haggard and so wild. Could I +present myself to a stranger, could I hope to produce the necessary +impression in my favor, looking as I looked at that moment? For all I +knew to the contrary, my whole future might depend upon the effect which +I produced on Major Fitz-David at first sight. I rang the bell again, +and sent a message to one of the chambermaids to follow me to my room. + +I had no maid of my own with me: the stewardess of the yacht would +have acted as my attendant if we had held to our first arrangement. It +mattered little, so long as I had a woman to help me. The chambermaid +appeared. I can give no better idea of the disordered and desperate +condition of my mind at that time than by owning that I actually +consulted this perfect stranger on the question of my personal +appearance. She was a middle-aged woman, with a large experience of the +world and its wickedness written legibly on her manner and on her face. +I put money into the woman's hand, enough of it to surprise her. +She thanked me with a cynical smile, evidently placing her own evil +interpretation on my motive for bribing her. + +"What can I do for you, ma'am?" she asked, in a confidential whisper. +"Don't speak loud! there is somebody in the next room." + +"I want to look my best," I said, "and I have sent for you to help me." + +"I understand, ma'am." + +"What do you understand?" + +She nodded her head significantly, and whispered to me again. "Lord +bless you, I'm used to this!" she said. "There is a gentleman in the +case. Don't mind me, ma'am. It's a way I have. I mean no harm." She +stopped, and looked at me critically. "I wouldn't change my dress if I +were you," she went on. "The color becomes you." + +It was too late to resent the woman's impertinence. There was no help +for it but to make use of her. Besides, she was right about the dress. +It was of a delicate maize-color, prettily trimmed with lace. I could +wear nothing which suited me better. My hair, however, stood in need of +some skilled attention. The chambermaid rearranged it with a ready hand +which showed that she was no beginner in the art of dressing hair. She +laid down the combs and brushes, and looked at me; then looked at the +toilet-table, searching for something which she apparently failed to +find. + +"Where do you keep it?" she asked. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Look at your complexion, ma'am. You will frighten him if he sees you +like that. A touch of color you _must_ have. Where do you keep it? What! +you haven't got it? you never use it? Dear, dear, dear me!" + +For a moment surprise fairly deprived her of her self-possession. +Recovering herself, she begged permission to leave me for a minute. I +let her go, knowing what her errand was. She came back with a box of +paint and powders; and I said nothing to check her. I saw, in the glass, +my skin take a false fairness, my cheeks a false color, my eyes a false +brightness--and I never shrank from it. No! I let the odious conceit go +on; I even admired the extraordinary delicacy and dexterity with which +it was all done. "Anything" (I thought to myself, in the madness of that +miserable time) "so long as it helps me to win the Major's confidence! +Anything, so long as I discover what those last words of my husband's +really mean!" + +The transformation of my face was accomplished. The chambermaid pointed +with her wicked forefinger in the direction of the glass. + +"Bear in mind, ma'am, what you looked like when you sent for me," she +said. "And just see for yourself how you look now. You're the prettiest +woman (of your style) in London. Ah what a thing pearl-powder is, when +one knows how to use it!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE FRIEND OF THE WOMEN. + +I FIND it impossible to describe my sensations while the carriage was +taking me to Major Fitz-David's house. I doubt, indeed, if I really felt +or thought at all, in the true sense of those words. + +From the moment when I had resigned myself into the hands of the +chambermaid I seemed in some strange way to have lost my ordinary +identity--to have stepped out of my own character. At other times my +temperament was of the nervous and anxious sort, and my tendency was to +exaggerate any difficulties that might place themselves in my way. At +other times, having before me the prospect of a critical interview with +a stranger, I should have considered with myself what it might be wise +to pass over, and what it might be wise to say. Now I never gave +my coming interview with the Major a thought; I felt an unreasoning +confidence in myself, and a blind faith in _him_. Now neither the past +nor the future troubled me; I lived unreflectingly in the present. I +looked at the shops as we drove by them, and at the other carriages as +they passed mine. I noticed--yes, and enjoyed--the glances of admiration +which chance foot-passengers on the pavement cast on me. I said to +myself, "This looks well for my prospect of making a friend of +the Major!" When we drew up at the door in Vivian Place, it is no +exaggeration to say that I had but one anxiety--anxiety to find the +Major at home. + +The door was opened by a servant out of livery, an old man who looked as +if he might have been a soldier in his earlier days. He eyed me with +a grave attention, which relaxed little by little into sly approval. I +asked for Major Fitz-David. The answer was not altogether encouraging: +the man was not sure whether his master were at home or not. + +I gave him my card. My cards, being part of my wedding outfit, +necessarily had the false name printed on them--_Mrs. Eustace +Woodville_. The servant showed me into a front room on the ground-floor, +and disappeared with my card in his hand. + +Looking about me, I noticed a door in the wall opposite the window, +communicating with some inner room. The door was not of the ordinary +kind. It fitted into the thickness of the partition wall, and worked in +grooves. Looking a little nearer, I saw that it had not been pulled out +so as completely to close the doorway. Only the merest chink was left; +but it was enough to convey to my ears all that passed in the next room. + +"What did you say, Oliver, when she asked for me?" inquired a man's +voice, pitched cautiously in a low key. + +"I said I was not sure you were at home, sir," answered the voice of the +servant who had let me in. + +There was a pause. The first speaker was evidently Major Fitz-David +himself. I waited to hear more. + +"I think I had better not see her, Oliver," the Major's voice resumed. + +"Very good, sir." + +"Say I have gone out, and you don't know when I shall be back again. Beg +the lady to write, if she has any business with me." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Stop, Oliver!" + +Oliver stopped. There was another and longer pause. Then the master +resumed the examination of the man. + +"Is she young, Oliver?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And--pretty?" + +"Better than pretty, sir, to my thinking." + +"Aye? aye? What you call a fine woman--eh, Oliver?" + +"Certainly, sir." + +"Tall?" + +"Nearly as tall as I am, Major." + +"Aye? aye? aye? A good figure?" + +"As slim as a sapling, sir, and as upright as a dart." + +"On second thoughts, I am at home, Oliver. Show her in! show her in!" + +So far, one thing at least seemed to be clear. I had done well in +sending for the chambermaid. What would Oliver's report of me have +been if I had presented myself to him with my colorless cheeks and my +ill-dressed hair? + +The servant reappeared, and conducted me to the inner room. Major +Fitz-David advanced to welcome me. What was the Major like? + +Well, he was like a well-preserved old gentleman of, say, sixty years +old, little and lean, and chiefly remarkable by the extraordinary length +of his nose. After this feature, I noticed next his beautiful brown wig; +his sparkling little gray eyes; his rosy complexion; his short military +whisker, dyed to match his wig; his white teeth and his winning smile; +his smart blue frock-coat, with a camellia in the button-hole; and his +splendid ring, a ruby, flashing on his little finger as he courteously +signed to me to take a chair. + +"Dear Mrs. Woodville, how very kind of you this is! I have been longing +to have the happiness of knowing you. Eustace is an old friend of +mine. I congratulated him when I heard of his marriage. May I make a +confession?--I envy him now I have seen his wife." + +The future of my life was perhaps in this man's hands. I studied him +attentively: I tried to read his character in his face. + +The Major's sparkling little gray eyes softened as they looked at me; +the Major's strong and sturdy voice dropped to its lowest and tenderest +tones when he spoke to me; the Major's manner expressed, from the moment +when I entered the room, a happy mixture of admiration and respect. He +drew his chair close to mine, as if it were a privilege to be near me. +He took my hand and lifted my glove to his lips, as if that glove +were the most delicious luxury the world could produce. "Dear Mrs. +Woodville," he said, as he softly laid my hand back on my lap, "bear +with an old fellow who worships your enchanting sex. You really brighten +this dull house. It is _such_ a pleasure to see you!" + +There was no need for the old gentleman to make his little confession. +Women, children, and dogs proverbially know by instinct who the people +are who really like them. The women had a warm friend--perhaps at one +time a dangerously warm friend--in Major Fitz-David. I knew as much of +him as that before I had settled myself in my chair and opened my lips +to answer him. + +"Thank you, Major, for your kind reception and your pretty compliment," +I said, matching my host's easy tone as closely as the necessary +restraints on my side would permit. "You have made your confession. May +I make mine?" + +Major Fitz-David lifted my hand again from my lap and drew his chair as +close as possible to mine. I looked at him gravely and tried to release +my hand. Major Fitz-David declined to let go of it, and proceeded to +tell me why. + +"I have just heard you speak for the first time," he said. "I am under +the charm of your voice. Dear Mrs. Woodville, bear with an old fellow +who is under the charm! Don't grudge me my innocent little pleasures. +Lend me--I wish I could say _give_ me--this pretty hand. I am such an +admirer of pretty hands! I can listen so much better with a pretty hand +in mine. The ladies indulge my weakness. Please indulge me too. Yes? And +what were you going to say?" + +"I was going to say, Major, that I felt particularly sensible of your +kind welcome because, as it happens, I have a favor to ask of you." + +I was conscious, while I spoke, that I was approaching the object of my +visit a little too abruptly. But Major Fitz-David's admiration rose +from one climax to another with such alarming rapidity that I felt the +importance of administering a practical check to it. I trusted to those +ominous words, "a favor to ask of you," to administer the check, and I +did not trust in vain. My aged admirer gently dropped my hand, and, with +all possible politeness, changed the subject. + +"The favor is granted, of course!" he said. "And now, tell me, how is +our dear Eustace?" + +"Anxious and out of spirits." I answered. + +"Anxious and out of spirits!" repeated the Major. "The enviable man who +is married to You anxious and out of spirits? Monstrous! Eustace fairly +disgusts me. I shall take him off the list of my friends." + +"In that case, take me off the list with him, Major. I am in wretched +spirits too. You are my husband's old friend. I may acknowledge to _you_ +that our married life is just now not quite a happy one." + +Major Fitz-David lifted his eyebrows (dyed to match his whiskers) in +polite surprise. + +"Already!" he exclaimed. "What can Eustace be made of? Has he no +appreciation of beauty and grace? Is he the most insensible of living +beings?" + +"He is the best and dearest of men," I answered. "But there is some +dreadful mystery in his past life--" + +I could get no further; Major Fitz-David deliberately stopped me. He did +it with the smoothest politeness, on the surface. But I saw a look in +his bright little eyes which said, plainly, "If you _will_ venture on +delicate ground, madam, don't ask me to accompany you." + +"My charming friend!" he exclaimed. "May I call you my charming friend? +You have--among a thousand other delightful qualities which I can see +already--a vivid imagination. Don't let it get the upper hand. Take an +old fellow's advice; don't let it get the upper hand! What can I offer +you, dear Mrs. Woodville? A cup of tea?" + +"Call me by my right name, sir," I answered, boldly. "I have made a +discovery. I know as well as you do that my name is Macallan." + +The Major started, and looked at me very attentively. His manner became +grave, his tone changed completely, when he spoke next. + +"May I ask," he said, "if you have communicated to your husband the +discovery which you have just mentioned to me?" + +"Certainly!" I answered. "I consider that my husband owes me an +explanation. I have asked him to tell me what his extraordinary conduct +means--and he has refused, in language that frightens me. I have +appealed to his mother--and _she_ has refused to explain, in language +that humiliates me. Dear Major Fitz-David, I have no friends to take +my part: I have nobody to come to but you! Do me the greatest of all +favors--tell me why your friend Eustace has married me under a false +name!" + +"Do _me_ the greatest of all favors;" answered the Major. "Don't ask me +to say a word about it." + +He looked, in spite of his unsatisfactory reply, as if he really felt +for me. I determined to try my utmost powers of persuasion; I resolved +not to be beaten at the first repulse. + +"I _must_ ask you," I said. "Think of my position. How can I live, +knowing what I know--and knowing no more? I would rather hear the +most horrible thing you can tell me than be condemned (as I am now) to +perpetual misgiving and perpetual suspense. I love my husband with all +my heart; but I cannot live with him on these terms: the misery of it +would drive me mad. I am only a woman, Major. I can only throw myself on +your kindness. Don't--pray, pray don't keep me in the dark!" + +I could say no more. In the reckless impulse of the moment I snatched up +his hand and raised it to my lips. The gallant old gentleman started as +if I had given him an electric shock. + +"My dear, dear lady!" he exclaimed, "I can't tell you how I feel for +you! You charm me, you overwhelm me, you touch me to the heart. What can +I say? What can I do? I can only imitate your admirable frankness, your +fearless candor. You have told me what your position is. Let me tell +you, in my turn, how I am placed. Compose yourself--pray compose +yourself! I have a smelling-bottle here at the service of the ladies. +Permit me to offer it." + +He brought me the smelling-bottle; he put a little stool under my feet; +he entreated me to take time enough to compose myself. "Infernal fool!" +I heard him say to himself, as he considerately turned away from me for +a few moments. "If _I_ had been her husband, come what might of it, I +would have told her the truth!" + +Was he referring to Eustace? And was he going to do what he would have +done in my husband's place?--was he really going to tell me the truth? + +The idea had barely crossed my mind when I was startled by a loud and +peremptory knocking at the street door. The Major stopped and listened +attentively. In a few moments the door was opened, and the rustling of a +woman's dress was plainly audible in the hall. The Major hurried to the +door of the room with the activity of a young man. He was too late. The +door was violently opened from the outer side, just as he got to it. The +lady of the rustling dress burst into the room. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE DEFEAT OF THE MAJOR. + +MAJOR FITZ-DAVID'S visitor proved to be a plump, round-eyed overdressed +girl, with a florid complexion and straw colored hair. After first +fixing on me a broad stare of astonishment, she pointedly addressed her +apologies for intruding on us to the Major alone. The creature evidently +believed me to be the last new object of the old gentleman's idolatry; +and she took no pains to disguise her jealous resentment on discovering +us together. Major Fitz-David set matters right in his own irresistible +way. He kissed the hand of the overdressed girl as devotedly as he had +kissed mine; he told her she was looking charmingly. Then he led her, +with his happy mixture of admiration and respect, back to the door by +which she had entered--a second door communicating directly with the +hall. + +"No apology is necessary, my dear," he said. "This lady is with me on +a matter of business. You will find your singing-master waiting for you +upstairs. Begin your lesson; and I will join you in a few minutes. _Au +revoir_, my charming pupil--_au revoir._" + +The young lady answered this polite little speech in a whisper--with her +round eyes fixed distrustfully on me while she spoke. The door closed on +her. Major Fitz-David was a t liberty to set matters right with me, in +my turn. + +"I call that young person one of my happy discoveries;" said the old +gentleman, complacently. "She possesses, I don't hesitate to say, the +finest soprano voice in Europe. Would you believe it, I met with her at +the railway station. She was behind the counter in a refreshment-room, +poor innocent, rinsing wine-glasses, and singing over her work. Good +Heavens, such singing! Her upper notes electrified me. I said to myself; +'Here is a born prima donna--I will bring her out!' She is the third +I have brought out in my time. I shall take her to Italy when her +education is sufficiently advanced, and perfect her at Milan. In that +unsophisticated girl, my dear lady, you see one of the future Queens of +Song. Listen! She is beginning her scales. What a voice! Brava! Brava! +Bravissima!" + +The high soprano notes of the future Queen of Song rang through the +house as he spoke. Of the loudness of the young lady's voice there could +be no sort of doubt. The sweetness and the purity of it admitted, in my +opinion, of considerable dispute. + +Having said the polite words which the occasion rendered necessary, I +ventured to recall Major Fitz-David to the subject in discussion between +us when his visitor had entered the room. The Major was very unwilling +to return to the perilous topic on which we had just touched when the +interruption occurred. He beat time with his forefinger to the singing +upstairs; he asked me about _my_ voice, and whether I sang; he remarked +that life would be intolerable to him without Love and Art. A man in my +place would have lost all patience, and would have given up the struggle +in disgust. Being a woman, and having my end in view, my resolution was +invincible. I fairly wore out the Major's resistance, and compelled him +to surrender at discretion. It is only justice to add that, when he did +make up his mind to speak to me again of Eustace, he spoke frankly, and +spoke to the point. + +"I have known your husband," he began, "since the time when he was a +boy. At a certain period of his past life a terrible misfortune fell +upon him. The secret of that misfortune is known to his friends, and +is religiously kept by his friends. It is the secret that he is keeping +from You. He will never tell it to you as long as he lives. And he has +bound _me_ not to tell it, under a promise given on my word of honor. +You wished, dear Mrs. Woodville, to be made acquainted with my position +toward Eustace. There it is!" + +"You persist in calling me Mrs. Woodville," I said. + +"Your husband wishes me to persist," the Major answered. "He assumed the +name of Woodville, fearing to give his own name, when he first called +at your uncle's house. He will now acknowledge no other. Remonstrance +is useless. You must do what we do--you must give way to an unreasonable +man. The best fellow in the world in other respects: in this one matter +as obstinate and self-willed as he can be. If you ask me my opinion, I +tell you honestly that I think he was wrong in courting and marrying +you under his false name. He trusted his honor and his happiness to your +keeping in making you his--wife. Why should he not trust the story of +his troubles to you as well? His mother quite shares my opinion in +this matter. You must not blame her for refusing to admit you into +her confidence after your marriage: it was then too late. Before your +marriage she did all she could do--without betraying secrets which, as +a good mother, she was bound to respect--to induce her son to act justly +toward you. I commit no indiscretion when I tell you that she refused +to sanction your marriage mainly for the reason that Eustace refused to +follow her advice, and to tell you what his position really was. On my +part I did all I could to support Mrs. Macallan in the course that she +took. When Eustace wrote to tell me that he had engaged himself to marry +a niece of my good friend Doctor Starkweather, and that he had mentioned +me as his reference, I wrote back to warn him that I would have nothing +to do with the affair unless he revealed the whole truth about himself +to his future wife. He refused to listen to me, as he had refused to +listen to his mother; and he held me at the same time to my promise to +keep his secret. When Starkweather wrote to me, I had no choice but to +involve myself in a deception of which I thoroughly disapproved, or to +answer in a tone so guarded and so brief as to stop the correspondence +at the outset. I chose the last alternative; and I fear I have offended +my good old friend. You now see the painful position in which I am +placed. To add to the difficulties of that situation, Eustace came here +this very day to warn me to be on my guard, in case of your addressing +to me the very request which you have just made! He told me that you had +met with his mother, by an unlucky accident, and that you had discovered +the family name. He declared that he had traveled to London for the +express purpose of speaking to me personally on this serious subject. +'I know your weakness,' he said, 'where women are concerned. Valeria is +aware that you are my old friend. She will certainly write to you; she +may even be bold enough to make her way into your house. Renew your +promise to keep the great calamity of my life a secret, on your honor +and on your oath. 'Those were his words, as nearly as I can remember +them. I tried to treat the thing lightly; I ridiculed the absurdly +theatrical notion of 'renewing my promise,' and all the rest of it. +Quite useless! He refused to leave me; he reminded me of his unmerited +sufferings, poor fellow, in the past time. It ended in his bursting into +tears. You love him, and so do I. Can you wonder that I let him have his +way? The result is that I am doubly bound to tell you nothing, by the +most sacred promise that a man can give. My dear lady, I cordially side +with you in this matter; I long to relieve your anxieties. But what can +I do?" + +He stopped, and waited--gravely waited--to hear my reply. + +I had listened from beginning to end without interrupting him. The +extraordinary change in his manner, and in his way of expressing +himself, while he was speaking of Eustace, alarmed me as nothing had +alarmed me yet. How terrible (I thought to myself) must this untold +story be, if the mere act of referring to it makes light-hearted Major +Fitz-David speak seriously and sadly, never smiling, never paying me a +compliment, never even noticing the singing upstairs! My heart sank in +me as I drew that startling conclusion. For the first time since I had +entered the house I was at the end of my resources; I knew neither what +to say nor what to do next. + +And yet I kept my seat. Never had the resolution to discover what my +husband was hiding from me been more firmly rooted in my mind than it +was at that moment! I cannot account for the extraordinary inconsistency +in my character which this confession implies. I can only describe the +facts as they really were. + +The singing went on upstairs. Major Fitz-David still waited impenetrably +to hear what I had to say--to know what I resolved on doing next. + +Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domestic +incident happened. In plain words, another knocking announced a new +visitor at the house door. On this occasion there was no rustling of a +woman's dress in the hall. On this occasion only the old servant +entered the room, carrying a magnificent nosegay in his hand. "With Lady +Clarinda's kind regards. To remind Major Fitz-David of his appointment." +Another lady! This time a lady with a title. A great lady who sent +her flowers and her messages without condescending to concealment. The +Major--first apologizing to me--wrote a few lines of acknowledgment, +and sent them out to the messenger. When the door was closed again he +carefully selected one of the choicest flowers in the nosegay. "May I +ask," he said, presenting the flower to me with his best grace, "whether +you now understand the delicate position in which I am placed between +your husband and yourself?" + +The little interruption caused by the appearance of the nosegay had +given a new impulse to my thoughts, and had thus helped, in some degree, +to restore me to myself. I was able at last to satisfy Major Fitz-David +that his considerate and courteous explanation had not been thrown away +upon me. + +"I thank you, most sincerely, Major," I said "You have convinced me that +I must not ask you to forget, on my account, the promise which you have +given to my husband. It is a sacred promise, which I too am bound to +respect--I quite understand that." + +The Major drew a long breath of relief, and patted me on the shoulder in +high approval of what I had said to him. + +"Admirably expressed!" he rejoined, recovering his light-hearted looks +and his lover-like ways all in a moment. "My dear lady, you have the +gift of sympathy; you see exactly how I am situated. Do you know, you +remind me of my charming Lady Clarinda. _She_ has the gift of sympathy, +and sees exactly how I am situated. I should so enjoy introducing you +to each other," said the Major, plunging his long nose ecstatically into +Lady Clarinda's flowers. + +I had my end still to gain; and, being (as you will have discovered by +this time) the most obstinate of living women, I still kept that end in +view. + +"I shall be delighted to meet Lady Clarinda," I replied. "In the +meantime--" + +"I will get up a little dinner," proceeded the Major, with a burst of +enthusiasm. "You and I and Lady Clarinda. Our young prima donna shall +come in the evening, and sing to us. Suppose we draw out the _menu?_ My +sweet friend, what is your favorite autumn soup?" + +"In the meantime," I persisted, "to return to what we were speaking of +just now--" + +The Major's smile vanished; the Major's hand dropped the pen destined to +immortalize the name of my favorite autumn soup. + +"_Must_ we return to that?" he asked, piteously. + +"Only for a moment," I said. + +"You remind me," pursued Major Fitz-David, shaking his head sadly, "of +another charming friend of mine--a French friend--Madame Mirliflore. You +are a person of prodigious tenacity of purpose. Madame Mirliflore is a +person of prodigious tenacity of purpose. She happens to be in London. +Shall we have her at our little dinner?" The Major brightened at the +idea, and took up the pen again. "Do tell me," he said, "what _is_ your +favorite autumn soup?" + +"Pardon me," I began, "we were speaking just now--" + +"Oh, dear me!" cried Major Fitz-David. "Is this the other subject?" + +"Yes--this is the other subject." + +The Major put down his pen for the second time, and regretfully +dismissed from his mind Madame Mirliflore and the autumn soup. + +"Yes?" he said, with a patient bow and a submissive smile. "You were +going to say--" + +"I was going to say," I rejoined, "that your promise only pledges you +not to tell the secret which my husband is keeping from me. You have +given no promise not to answer me if I venture to ask you one or two +questions." + +Major Fitz-David held up his hand warningly, and cast a sly look at me +out of his bright little gray eyes. + +"Stop!" he said. "My sweet friend, stop there! I know where your +questions will lead me, and what the result will be if I once begin +to answer them. When your husband was here to-day he took occasion to +remind me that I was as weak as water in the hands of a pretty woman. +He is quite right. I _am_ as weak as water; I can refuse nothing to a +pretty woman. Dear and admirable lady, don't abuse your influence! don't +make an old soldier false to his word of honor!" + +I tried to say something here in defense of my motives. The Major +clasped his hands entreatingly, and looked at me with a pleading +simplicity wonderful to see. + +"Why press it?" he asked. "I offer no resistance. I am a lamb--why +sacrifice me? I acknowledge your power; I throw myself on your mercy. +All the misfortunes of my youth and my manhood have come to me through +women. I am not a bit better in my age--I am just as fond of the women +and just as ready to be misled by them as ever, with one foot in the +grave. Shocking, isn't it? But how true! Look at this mark!" He lifted +a curl of his beautiful brown wig, and showed me a terrible scar at the +side of his head. "That wound (supposed to be mortal at the time) was +made by a pistol bullet," he proceeded. "Not received in the service of +my country--oh dear, no! Received in the service of a much-injured lady, +at the hands of her scoundrel of a husband, in a duel abroad. Well, she +was worth it." He kissed his hand affectionately to the memory of the +dead or absent lady, and pointed to a water-color drawing of a pretty +country-house hanging on the opposite wall. "That fine estate," he +proceeded, "once belonged to me. It was sold years and years since. And +who had the money? The women--God bless them all!--the women. I don't +regret it. If I had another estate, I have no doubt it would go the same +way. Your adorable sex has made its pretty playthings of my life, my +time, and my money--and welcome! The one thing I have kept to myself +is my honor. And now _that_ is in danger. Yes, if you put your clever +little questions, with those lovely eyes and with that gentle voice, I +know what will happen. You will deprive me of the last and best of all +my possessions. Have I deserved to be treated in that way, and by you, +my charming friend?--by you, of all people in the world? Oh, fie! fie!" + +He paused and looked at me as before--the picture of artless entreaty, +with his head a little on one side. I made another attempt to speak +of the matter in dispute between us, from my own point of view. Major +Fitz-David instantly threw himself prostrate on my mercy more innocently +than ever. + +"Ask of me anything else in the wide world," he said; "but don't ask me +to be false to my friend. Spare me _that_--and there is nothing I will +not do to satisfy you. I mean what I say, mind!" he went on, bending +closer to me, and speaking more seriously than he had spoken yet "I +think you are very hardly used. It is monstrous to expect that a woman, +placed in your situation, will consent to be left for the rest of her +life in the dark. No! no! if I saw you, at this moment, on the point +of finding out for yourself what Eustace persists in hiding from you, I +should remember that my promise, like all other promises, has its +limits and reserves. I should consider myself bound in honor not to help +you--but I would not lift a finger to prevent you from discovering the +truth for yourself." + +At last he was speaking in good earnest: he laid a strong emphasis on +his closing words. I laid a stronger emphasis on them still by suddenly +leaving my chair. The impulse to spring to my feet was irresistible. +Major Fitz-David had started a new idea in my mind. + +"Now we understand each other!" I said. "I will accept your own terms, +Major. I will ask nothing of you but what you have just offered to me of +your own accord." + +"What have I offered?" he inquired, looking a little alarmed. + +"Nothing that you need repent of," I answered; "nothing which is not +easy for you to grant. May I ask a bold question? Suppose this house was +mine instead of yours?" + +"Consider it yours," cried the gallant old gentleman. "From the garret +to the kitchen, consider it yours!" + +"A thousand thanks, Major; I will consider it mine for the moment. +You know--everybody knows--that one of a woman's many weaknesses is +curiosity. Suppose my curiosity led me to examine everything in my new +house?" + +"Yes?" + +"Suppose I went from room to room, and searched everything, and peeped +in everywhere? Do you think there would be any chance--" + +The quick-witted Major anticipated the nature of my question. He +followed my example; he too started to his feet, with a new idea in his +mind. + +"Would there be any chance," I went on, "of my finding my own way to +my husband's secret in this house? One word of reply, Major Fitz-David! +Only one word--Yes or No?" + +"Don't excite yourself!" cried the Major. + +"Yes or No?" I repeated, more vehemently than ever. + +"Yes," said the Major, after a moment's consideration. + +It was the reply I had asked for; but it was not explicit enough, now +I had got it, to satisfy me. I felt the necessity of leading him (if +possible) into details. + +"Does 'Yes' mean that there is some sort of clew to the mystery?" I +asked. "Something, for instance, which my eyes might see and my hands +might touch if I could only find it?" + +He considered again. I saw that I had succeeded in interesting him in +some way unknown to myself; and I waited patiently until he was prepared +to answer me. + +"The thing you mention," he said, "the clew (as you call it), might be +seen and might be touched--supposing you could find it." + +"In this house?" I asked. + +The Major advanced a step nearer to me, and answered-- + +"In this room." + +My head began to swim; my heart throbbed violently. I tried to speak; +it was in vain; the effort almost choked me. In the silence I could +hear the music-lesson still going on in the room above. The future prima +donna had done practicing her scales, and was trying her voice now in +selections from Italian operas. At the moment when I first heard her +she was singing the beautiful air from the _Somnambula,_ "Come per me +sereno." I never hear that delicious melody, to this day, without being +instantly transported in imagination to the fatal back-room in Vivian +Place. + +The Major--strongly affected himself by this time--was the first to +break the silence. + +"Sit down again," he said; "and pray take the easy-chair. You are very +much agitated; you want rest." + +He was right. I could stand no longer; I dropped into the chair. Major +Fitz-David rang the bell, and spoke a few words to the servant at the +door. + +"I have been here a long time," I said, faintly. "Tell me if I am in the +way." + +"In the way?" he repeated, with his irresistible smile. "You forget that +you are in your own house!" + +The servant returned to us, bringing with him a tiny bottle of champagne +and a plateful of delicate little sugared biscuits. + +"I have had this wine bottled expressly for the ladies," said the Major. +"The biscuits came to me direct from Paris. As a favor to _me,_ you +must take some refreshment. And then--" He stopped and looked at me very +attentively. "And then," he resumed, "shall I go to my young prima donna +upstairs and leave you here alone?" + +It was impossible to hint more delicately at the one request which I +now had it in my mind to make to him. I took his hand and pressed it +gratefully. + +"The tranquillity of my whole life to come is at stake," I said. "When I +am left here by myself, does your generous sympathy permit me to examine +everything in the room?" + +He signed to me to drink the champagne and eat a biscuit before he gave +his answer. + +"This is serious," he said. "I wish you to be in perfect possession of +yourself. Restore your strength--and then I will speak to you." + +I did as he bade me. In a minute from the time when I drank it the +delicious sparkling wine had begun to revive me. + +"Is it your express wish," he resumed, "that I should leave you here by +yourself to search the room?" + +"It is my express wish," I answered. + +"I take a heavy responsibility on myself in granting your request. But I +grant it for all that, because I sincerely believe--as you believe--that +the tranquillity of your life to come depends on your discovering the +truth." Saying those words, he took two keys from his pocket. "You will +naturally feel a suspicion," he went on, "of any locked doors that you +may find here. The only locked places in the room are the doors of the +cupboards under the long book-case, and the door of the Italian cabinet +in that corner. The small key opens the book-case cupboards; the long +key opens the cabinet door." + +With that explanation, he laid the keys before me on the table. + +"Thus far," he said, "I have rigidly respected the promise which I made +to your husband. I shall continue to be faithful to my promise, whatever +may be the result of your examination of the room. I am bound in honor +not to assist you by word or deed. I am not even at liberty to offer you +the slightest hint. Is that understood?" + +"Certainly!" + +"Very good. I have now a last word of warning to give you--and then I +have done. If you do by any chance succeed in laying your hand on the +clew, remember this--_the discovery which follows will be a terrible +one._ If you have any doubt about your capacity to sustain a shock which +will strike you to the soul, for God's sake give up the idea of finding +out your husband's secret at once and forever!" + +"I thank you for your warning, Major. I must face the consequences of +making the discovery, whatever they may be." + +"You are positively resolved?" + +"Positively." + +"Very well. Take any time you please. The house, and every person in it, +are at your disposal. Ring the bell once if you want the man-servant. +Ring twice if you wish the housemaid to wait on you. From time to time I +shall just look in myself to see how you are going on. I am responsible +for your comfort and security, you know, while you honor me by remaining +under my roof." + +He lifted my hand to his lips, and fixed a last attentive look on me. + +"I hope I am not running too great a risk," he said--more to himself +than to me. "The women have led me into many a rash action in my time. +Have _you_ led me, I wonder, into the rashest action of all?" + +With those ominous last words he bowed gravely and left me alone in the +room. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE SEARCH. + +THE fire burning in the grate was not a very large one; and the outer +air (as I had noticed on my way to the house) had something of a wintry +sharpness in it that day. + +Still, my first feeling, when Major Fitz-David left me, was a feeling of +heat and oppression, with its natural result, a difficulty in breathing +freely. The nervous agitation of the time was, I suppose, answerable for +these sensations. I took off my bonnet and mantle and gloves, and opened +the window for a little while. Nothing was to be seen outside but a +paved courtyard, with a skylight in the middle, closed at the further +end by the wall of the Major's stables. A few minutes at the window +cooled and refreshed me. I shut it down again, and took my first step +on the way of discovery. In other words, I began my first examination of +the four walls around me, and of all that they inclosed. + +I was amazed at my own calmness. My interview with Major Fitz-David had, +perhaps, exhausted my capacity for feeling any strong emotion, for the +time at least. It was a relief to me to be alone; it was a relief to me +to begin the search. Those were my only sensations so far. + +The shape of the room was oblong. Of the two shorter walls, one +contained the door in grooves which I have already mentioned as +communicating with the front room; the other was almost entirely +occupied by the broad window which looked out on the courtyard. + +Taking the doorway wall first, what was there, in the shape of +furniture, on either side of it? There was a card-table on either side. +Above each card-table stood a magnificent china bowl placed on a gilt +and carved bracket fixed to the wall. + +I opened the card-tables. The drawers beneath contained nothing but +cards, and the usual counters and markers. With the exception of one +pack, the cards in both tables were still wrapped in their paper covers +exactly as they had come from the shop. I examined the loose pack, card +by card. No writing, no mark of any kind, was visible on any one of +them. Assisted by a library ladder which stood against the book-case, +I looked next into the two china bowls. Both were perfectly empty. Was +there anything more to examine on that side of the room? In the two +corners there were two little chairs of inlaid wood, with red silk +cushions. I turned them up and looked under the cushions, and still I +made no discoveries. When I had put the chairs back in their places my +search on one side of the room was complete. So far I had found nothing. + +I crossed to the opposite wall, the wall which contained the window. + +The window (occupying, as I have said, almost the entire length and +height of the wall) was divided into three compartments, and was adorned +at their extremity by handsome curtains of dark red velvet. The ample +heavy folds of the velvet left just room at the two corners of the wall +for two little upright cabinets in buhl, containing rows of drawers, and +supporting two fine bronze productions (reduced in size) of the Venus +Milo and the Venus Callipyge. I had Major Fitz-David's permission to +do just what I pleased. I opened the si x drawers in each cabinet, and +examined their contents without hesitation. + +Beginning with the cabinet in the right-hand corner, my investigations +were soon completed. All the six drawers were alike occupied by a +collection of fossils, which (judging by the curious paper inscriptions +fixed on some of them) were associated with a past period of the Major's +life when he had speculated, not very successfully in mines. After +satisfying myself that the drawers contained nothing but the fossils +and their inscriptions, I turned to the cabinet in the left-hand corner +next. + +Here a variety of objects was revealed to view, and the examination +accordingly occupied a much longer time. + +The top drawer contained a complete collection of carpenter's tools in +miniature, relics probably of the far-distant time when the Major was a +boy, and when parents or friends had made him a present of a set of toy +tools. The second drawer was filled with toys of another sort--presents +made to Major Fitz-David by his fair friends. Embroidered braces, smart +smoking-caps, quaint pincushions, gorgeous slippers, glittering purses, +all bore witness to the popularity of the friend of the women. The +contents of the third drawer were of a less interesting sort: the entire +space was filled with old account-books, ranging over a period of +many years. After looking into each book, and opening and shaking it +uselessly, in search of any loose papers which might be hidden between +the leaves, I came to the fourth drawer, and found more relics of past +pecuniary transactions in the shape of receipted bills, neatly tied +together, and each inscribed at the back. Among the bills I found nearly +a dozen loose papers, all equally unimportant. The fifth drawer was in +sad confusion. I took out first a loose bundle of ornamental cards, each +containing the list of dishes at past banquets given or attended by the +Major in London or Paris; next, a box full of delicately tinted quill +pens (evidently a lady's gift); next, a quantity of old invitation +cards; next, some dog's-eared French plays and books of the opera; next, +a pocket-corkscrew, a bundle of cigarettes, and a bunch of rusty keys; +lastly, a passport, a set of luggage labels, a broken silver snuff-box, +two cigar-cases, and a torn map of Rome. "Nothing anywhere to interest +me," I thought, as I closed the fifth, and opened the sixth and last +drawer. + +The sixth drawer was at once a surprise and a disappointment. It +literally contained nothing but the fragments of a broken vase. + +I was sitting, at the time, opposite to the cabinet, in a low chair. In +the momentary irritation caused by my discovery of the emptiness of the +last drawer, I had just lifted my foot to push it back into its place, +when the door communicating with the hall opened, and Major Fitz-David +stood before me. + +His eyes, after first meeting mine, traveled downward to my foot. The +instant he noticed the open drawer I saw a change in his face. It was +only for a moment; but in that moment he looked at me with a sudden +suspicion and surprise--looked as if he had caught me with my hand on +the clew. + +"Pray don't let me disturb you," said Major Fitz-David. "I have only +come here to ask you a question." + +"What is it, Major?" + +"Have you met with any letters of mine in the course of your +investigations?" + +"I have found none yet," I answered. "If I do discover any letters, I +shall, of course, not take the liberty of examining them." + +"I wanted to speak to you about that," he rejoined. "It only struck me +a moment since, upstairs, that my letters might embarrass you. In your +place I should feel some distrust of anything which I was not at liberty +to examine. I think I can set this matter right, however, with very +little trouble to either of us. It is no violation of any promises or +pledges on my part if I simply tell you that my letters will not assist +the discovery which you are trying to make. You can safely pass them +over as objects that are not worth examining from your point of view. +You understand me, I am sure?" + +"I am much obliged to you, Major--I quite understand." + +"Are you feeling any fatigue?" + +"None whatever, thank you." + +"And you still hope to succeed? You are not beginning to be discouraged +already?" + +"I am not in the least discouraged. With your kind leave, I mean to +persevere for some time yet." + +I had not closed the drawer of the cabinet while we were talking, and +I glanced carelessly, as I answered him, at the fragments of the broken +vase. By this time he had got his feelings under perfect command. He, +too, glanced at the fragments of the vase with an appearance of perfect +indifference. I remembered the look of suspicion and surprise that +had escaped him on entering the room, and I thought his indifference a +little overacted. + +"_That_ doesn't look very encouraging," he said, with a smile, pointing +to the shattered pieces of china in the drawer. + +"Appearances are not always to be trusted," I replied. "The wisest thing +I can do in my present situation is to suspect everything, even down to +a broken vase." + +I looked hard at him as I spoke. He changed the subject. + +"Does the music upstairs annoy you?" he asked. + +"Not in the least, Major." + +"It will soon be over now. The singing-master is going, and the Italian +master has just arrived. I am sparing no pains to make my young prima +donna a most accomplished person. In learning to sing she must also +learn the language which is especially the language of music. I shall +perfect her in the accent when I take her to Italy. It is the height +of my ambition to have her mistaken for an Italian when she sings in +public. Is there anything I can do before I leave you again? May I send +you some more champagne? Please say yes!" + +"A thousand thanks, Major. No more champagne for the present." + +He turned at the door to kiss his hand to me at parting. At the same +moment I saw his eyes wander slyly toward the book-case. It was only for +an instant. I had barely detected him before he was out of the room. + +Left by myself again, I looked at the book-case--looked at it +attentively for the first time. + +It was a handsome piece of furniture in ancient carved oak, and it +stood against the wall which ran parallel with the hall of the house. +Excepting the space occupied in the upper corner of the room by the +second door, which opened into the hall, the book-case filled the whole +length of the wall down to the window. The top was ornamented by vases, +candelabra, and statuettes, in pairs, placed in a row. Looking along +the row, I noticed a vacant space on the top of the bookcase at the +extremity of it which was nearest to the window. The opposite extremity, +nearest to the door, was occupied by a handsome painted vase of a very +peculiar pattern. Where was the corresponding vase, which ought to have +been placed at the corresponding extremity of the book-case? I returned +to the open sixth drawer of the cabinet, and looked in again. There was +no mistaking the pattern on the fragments when I examined them now. The +vase which had been broken was the vase which had stood in the place now +vacant on the top of the book-case at the end nearest to the window. + +Making this discovery, I took out the fragments, down to the smallest +morsel of the shattered china, and examined them carefully one after +another. + +I was too ignorant of the subject to be able to estimate the value of +the vase or the antiquity of the vase, or even to know whether it were +of British or of foreign manufacture. The ground was of a delicate +cream-color. The ornaments traced on this were wreaths of flowers and +Cupids surrounding a medallion on either side of the vase. Upon the +space within one of the medallions was painted with exquisite delicacy +a woman's head, representing a nymph or a goddess, or perhaps a portrait +of some celebrated person--I was not learned enough to say which. +The other medallion inclosed the head of a man, also treated in the +classical style. Reclining shepherds and shepherdesses in Watteau +costume, with their dogs and their sheep, formed the adornments of the +pedestal. Such had the vase been in the days of its prosperity, when +it stood on the top of the book-case. By what accident had it become +broken? And why had Major Fitz-David's face changed when he found that +I had discovered the remains of his shattered work of art in the cabinet +drawer? + +The remains left those serious questions unanswered--the remains told me +absolutely nothing. And yet, if my own observation of the Major were to +be trusted, the way to the clew of which I was in search lay, directly +or indirectly, through the broken vase. + +It was useless to pursue the question, knowing no more than I knew now. +I returned to the book-case. + +Thus far I had assumed (without any sufficient reason) that the clew of +which I was in search must necessarily reveal itself through a written +paper of some sort. It now occurred to me--after the movement which +I had detected on the part of the Major--that the clew might quite as +probably present itself in the form of a book. + +I looked along the lower rows of shelves, standing just near enough to +them to read the titles on the backs of the volumes. I saw Voltaire in +red morocco, Shakespeare in blue, Walter Scott in green, the "History of +England" in brown, the "Annual Register" in yellow calf. There I paused, +wearied and discouraged already by the long rows of volumes. How (I +thought to myself) am I to examine all these books? And what am I to +look for, even if I do examine them all? + +Major Fitz-David had spoken of a terrible misfortune which had darkened +my husband's past life. In what possible way could any trace of that +misfortune, or any suggestive hint of something resembling it, exist in +the archives of the "Annual Register" or in the pages of Voltaire? +The bare idea of such a thing seemed absurd The mere attempt to make a +serious examination in this direction was surely a wanton waste of time. + +And yet the Major had certainly stolen a look at the book-case. And +again, the broken vase had once stood on the book-case. Did these +circumstances justify me in connecting the vase and the book-case as +twin landmarks on the way that led to discovery? The question was not an +easy one to decide on the spur of the moment. + +I looked up at the higher shelves. + +Here the collection of books exhibited a greater variety. The volumes +were smaller, and were not so carefully arranged as on the lower +shelves. Some were bound in cloth, some were only protected by paper +covers; one or two had fallen, and lay flat on the shelves. Here and +there I saw empty spaces from which books had been removed and not +replaced. In short, there was no discouraging uniformity in these higher +regions of the book-case. The untidy top shelves looked suggestive of +some lucky accident which might unexpectedly lead the way to success. I +decided, if I did examine the book-case at all, to begin at the top. + +Where was the library ladder? + +I had left it against the partition wall which divided the back room +from the room in front. Looking that way, I necessarily looked also +toward the door that ran in grooves--the imperfectly closed door through +which I heard Major Fitz-David question his servant on the subject of +my personal appearance when I first entered the house. No one had moved +this door during the time of my visit. Everybody entering or leaving the +room had used the other door, which led into the hall. + +At the moment when I looked round something stirred in the front room. +The movement let the light in suddenly through the small open space left +by the partially closed door. Had somebody been watching me through the +chink? I stepped softly to the door, and pushed it back until it was +wide open. There was the Major, discovered in the front room! I saw it +in his face--he had been watching me at the book-case! + +His hat was in his hand. He was evidently going out; and he dexterously +took advantage of that circumstance to give a plausible reason for being +so near the door. + +"I hope I didn't frighten you," he said. + +"You startled me a little, Major." + +"I am so sorry, and so ashamed! I was just going to open the door, and +tell you that I am obliged to go out. I have received a pressing message +from a lady. A charming person--I should so like you to know her. She +is in sad trouble, poor thing. Little bills, you know, and nasty +tradespeople who want their money, and a husband--oh, dear me, a husband +who is quite unworthy of her! A most interesting creature. You remind +me of her a little; you both have the same carriage of the head. I shall +not be more than half an hour gone. Can I do anything for you? You are +looking fatigued. Pray let me send for some more champagne. No? Promise +to ring when you want it. That's right! _Au revoir_, my charming +friend--_au revoir!_" + +I pulled the door to again the moment his back was turned, and sat down +for a while to compose myself. + +He had been watching me at the book-case! The man who was in my +husband's confidence, the man who knew where the clew was to be found, +had been watching me at the book-case! There was no doubt of it now. +Major Fitz-David had shown me the hiding-place of the secret in spite of +himself! + +I looked with indifference at the other pieces of furniture, ranged +against the fourth wall, which I had not examined yet. I surveyed, +without the slightest feeling of curiosity, all the little elegant +trifles scattered on the tables and on the chimney-piece, each one +of which might have been an object of suspicion to me under other +circumstances. Even the water-color drawings failed to interest me in my +present frame of mind. I observed languidly that they were most of +them portraits of ladies--fair idols, no doubt, of the Major's facile +adoration--and I cared to notice no more. _My_ business in that room (I +was certain of it now!) began and ended with the book-case. I left +my seat to fetch the library ladder, determining to begin the work of +investigation on the top shelves. + +On my way to the ladder I passed one of the tables, and saw the keys +lying on it which Major Fitz-David had left at my disposal. + +The smaller of the two keys instantly reminded me of the cupboards under +the bookcase. I had strangely overlooked these. A vague distrust of the +locked doors a vague doubt of what they might be hiding from me, stole +into my mind. I left the ladder in its place against the wall, and set +myself to examine the contents of the cupboards first. + +The cupboards were three in number. As I opened the first of them +the singing upstairs ceased. For a moment there was something almost +oppressive in the sudden change from noise to silence. I suppose my +nerves must have been overwrought. The next sound in the house--nothing +more remarkable than the creaking of a man's boots descending +the stairs--made me shudder all over. The man was no doubt the +singing-master, going away after giving his lesson. I heard the house +door close on him, and started at the familiar sound as if it were +something terrible which I had never heard before. Then there was +silence again. I roused myself as well as I could, and began my +examination of the first cupboard. + +It was divided into two compartments. + +The top compartment contained nothing but boxes of cigars, ranged in +rows, one on another. The under compartment was devoted to a collection +of shells. They were all huddled together anyhow, the Major evidently +setting a far higher value on his cigars than on his shells. I searched +this lower compartment carefully for any object interesting to me which +might be hidden in it. Nothing was to be found in any part of it besides +the shells. + +As I opened the second cupboard it struck me that the light was +beginning to fail. + +I looked at the window: it was hardly evening yet. The darkening of the +light was produced by gathering clouds. Rain-drops pattered against +the glass; the autumn wind whistled mournfully in the corners of the +courtyard. I mended the fire before I renewed my search. My nerves were +in fault again, I suppose. I shivered when I went back to the book-case. +My hands trembled: I wondered what was the matter with me. + +The second cupboard revealed (in the upper division of it) some really +beautiful cameos--not mounted, but laid on cotton-wool in neat cardboard +trays. In one corner, half hidden under one of the trays, there peeped +out the whit e leaves of a little manuscript. I pounced on it eagerly, +only to meet with a new disappointment: the manuscript proved to be a +descriptive catalogue of the cameos--nothing more! + +Turning to the lower division of the cupboard, I found more costly +curiosities in the shape of ivory carvings from Japan and specimens of +rare silk from China. I began to feel weary of disinterring the Major's +treasures. The longer I searched, the farther I seemed to remove myself +from the one object that I had it at heart to attain. After closing the +door of the second cupboard, I almost doubted whether it would be worth +my while to proceed farther and open the third and last door. + +A little reflection convinced me that it would be as well, now that I +had begun my examination of the lower regions of the book-case, to go on +with it to the end. I opened the last cupboard. + +On the upper shelf there appeared, in solitary grandeur, one object +only--a gorgeously bound book. + +It was of a larger size than usual, judging of it by comparison with +the dimensions of modern volumes. The binding was of blue velvet, with +clasps of silver worked in beautiful arabesque patterns, and with a lock +of the same precious metal to protect the book from prying eyes. When I +took it up, I found that the lock was not closed. + +Had I any right to take advantage of this accident, and open the book? +I have put the question since to some of my friends of both sexes. The +women all agree that I was perfectly justified, considering the serious +interests that I had at stake, in taking any advantage of any book in +the Major's house. The men differ from this view, and declare that I +ought to have put back the volume in blue velvet unopened, carefully +guarding myself from any after-temptation to look at it again by locking +the cupboard door. I dare say the men are right. + +Being a woman, however, I opened the book without a moment's hesitation. + +The leaves were of the finest vellum, with tastefully designed +illuminations all round them. And what did these highly ornamental pages +contain? To my unutterable amazement and disgust, they contained locks +of hair, let neatly into the center of each page, with inscriptions +beneath, which proved them to be love-tokens from various ladies who had +touched the Major's susceptible heart at different periods of his life. +The inscriptions were written in other languages besides English, but +they appeared to be all equally devoted to the same curious purpose, +namely, to reminding the Major of the dates at which his various +attachments had come to an untimely end. Thus the first page exhibited +a lock of the lightest flaxen hair, with these lines beneath: "My adored +Madeline. Eternal constancy. Alas, July 22, 1839!" The next page was +adorned by a darker shade of hair, with a French inscription under it: +"Clemence. Idole de mon ame. Toujours fidele. Helas, 2me Avril, 1840." A +lock of red hair followed, with a lamentation in Latin under it, a note +being attached to the date of dissolution of partnership in this case, +stating that the lady was descended from the ancient Romans, and was +therefore mourned appropriately in Latin by her devoted Fitz-David. +More shades of hair and more inscriptions followed, until I was weary of +looking at them. I put down the book, disgusted with the creatures +who had assisted in filling it, and then took it up again, by an +afterthought. Thus far I had thoroughly searched everything that had +presented itself to my notice. Agreeable or not agreeable, it was +plainly of serious importance to my own interests to go on as I had +begun, and thoroughly to search the book. + +I turned over the pages until I came to the first blank leaf. Seeing +that they were all blank leaves from this place to the end, I lifted the +volume by the back, and, as a last measure of precaution, shook it so as +to dislodge any loose papers or cards which might have escaped my notice +between the leaves. + +This time my patience was rewarded by a discovery which indescribably +irritated and distressed me. + +A small photograph, mounted on a card, fell out of the book. A first +glance showed me that it represented the portraits of two persons. + +One of the persons I recognized as my husband. + +The other person was a woman. + +Her face was entirely unknown to me. She was not young. The picture +represented her seated on a chair, with my husband standing behind, and +bending over her, holding one of her hands in his. The woman's face was +hard-featured and ugly, with the marking lines of strong passions and +resolute self-will plainly written on it. Still, ugly as she was, I felt +a pang of jealousy as I noticed the familiarly affectionate action by +which the artist (with the permission of his sitters, of course) had +connected the two figures in a group. Eustace had briefly told me, in +the days of our courtship, that he had more than once fancied himself +to be in love before he met with me. Could this very unattractive woman +have been one of the early objects of his admiration? Had she been near +enough and dear enough to him to be photographed with her hand in his? I +looked and looked at the portraits until I could endure them no longer. +Women are strange creatures--mysteries even to themselves. I threw the +photograph from me into a corner of the cupboard. I was savagely angry +with my husband; I hated--yes, hated with all my heart and soul!--the +woman who had got his hand in hers--the unknown woman with the +self-willed, hard-featured face. + +All this time the lower shelf of the cupboard was still waiting to be +looked over. + +I knelt down to examine it, eager to clear my mind, if I could, of the +degrading jealousy that had got possession of me. + +Unfortunately, the lower shelf contained nothing but relics of the +Major's military life, comprising his sword and pistols, his epaulets, +his sash, and other minor accouterments. None of these objects excited +the slightest interest in me. My eyes wandered back to the upper +shelf; and, like the fool I was (there is no milder word that can +fitly describe me at that moment), I took the photograph out again, and +enraged myself uselessly by another look at it. This time I observed, +what I had not noticed before, that there were some lines of writing (in +a woman's hand) at the back of the portraits. The lines ran thus: + +"To Major Fitz-David, with two vases. From his friends, S. and E. M." + +Was one of those two vases the vase that had been broken? And was the +change that I had noticed in Major Fitz-David's face produced by some +past association in connection with it, which in some way affected +me? It might or might not be so. I was little disposed to indulge in +speculation on this topic while the far more serious question of the +initials confronted me on the back of the photograph. + +"S. and E. M.?" Those last two letters might stand for the initials of +my husband's name--his true name--Eustace Macallan. In this case the +first letter ("S.") in all probability indicated _her_ name. What right +had she to associate herself with him in that manner? I considered a +little--my memory exerted itself--I suddenly called to mind that Eustace +had sisters. He had spoken of them more than once in the time before our +marriage. Had I been mad enough to torture myself with jealousy of my +husband's sister? It might well be so; "S." might stand for his sister's +Christian name. I felt heartily ashamed of myself as this new view of +the matter dawned on me. What a wrong I had done to them both in my +thoughts! I turned the photograph, sadly and penitently, to examine the +portraits again with a kinder and truer appreciation of them. + +I naturally looked now for a family likeness between the two faces. +There was no family likeness; on the contrary, they were as unlike each +other in form and expression as faces could be. _Was_ she his sister, +after all? I looked at her hands, as represented in the portrait. Her +right hand was clasped by Eustace; her left hand lay on her lap. On the +third finger, distinctly visible, there was a wedding-ring. Were any of +my husband's sisters married? I had myself asked him the question when +he mentioned them to me, and I perfectly remembered that he had replied +in the negative. + +Was it possible that my first jealous instinct had led me to the right +conclusion after all? If it had, what did the association of the three +initial letters mean? What did the wedding-ring mean? Good Heavens! was +I looking at the portrait of a rival in my husband's affections--and was +that rival his Wife? + +I threw the photograph from me with a cry of horror. For one terrible +moment I felt as if my reason was giving way. I don't know what would +have happened, or what I should have done next, if my love for Eustace +had not taken the uppermost place among the contending emotions that +tortured me. That faithful love steadied my brain. That faithful love +roused the reviving influences of my better and nobler sense. Was the +man whom I had enshrined in my heart of hearts capable of such base +wickedness as the bare idea of his marriage to another woman implied? +No! Mine was the baseness, mine the wickedness, in having even for a +moment thought it of him! + +I picked up the detestable photograph from the floor, and put it back +in the book. I hastily closed the cupboard door, fetched the library +ladder, and set it against the book-case. My one idea now was the idea +of taking refuge in employment of any sort from my own thoughts. I felt +the hateful suspicion that had degraded me coming back again in spite of +my efforts to repel it. The books! the books! my only hope was to absorb +myself, body and soul, in the books. + +I had one foot on the ladder, when I heard the door of the room +open--the door which communicated with the hall. + +I looked around, expecting to see the Major. I saw instead the Major's +future prima donna standing just inside the door, with her round eyes +steadily fixed on me. + +"I can stand a good deal," the girl began, coolly, "but I can't stand +_this_ any longer?" + +"What is it that you can't stand any longer?" I asked. + +"If you have been here a minute, you have been here two good hours," +she went on. "All by yourself in the Major's study. I am of a jealous +disposition--I am. And I want to know what it means." She advanced a few +steps nearer to me, with a heightening color and a threatening look. "Is +he going to bring _you_ out on the stage?" she asked, sharply. + +"Certainly not." + +"He ain't in love with you, is he?" + +Under other circumstances I might have told her to leave the room. In my +position at that critical moment the mere presence of a human creature +was a positive relief to me. Even this girl, with her coarse questions +and her uncultivated manners, was a welcome intruder on my solitude: she +offered me a refuge from myself. + +"Your question is not very civilly put," I said. "However, I excuse you. +You are probably not aware that I am a married woman." + +"What has that got to do with it?" she retorted. "Married or single, +it's all one to the Major. That brazen-faced hussy who calls herself +Lady Clarinda is married, and she sends him nosegays three times a +week! Not that I care, mind you, about the old fool. But I've lost my +situation at the railway, and I've got my own interests to look after, +and I don't know what may happen if I let other women come between him +and me. That's where the shoe pinches, don't you see? I'm not easy in my +mind when I see him leaving you mistress here to do just what you like. +No offense! I speak out--I do. I want to know what you are about all by +yourself in this room? How did you pick up with the Major? I never heard +him speak of you before to-day." + +Under all the surface selfishness and coarseness of this strange girl +there was a certain frankness and freedom which pleaded in her favor--to +my mind, at any rate. I answered frankly and freely on my side. + +"Major Fitz-David is an old friend of my husband's," I said, "and he is +kind to me for my husband's sake. He has given me permission to look in +this room--" + +I stopped, at a loss how to describe my employment in terms which should +tell her nothing, and which should at the same time successfully set her +distrust of me at rest. + +"To look about in this room--for what?" she asked. Her eye fell on the +library ladder, beside which I was still standing. "For a book?" she +resumed. + +"Yes," I said, taking the hint. "For a book." + +"Haven't you found it yet?" + +"No." + +She looked hard at me, undisguisedly considering with herself whether I +were or were not speaking the truth. + +"You seem to be a good sort," she said, making up her mind at last. +"There's nothing stuck-up about you. I'll help you if I can. I have +rummaged among the books here over and over again, and I know more about +them than you do. What book do you want?" + +As she put that awkward question she noticed for the first time Lady +Clarinda's nosegay lying on the side-table where the Major had left it. +Instantly forgetting me and my book, this curious girl pounced like a +fury on the flowers, and actually trampled them under her feet! + +"There!" she cried. "If I had Lady Clarinda here I'd serve her in the +same way." + +"What will the Major say?" I asked. + +"What do I care? Do you suppose I'm afraid of _him?_ Only last week I +broke one of his fine gimcracks up there, and all through Lady Clarinda +and her flowers!" + +She pointed to the top of the book-case--to the empty space on it +close by the window. My heart gave a sudden bound as my eyes took the +direction indicated by her finger. _She_ had broken the vase! Was the +way to discovery about to reveal itself to me through this girl? Not a +word would pass my lips; I could only look at her. + +"Yes!" she said. "The thing stood there. He knows how I hate her +flowers, and he put her nosegay in the vase out of my way. There was +a woman's face painted on the china, and he told me it was the living +image of _her_ face. It was no more like her than I am. I was in such a +rage that I up with the book I was reading at the time and shied it at +the painted face. Over the vase went, bless your heart, crash to the +floor. Stop a bit! I wonder whether _that's_ the book you have been +looking after? Are you like me? Do you like reading Trials?" + +Trials? Had I heard her aright? Yes: she had said Trials. + +I answered by an affirmative motion of my head. I was still speechless. +The girl sauntered in her cool way to the fire-place, and, taking up the +tongs, returned with them to the book-case. + +"Here's where the book fell," she said--"in the space between the +book-case and the wall. I'll have it out in no time." + +I waited without moving a muscle, without uttering a word. + +She approached me with the tongs in one hand and with a plainly bound +volume in the other. + +"Is that the book?" she said. "Open it, and see." + +I took the book from her. + +"It is tremendously interesting," she went on. "I've read it twice +over--I have. Mind you, _I_ believe he did it, after all." + +Did it? Did what? What was she talking about? I tried to put the +question to her. I struggled--quite vainly--to say only these words: +"What are you talking about?" + +She seemed to lose all patience with me. She snatched the book out of +my hand, and opened it before me on the table by which we were standing +side by side. + +"I declare, you're as helpless as a baby!" she said, contemptuously. +"There! _Is_ that the book?" + +I read the first lines on the title-page-- + +A COMPLETE REPORT OF THE TRIAL OF EUSTACE MACALLAN. + + + +I stopped and looked up at her. She started back from me with a scream +of terror. I looked down again at the title-page, and read the next +lines-- + + +FOR THE ALLEGED POISONING OF HIS WIFE. + +There, God's mercy remembered me. There the black blank of a swoon +swallowed me up. + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE RETURN TO LIFE. + +My first remembrance when I began to recover my senses was the +remembrance of Pain--agonizing pain, as if every nerve in my body were +being twisted and torn out of me. My whole being writhed and quivered +under the dumb and dreadful protest of Nature against the effort to +recall me to life. I would have given worlds to be able to cry out--to +entreat the unseen creatures about me to give me back to death. How long +that speechless agony held me I never knew. In a longer or shorter time +there stole over me slowly a sleepy sense of relief. I heard my own +labored breathing. I felt my hands moving feebly and mechanically, like +the hands of a baby. I faintly opened my eyes and looked round me--as if +I had passed through the ordeal of death, and had awakened to new senses +in a new world. + +The first person I saw was a man--a stranger. He moved quietly out of my +sight; beckoning, as he disappeared, to some other person in the room. + +Slowly and unwillingly the other person advanced to the sofa on which I +lay. A faint cry of joy escaped me; I tried to hold out my feeble hands. +The other person who was approaching me was my husband! + +I looked at him eagerly. He never looked at me in return. With his eyes +on the ground, with a strange appearance of confusion and distress in +his face, he too moved away out of my sight. The unknown man whom I had +first noticed followed him out of the room. I called after him faintly, +"Eustace!" He never answered; he never returned. With an effort I moved +my head on the pillow, so as to look round on the other side of the +sofa. Another familiar face appeared before me as if in a dream. My good +old Benjamin was sitting watching me, with the tears in his eyes. + +He rose and took my hand silently, in his simple, kindly way. + +"Where is Eustace?" I asked. "Why has he gone away and left me?" + +I was still miserably weak. My eyes wandered mechanically round the room +as I put the question. I saw Major Fitz-David, I saw the table on which +the singing girl had opened the book to show it to me. I saw the girl +herself, sitting alone in a corner, with her handkerchief to her eyes +as if she were crying. In one mysterious moment my memory recovered its +powers. The recollection of that fatal title-page came back to me in all +its horror. The one feeling that it roused in me now was a longing to +see my husband--to throw myself into his arms, and tell him how firmly I +believed in his innocence, how truly and dearly I loved him. I seized on +Benjamin with feeble, trembling hands. "Bring him back to me!" I cried, +wildly. "Where is he? Help me to get up!" + +A strange voice answered, firmly and kindly: "Compose yourself, madam. +Mr. Woodville is waiting until you have recovered, in a room close by." + +I looked at him, and recognized the stranger who had followed my husband +out of the room. Why had he returned alone? Why was Eustace not with me, +like the rest of them? I tried to raise myself, and get on my feet. +The stranger gently pressed me back again on the pillow. I attempted to +resist him--quite uselessly, of course. His firm hand held me as gently +as ever in my place. + +"You must rest a little," he said. "You must take some wine. If you +exert yourself now you will faint again." + +Old Benjamin stooped over me, and whispered a word of explanation. + +"It's the doctor, my dear. You must do as he tells you." + +The doctor! They had called the doctor in to help them! I began dimly +to understand that my fainting fit must have presented symptoms far more +serious than the fainting fits of women in general. I appealed to the +doctor, in a helpless, querulous way, to account to me for my husband's +extraordinary absence. + +"Why did you let him leave the room?" I asked. "If I can't go to him, +why don't you bring him here to me?" + +The doctor appeared to be at a loss how to reply to me. He looked at +Benjamin, and said, "Will you speak to Mrs. Woodville?" + +Benjamin, in his turn, looked at Major Fitz-David, and said, "Will +_you?_" The Major signed to them both to leave us. They rose together, +and went into the front room, pulling the door to after them in its +grooves. As they left us, the girl who had so strangely revealed my +husband's secret to me rose in her corner and approached the sofa. + +"I suppose I had better go too?" she said, addressing Major Fitz-David. + +"If you please," the Major answered. + +He spoke (as I thought) rather coldly. She tossed her head, and turned +her back on him in high indignation. "I must say a word for myself!" +cried this strange creature, with a hysterical outbreak of energy. "I +must say a word, or I shall burst!" + +With that extraordinary preface, she suddenly turned my way and poured +out a perfect torrent of words on me. + +"You hear how the Major speaks to me?" she began. "He blames me--poor +Me--for everything that has happened. I am as innocent as the new-born +babe. I acted for the best. I thought you wanted the book. I don't know +now what made you faint dead away when I opened it. And the Major blames +Me! As if it was my fault! I am not one of the fainting sort myself; but +I feel it, I can tell you. Yes! I feel it, though I don't faint about +it. I come of respectable parents--I do. My name is Hoighty--Miss +Hoighty. I have my own self-respect; and it's wounded. I say my +self-respect is wounded, when I find myself blamed without deserving it. +You deserve it, if anybody does. Didn't you tell me you were looking +for a book? And didn't I present it to you promiscuously, with the +best intentions? I think you might say so yourself, now the doctor has +brought you to again. I think you might speak up for a poor girl who is +worked to death with singing and languages and what not--a poor girl who +has nobody else to speak for her. I am as respectable as you are, if +you come to that. My name is Hoighty. My parents are in business, and my +mamma has seen better days, and mixed in the best of company." + +There Miss Hoighty lifted her handkerchief again to her face, and burst +modestly into tears behind it. + +It was certainly hard to hold her responsible for what had happened. +I answered as kindly as I could, and I attempted to speak to Major +Fitz-David in her defense. He knew what terrible anxieties were +oppressing me at that moment; and, considerately refusing to hear a +word, he took the task of consoling his young prima donna entirely on +himself. What he said to her I neither heard nor cared to hear: he spoke +in a whisper. It ended in his pacifying Miss Hoighty, by kissing her +hand, and leading her (as he might have led a duchess) out of the room. + +"I hope that foolish girl has not annoyed you--at such a time as this," +he said, very earnestly, when he returned to the sofa. "I can't tell you +how grieved I am at what has happened. I was careful to warn you, as you +may remember. Still, if I could only have foreseen--" + +I let him proceed no further. No human forethought could have provided +against what had happened. Besides, dreadful as the discovery had been, +I would rather have made it, and suffered under it, as I was suffering +now, than have been kept in the dark. I told him this. And then I turned +to the one subject that was now of any interest to me--the subject of my +unhappy husband. + +"How did he come to this house?" I asked. + +"He came here with Mr. Benjamin shortly after I returned," the Major +replied. + +"Long after I was taken ill?" + +"No. I had just sent for the doctor--feeling seriously alarmed about +you." + +"What brought him here? Did he return to the hotel and miss me?" + +"Yes. He returned earlier than he had anticipated, and he felt uneasy at +not finding you at the hotel." + +"Did he suspect me of being with you? Did he come here from the hotel?" + +"No. He appears to have gone first to Mr. Benjamin to inquire about you. +What he heard from your old friend I cannot say. I only know that Mr. +Benjamin accompanied him when he came here." + +This brief explanation was quite enough for me--I understood what had +happened. Eustace would easily frighten simple old Benjamin about my +absence from the hotel; and, once alarmed, Benjamin would be persuaded +without difficulty to repeat the few words which had passed between us +on the subject of Major Fitz-David. My husband's presence in the Major's +house was perfectly explained. But his extraordinary conduct in leaving +the room at the very time when I was just recovering my senses still +remained to be accounted for. Major Fitz-David looked seriously +embarrassed when I put the question to him. + +"I hardly know how to explain it to you," he said. "Eustace has +surprised and disappointed me." + +He spoke very gravely. His looks told me more than his words: his looks +alarmed me. + +"Eustace has not quarreled with you?" I said. + +"Oh no!" + +"He understands that you have not broken your promise to him?" + +"Certainly. My young vocalist (Miss Hoighty) told the doctor exactly +what had happened; and the doctor in her presence repeated the statement +to your husband." + +"Did the doctor see the Trial?" + +"Neither the doctor nor Mr. Benjamin has seen the Trial. I have locked +it up; and I have carefully kept the terrible story of your connection +with the prisoner a secret from all of them. Mr. Benjamin evidently +has his suspicions. But the doctor has no idea, and Miss Hoighty has no +idea, of the true cause of your fainting fit. They both believe that you +are subject to serious nervous attacks, and that your husband's name is +really Woodville. All that the truest friend could do to spare Eustace +I have done. He persists, nevertheless, in blaming me for letting you +enter my house. And worse, far worse than this, he persists in declaring +the event of to-day has fatally estranged you from him. 'There is an end +of our married life,' he said to me, 'now she knows that I am the man +who was tried at Edinburgh for poisoning my wife!"' + +I rose from the sofa in horror. + +"Good God!" I cried, "does Eustace suppose that I doubt his innocence?" + +"He denies that it is possible for you or for anybody to believe in his +innocence," the Major replied. + +"Help me to the door," I said. "Where is he? I must and will see him!" + +I dropped back exhausted on the sofa as I said the words. Major +Fitz-David poured out a glass of wine from the bottle on the table, and +insisted on my drinking it. + +"You shall see him," said the Major. "I promise you that. The doctor has +forbidden him to leave the house until you have seen him. Only wait a +little! My poor, dear lady, wait, if it is only for a few minutes, until +you are stronger." + +I had no choice but to obey him. Oh, those miserable, helpless +minutes on the sofa! I cannot write of them without shuddering at the +recollection--even at this distance of time. + +"Bring him here!" I said. "Pray, pray bring him here!" + +"Who is to persuade him to come back?" asked the Major, sadly. "How can +I, how can anybody, prevail with a man--a madman I had almost said!--who +could leave you at the moment when you first opened your eyes on him? I +saw Eustace alone in the next room while the doctor was in attendance +on you. I tried to shake his obstinate distrust of your belief in his +innocence and of my belief in his innocence by every argument and every +appeal that an old friend could address to him. He had but one answer to +give me. Reason as I might, and plead as I might, he still persisted in +referring me to the Scotch Verdict." + +"The Scotch Verdict?" I repeated. "What is that?" + +The Major looked surprised at the question. + +"Have you really never heard of the Trial?" he said. + +"Never." + +"I thought it strange," he went on, "when you told me you had found out +your husband's true name, that the discovery appeared to have suggested +no painful association to your mind. It is not more than three years +since all England was talking of your husband. One can hardly wonder at +his taking refuge, poor fellow, in an assumed name. Where could you have +been at the time?" + +"Did you say it was three years ago?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +"I think I can explain my strange ignorance of what was so well known to +every one else. Three years since my father was alive. I was living with +him in a country-house in Italy--up in the mountains, near Sienna. We +never saw an English newspaper or met with an English traveler for weeks +and weeks together. It is just possible that there might have been some +reference made to the Trial in my father's letters from England. If +there were, he never told me of it. Or, if he did mention the case, I +felt no interest in it, and forgot it again directly. Tell me--what has +the Verdict to do with my husband's horrible doubt of us? Eustace is a +free man. The Verdict was Not Guilty, of course?" + +Major Fitz-David shook his head sadly. + +"Eustace was tried in Scotland," he said. "There is a verdict allowed by +the Scotch law, which (so far as I know) is not permitted by the laws of +any other civilized country on the face of the earth. When the jury are +in doubt whether to condemn or acquit the prisoner brought before them, +they are permitted, in Scotland, to express that doubt by a form of +compromise. If there is not evidence enough, on the one hand, to justify +them in finding a prisoner guilty, and not evidence enough, on the other +hand, to thoroughly convince them that a prisoner is innocent, they +extricate themselves from the difficulty by finding a verdict of Not +Proven." + +"Was that the Verdict when Eustace was tried?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +"The jury were not quite satisfied that my husband was guilty? and not +quite satisfied that my husband was innocent? Is that what the Scotch +Verdict means?" + +"That is what the Scotch Verdict means. For three years that doubt about +him in the minds of the jury who tried him has stood on public record." + +Oh, my poor darling! my innocent martyr! I understood it at last. The +false name in which he had married me; the terrible words he had spoken +when he had warned me to respect his secret; the still more terrible +doubt that he felt of me at that moment--it was all intelligible to my +sympathies, it was all clear to my understanding, now. I got up again +from the sofa, strong in a daring resolution which the Scotch Verdict +had suddenly kindled in me--a resolution at once too sacred and too +desperate to be confided, in the first instance, to any other than my +husband's ear. + +"Take me to Eustace!" I cried. "I am strong enough to bear anything +now." + +After one searching look at me, the Major silently offered me his arm, +and led me out of the room. + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE SCOTCH VERDICT. + +We walked to the far end of the hall. Major Fitz-David opened the +door of a long, narrow room built out at the back of the house as a +smoking-room, and extending along one side of the courtyard as far as +the stable wall. + +My husband was alone in the room, seated at the further end of it, near +the fire-place. He started to his feet and faced me in silence as I +entered. The Major softly closed the door on us and retired. Eustace +never stirred a step to meet me. I ran to him, and threw my arms round +his neck and kissed him. The embrace was not returned; the kiss was not +returned. He passively submitted--nothing more. + +"Eustace!" I said, "I never loved you more dearly than I love you at +this moment! I never felt for you as I feel for you now!" + +He released himself deliberately from my arms. He signed to me with the +mechanical courtesy of a stranger to take a chair. + +"Thank you, Valeria," he answered, in cold, measured tones. "You could +say no less to me, after what has happened; and you could say no more. +Thank you." + +We were standing before the fire-place. He left me, and walked away +slowly with his head down, apparently intending to leave the room. + +I followed him--I got before him--I placed myself between him and the +door. + +"Why do you leave me?" I said. "Why do you speak to me in this cruel +way? Are you angry, Eustace? My darling, if you _are_ angry, I ask you +to forgive me." + +"It is I who ought to ask _your_ pardon," he replied. "I beg you to +forgive me, Valeria, for having made you my wife." + +He pronounced those words with a hopeless, heart-broken humility +dreadful to see. I laid my hand on his bosom. I said, "Eustace, look at +me." + +He slowly lifted his eyes to my face--eyes cold and clear and +tearless--looking at me in steady resignation, in immovable despair. In +the utter wretchedness of that moment, I was like him; I was as quiet +and as cold as my husband. He chilled, he froze me. + +"Is it possible," I said, "that you doubt my belief in your innocence?" + +He left the question unanswered. He sighed bitterly to himself. "Poor +woman!" he said, as a stranger might have said, pitying me. "Poor +woman!" + +My heart swelled in me as if it would burst. I lifted my hand from his +bosom, and laid it on his shoulder to support myself. + +"I don't ask you to pity me, Eustace; I ask you to do me justice. You +are not doing me justice. If you had trusted me with the truth in the +days when we first knew that we loved each other--if you had told me +all, and more than all that I know now--as God is my witness I would +still have married you! _Now_ do you doubt that I believe you are an +innocent man!" + +"I don't doubt it," he said. "All your impulses are generous, Valeria. +You are speaking generously and feeling generously. Don't blame me, +my poor child, if I look on further than you do: if I see what is to +come--too surely to come--in the cruel future." + +"The cruel future!" I repeated. "What do you mean?" + +"You believe in my innocence, Valeria. The jury who tried me doubted +it--and have left that doubt on record. What reason have _you_ for +believing, in the face of the Verdict, that I am an innocent man?" + +"I want no reason! I believe in spite of the jury--in spite of the +Verdict." + +"Will your friends agree with you? When your uncle and aunt know what +has happened--and sooner or later they must know it--what will they say? +They will say, 'He began badly; he concealed from our niece that he had +been wedded to a first wife; he married our niece under a false name. +He may say he is innocent; but we have only his word for it. When he was +put on his Trial, the Verdict was Not Proven. Not Proven won't do for +us. If the jury have done him an injustice--if he _is_ innocent--let him +prove it.' That is what the world thinks and says of me. That is what +your friends will think and say of me. The time is coming, Valeria, when +you--even You--will feel that your friends have reason to appeal to on +their side, and that you have no reason on yours." + +"That time will never come!" I answered, warmly. "You wrong me, you +insult me, in thinking it possible!" + +He put down my hand from him, and drew back a step, with a bitter smile. + +"We have only been married a few days, Valeria. Your love for me is new +and young. Time, which wears away all things, will wear away the first +fervor of that love." + +"Never! never!" + +He drew back from me a little further still. + +"Look at the world around you," he said. "The happiest husbands and +wives have their occasional misunderstandings and disagreements; the +brightest married life has its passing clouds. When those days come for +_us,_ the doubts and fears that you don't feel now will find their way +to you then. When the clouds rise in _our_ married life--when I say my +first harsh word, when you make your first hasty reply--then, in the +solitude of your own room, in the stillness of the wakeful night, you +will think of my first wife's miserable death. You will remember that I +was held responsible for it, and that my innocence was never proved. You +will say to yourself, 'Did it begin, in _her_ time, with a harsh word +from him and with a hasty reply from her? Will it one day end with me +as the jury half feared that it ended with her?' Hideous questions for +a wife to ask herself! You will stifle them; you will recoil from them, +like a good woman, with horror. But when we meet the next morning you +will be on your guard, and I shall see it, and know in my heart of +hearts what it means. Imbittered by that knowledge, my next harsh word +may be harsher still. Your next thoughts of me may remind you more +vividly and more boldly that your husband was once tried as a poisoner, +and that the question of his first wife's death was never properly +cleared up. Do you see what materials for a domestic hell are mingling +for us here? Was it for nothing that I warned you, solemnly warned you, +to draw back, when I found you bent on discovering the truth? Can I ever +be at your bedside now, when you are ill, and not remind you, in the +most innocent things I do, of what happened at that other bedside, in +the time of that other woman whom I married first? If I pour out your +medicine, I commit a suspicious action--they say I poisoned _her_ in +her medicine. If I bring you a cup of tea, I revive the remembrance of a +horrid doubt--they said I put the arsenic in _her_ cup of tea. If I kiss +you when I leave the room, I remind you that the prosecution accused +me of kissing _her,_ to save appearances and produce an effect on the +nurse. Can we live together on such terms as these? No mortal creatures +could support the misery of it. This very day I said to you, 'If you +stir a step further in this matter, there is an end of your happiness +for the rest of your life.' You have taken that step and the end has +come to your happiness and to mine. The blight that cankers and kills is +on you and on me for the rest of our lives!" + +So far I had forced myself to listen to him. At those last words the +picture of the future that he was placing before me became too hideous +to be endured. I refused to hear more. + +"You are talking horribly," I said. "At your age and at mine, have we +done with love and done with hope? It is blasphemy to Love and Hope to +say it!" + +"Wait till you have read the Trial," he answered. "You mean to read it, +I suppose?" + +"Every word of it! With a motive, Eustace, which you have yet to know." + +"No motive of yours, Valeria, no love and hope of yours, can alter the +inexorable facts. My first wife died poisoned; and the verdict of the +jury has not absolutely acquitted me of the guilt of causing her death. +As long as you were ignorant of that the possibilities of happiness were +always within our reach. Now you know it, I say again--our married life +is at an end." + +"No," I said. "Now I know it, our married life has begun--begun with a +new object for your wife's devotion, with a new reason for your wife's +love!" + +"What do you mean?" + +I went near to him again, and took his hand. + +"What did you tell me the world has said of you?" I asked. "What did you +tell me my friends would say of you? 'Not Proven won't do for us. If the +jury have done him an injustice--if he _is_ innocent--let him prove it.' +Those were the words you put into the mouths of my friends. I adopt them +for mine! I say Not Proven won't do for _me._ Prove your right, Eustace, +to a verdict of Not Guilty. Why have you let three years pass without +doing it? Shall I guess why? You have waited for your wife to help you. +Here she is, my darling, ready to help you with all her heart and soul. +Here she is, with one object in life--to show the world and to show the +Scotch Jury that her husband is an innocent man!" + +I had roused myself; my pulses were throbbing, my voice rang through the +room. Had I roused _him_? What was his answer? + +"Read the Trial." That was his answer. + +I seized him by the arm. In my indignation and my despair I shook him +with all my strength. God forgive me, I could almost have struck him for +the tone in which he had spoken and the look that he had cast on me! + +"I have told you that I mean to read the Trial," I said. "I mean to +read it, line by line, with you. Some inexcusable mistake has been made. +Evidence in your favor that might have been found has not been found. +Suspicious circumstances have not been investigated. Crafty people have +not been watched. Eustace! the conviction of some dreadful oversight, +committed by you or by the persons who helped you, is firmly settled +in my mind. The resolution to set that vile Verdict right was the first +resolution that came to me when I first heard of it in the next room. We +_will_ set it right! We _must_ set it right--for your sake, for my sake, +for the sake of our children if we are blessed with children. Oh, my own +love, don't look at me with those cold eyes! Don't answer me in those +hard tones! Don't treat me as if I were talking ignorantly and madly of +something that can never be!" + +Still I never roused him. His next words were spoken compassionately +rather than coldly--that was all. + +"My defense was undertaken by the greatest lawyers in the land," he +said. "After such men have done their utmost, and have failed--my poor +Valeria, what can you, what can I, do? We can only submit." + +"Never!" I cried. "The greatest lawyers are mortal men; the greatest +lawyers have made mistakes before now. You can't deny that." + +"Read the Trial." For the third time he said those cruel words, and said +no more. + +In utter despair of moving him---feeling keenly, bitterly (if I must +own it), his merciless superiority to all that I had said to him in the +honest fervor of my devotion and my love--I thought of Major Fitz-David +as a last resort. In the dis ordered state of my mind at that moment, it +made no difference to me that the Major had already tried to reason with +him, and had failed. In the face of the facts I had a blind belief +in the influence of his old friend, if his old friend could only be +prevailed upon to support my view. + +"Wait for me one moment," I said. "I want you to hear another opinion +besides mine." + +I left him, and returned to the study. Major Fitz-David was not there. I +knocked at the door of communication with the front room. It was opened +instantly by the Major himself. The doctor had gone away. Benjamin still +remained in the room. + +"Will you come and speak to Eustace?" I began. "If you will only say +what I want you to say--" + +Before I could add a word more I heard the house door opened and closed. +Major Fitz-David and Benjamin heard it too. They looked at each other in +silence. + +I ran back, before the Major could stop me, to the room in which I had +seen Eustace. It was empty. My husband had left the house. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN'S DECISION. + +MY first impulse was the reckless impulse to follow Eustace--openly +through the streets. + +The Major and Benjamin both opposed this hasty resolution on my part. +They appealed to my own sense of self-respect, without (so far as I +remember it) producing the slightest effect on my mind. They were more +successful when they entreated me next to be patient for my husband's +sake. In mercy to Eustace, they begged me to wait half an hour. If he +failed to return in that time, they pledged themselves to accompany me +in search of him to the hotel. + +In mercy to Eustace I consented to wait. What I suffered under the +forced necessity for remaining passive at that crisis in my life no +words of mine can tell. It will be better if I go on with my narrative. + +Benjamin was the first to ask me what had passed between my husband and +myself. + +"You may speak freely, my dear," he said. "I know what has happened +since you have been in Major Fitz-David's house. No one has told me +about it; I found it out for myself. If you remember, I was struck by +the name of 'Macallan,' when you first mentioned it to me at my cottage. +I couldn't guess why at the time. I know why now." + +Hearing this, I told them both unreservedly what I had said to Eustace, +and how he had received it. To my unspeakable disappointment, they both +sided with my husband, treating my view of his position as a mere dream. +They said it, as he had said it, "You have not read the Trial." + +I was really enraged with them. "The facts are enough for _me,_" I said. +"We know he is innocent. Why is his innocence not proved? It ought to +be, it must be, it shall be! If the Trial tell me it can't be done, I +refuse to believe the Trial. Where is the book, Major? Let me see for +myself if his lawyers have left nothing for his wife to do. Did they +love him as I love him? Give me the book!" + +Major Fitz-David looked at Benjamin. + +"It will only additionally shock and distress her if I give her the +book," he said. "Don't you agree with me?" + +I interposed before Benjamin could answer. + +"If you refuse my request," I said, "you will oblige me, Major, to go +to the nearest bookseller and tell him to buy the Trial for me. I am +determined to read it." + +This time Benjamin sided with me. + +"Nothing can make matters worse than they are, sir," he said. "If I may +be permitted to advise, let her have her own way." + +The Major rose and took the book out of the Italian cabinet, to which he +had consigned it for safe-keeping. + +"My young friend tells me that she informed you of her regrettable +outbreak of temper a few days since," he said as he handed me the +volume. "I was not aware at the time what book she had in her hand when +she so far forgot herself as to destroy the vase. When I left you in the +study, I supposed the Report of the Trial to be in its customary place +on the top shelf of the book-case, and I own I felt some curiosity +to know whether you would think of examining that shelf. The broken +vase--it is needless to conceal it from you now--was one of a pair +presented to me by your husband and his first wife only a week before +the poor woman's terrible death. I felt my first presentiment that +you were on the brink of discovery when I found you looking at the +fragments, and I fancy I betrayed to you that something of the sort was +disturbing me. You looked as if you noticed it." + +"I did notice it, Major. And I too had a vague idea that I was on the +way to discovery. Will you look at your watch? Have we waited half an +hour yet?" + +My impatience had misled me. The ordeal of the half-hour was not yet at +an end. + +Slowly and more slowly the heavy minutes followed each other, and still +there were no signs of my husband's return. We tried to continue +our conversation, and failed. Nothing was audible; no sounds but the +ordinary sounds of the street disturbed the dreadful silence. Try as I +might to repel it, there was one foreboding thought that pressed closer +and closer on my mind as the interval of waiting wore its weary way on. +I shuddered as I asked myself if our married life had come to an end--if +Eustace had really left me. + +The Major saw what Benjamin's slower perception had not yet +discovered--that my fortitude was beginning to sink under the unrelieved +oppression of suspense. + +"Come!" he said. "Let us go to the hotel." + +It then wanted nearly five minutes to the half-hour. I _looked_ my +gratitude to Major Fitz-David for sparing me those last minutes: I could +not speak to him or to Benjamin. In silence we three got into a cab and +drove to the hotel. + +The landlady met us in the hall. Nothing had been seen or heard of +Eustace. There was a letter waiting for me upstairs on the table in our +sitting-room. It had been left at the hotel by a messenger only a few +minutes since. + +Trembling and breathless, I ran up the stairs, the two gentlemen +following me. The address of the letter was in my husband's handwriting. +My heart sank in me as I looked at the lines; there could be but one +reason for his writing to me. That closed envelope held his farewell +words. I sat with the letter on my lap, stupefied, incapable of opening +it. + +Kind-hearted Benjamin attempted to comfort and encourage me. The Major, +with his larger experience of women, warned the old man to be silent. + +"Wait!" I heard him whisper. "Speaking to her will do no good now. Give +her time." + +Acting on a sudden impulse, I held out the letter to him as he spoke. +Even moments might be of importance, if Eustace had indeed left me. To +give me time might be to lose the opportunity of recalling him. + +"You are his old friend," I said. "Open his letter, Major, and read it +for me." + +Major Fitz-David opened the letter and read it through to himself. When +he had done he threw it on the table with a gesture which was almost a +gesture of contempt. + +"There is but one excuse for him," he said. "The man is mad." + +Those words told me all. I knew the worst; and, knowing it, I could read +the letter. It ran thus: + +"MY BELOVED VALERIA--When you read these lines you read my farewell +words. I return to my solitary unfriended life--my life before I knew +you. + +"My darling, you have been cruelly treated. You have been entrapped +into marrying a man who has been publicly accused of poisoning his first +wife--and who has not been honorably and completely acquitted of the +charge. And you know it! + +"Can you live on terms of mutual confidence and mutual esteem with me +when I have committed this fraud, and when I stand toward you in this +position? It was possible for you to live with me happily while you were +in ignorance of the truth. It is _not_ possible, now you know all. + +"No! the one atonement I can make is--to leave you. Your one chance of +future happiness is to be disassociated, at once and forever, from my +dishonored life. I love you, Valeria--truly, devotedly, passionately. +But the specter of the poisoned woman rises between us. It makes no +difference that I am innocent even of the thought of harming my first +wife. My innocence has not been proved. In this world my innocence can +never be proved. You are young and loving, and generous and hopeful. +Bless others, Valeria, with your rare attractions and your delightful +gifts. They are of no avail with _me._ The poisoned woman stands between +us. If you live with me now, you will see her as I see her. _That_ +torture shall never be yours. I love you. I leave you. + +"Do you think me hard and cruel? Wait a little, and time will change +that way of thinking. As the years go on you will say to yourself, +'Basely as he deceived me, there was some generosity in him. He was man +enough to release me of his own free will.' + +"Yes, Valeria, I fully, freely release you. If it be possible to annul +our marriage, let it be done. Recover your liberty by any means that +you may be advised to employ; and be assured beforehand of my entire and +implicit submission. My lawyers have the necessary instructions on this +subject. Your uncle has only to communicate with them, and I think he +will be satisfied of my resolution to do you justice. The one interest +that I have now left in life is my interest in your welfare and your +happiness in the time to come. Your welfare and your happiness are no +longer to be found in your union with Me. + +"I can write no more. This letter will wait for you at the hotel. It +will be useless to attempt to trace me. I know my own weakness. My heart +is all yours: I might yield to you if I let you see me again. + +"Show these lines to your uncle, and to any friends whose opinions you +may value. I have only to sign my dishonored name, and every one +will understand and applaud my motive for writing as I do. The name +justifies--amply justifies--the letter. Forgive and forget me. Farewell. + + "EUSTACE MACALLAN." + + +In those words he took his leave of me. We had then been married--six +days. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE WOMAN'S ANSWER. + +THUS far I have written of myself with perfect frankness, and, I think I +may fairly add, with some courage as well. My frankness fails me and my +courage fails me when I look back to my husband's farewell letter, and +try to recall the storm of contending passions that it roused in my +mind. No! I cannot tell the truth about myself--I dare not tell the +truth about myself--at that terrible time. Men! consult your observation +of women, and imagine what I felt; women! look into your own hearts, and +see what I felt, for yourselves. + +What I _did,_ when my mind was quiet again, is an easier matter to deal +with. I answered my husband's letter. My reply to him shall appear in +these pages. It will show, in some degree, what effect (of the lasting +sort) his desertion of me produced on my mind. It will also reveal the +motives that sustained me, the hopes that animated me, in the new and +strange life which my next chapters must describe. + +I was removed from the hotel in the care of my fatherly old friend, +Benjamin. A bedroom was prepared for me in his little villa. There I +passed the first night of my separation from my husband. Toward the +morning my weary brain got some rest--I slept. + +At breakfast-time Major Fitz-David called to inquire about me. He had +kindly volunteered to go and speak for me to my husband's lawyers on the +preceding day. They had admitted that they knew where Eustace had gone, +but they declared at the same time that they were positively forbidden +to communicate his address to any one. In other respects their +"instructions" in relation to the wife of their client were (as they +were pleased to express it) "generous to a fault." I had only to write +to them, and they would furnish me with a copy by return of post. + +This was the Major's news. He refrained, with the tact that +distinguished him, from putting any questions to me beyond questions +relating to the state of my health. These answered, he took his leave of +me for that day. He and Benjamin had a long talk together afterward in +the garden of the villa. + +I retired to my room and wrote to my uncle Starkweather, telling him +exactly what had happened, and inclosing him a copy of my husband's +letter. This done, I went out for a little while to breathe the fresh +air and to think. I was soon weary, and went back again to my room to +rest. My kind old Benjamin left me at perfect liberty to be alone as +long as I pleased. Toward the afternoon I began to feel a little more +like my old self again. I mean by this that I could think of Eustace +without bursting out crying, and could speak to Benjamin without +distressing and frightening the dear old man. + +That night I had a little more sleep. The next morning I was strong +enough to confront the first and foremost duty that I now owed to +myself--the duty of answering my husband's letter. + +I wrote to him in these words: + +"I am still too weak and weary, Eustace, to write to you at any length. +But my mind is clear. I have formed my own opinion of you and your +letter; and I know what I mean to do now you have left me. Some women, +in my situation, might think that you had forfeited all right to their +confidence. I don't think that. So I write and tell you what is in my +mind in the plainest and fewest words that I can use. + +"You say you love me--and you leave me. I don't understand loving a +woman and leaving her. For my part, in spite of the hard things you have +said and written to me, and in spite of the cruel manner in which you +have left me, I love you--and I won't give you up. No! As long as I live +I mean to live your wife. + +"Does this surprise you? It surprises _me._ If another woman wrote +in this manner to a man who had behaved to her as you have behaved, I +should be quite at a loss to account for her conduct. I am quite at a +loss to account for my own conduct. I ought to hate you, and yet I can't +help loving you. I am ashamed of myself; but so it is. + +"You need feel no fear of my attempting to find out where you are, and +of my trying to persuade you to return to me. I am not quite foolish +enough to do that. You are not in a fit state of mind to return to +me. You are all wrong, all over, from head to foot. When you get right +again, I am vain enough to think that you will return to me of your +own accord. And shall I be weak enough to forgive you? Yes! I shall +certainly be weak enough to forgive you. + +"But how are you to get right again? + +"I have puzzled my brains over this question by night and by day, and my +opinion is that you will never get right again unless I help you. + +"How am I to help you? + +"That question is easily answered. What the Law has failed to do for +you, your Wife must do for you. Do you remember what I said when we were +together in the back room at Major Fitz-David's house? I told you that +the first thought that came to me, when I heard what the Scotch jury had +done, was the thought of setting their vile Verdict right. Well! Your +letter has fixed this idea more firmly in my mind than ever. The only +chance that I can see of winning you back to me, in the character of a +penitent and loving husband, is to change that underhand Scotch Verdict +of Not Proven into an honest English Verdict of Not Guilty. + +"Are you surprised at the knowledge of the law which this way of writing +betrays in an ignorant woman? I have been learning, my dear: the Law and +the Lady have begun by understanding one another. In plain English, I +have looked into Ogilvie's 'Imperial Dictionary,' and Ogilvie tells +me, 'A verdict of Not Proven only indicates that, in the opinion of the +jury, there is a deficiency in the evidence to convict the prisoner. A +verdict of Not Guilty imports the jury's opinion that the prisoner is +innocent.' Eustace, that shall be the opinion of the world in general, +and of the Scotch jury in particular, in your case. To that one object I +dedicate my life to come, if God spare me! + +"Who will help me, when I need help, is more than I yet know. There was +a time when I had hoped that we should go hand in hand together in doing +this good work. That hope is at an end. I no longer expect you, or +ask you, to help me. A man who thinks as you think can give no help to +anybody--it is his miserable condition to have no hope. So be it! I will +hope for two, and will work for two; and I shall find some one to help +me--never fear--if I deserve it. + +"I will say nothing about my plans--I have not read the Trial yet. It +is quite enough for me that I know you are innocent. When a man is +innocent, there _must_ be a way of proving it: the one thing needful is +to find the way. Sooner or later, with or without assistance, I shall +find it. Yes! before I know any single particular of the Case, I tell +you positively--I shall find it! + +"You may laugh over this blind confidence on my part, or you may cry +over it. I don't pretend to know whether I am an object for ridicule or +an object for pity. Of one thing only I am certain: I mean to win +you back, a man vindicated before the world, without a stain on his +character or his name--thanks to his wife. + +"Write to me, sometimes, Eustace; and believe me, through all the +bitterness of this bitter business, your faithful and loving + +"VALERIA." + + +There was my reply! Poor enough as a composition (I could write a much +better letter now), it had, if I may presume to say so, one merit. It +was the honest expression of what I really meant and felt. + +I read it to Benjamin. He held up his hands with his customary gesture +when he was thoroughly bewildered and dismayed. "It seems the rashest +letter that ever was written," said the dear old man. "I never heard, +Valeria, of a woman doing what you propose to do. Lord help us! the new +generation is beyond my fathoming. I wish your uncle Starkweather was +here: I wonder what he would say? Oh, dear me, what a letter from a wife +to a husband! Do you really mean to send it to him?" + +I added immeasurably to my old friend's surprise by not even employing +the post-office. I wished to see the "instructions" which my husband had +left behind him. So I took the letter to his lawyers myself. + +The firm consisted of two partners. They both received me together. One +was a soft, lean man, with a sour smile. The other was a hard, fat man, +with ill-tempered eyebrows. I took a great dislike to both of them. On +their side, they appeared to feel a strong distrust of me. We began +by disagreeing. They showed me my husband's "instructions," providing, +among other things, for the payment of one clear half of his income as +long as he lived to his wife. I positively refused to touch a farthing +of his money. + +The lawyers were unaffectedly shocked and astonished at this decision. +Nothing of the sort had ever happened before in the whole course of +their experience. They argued and remonstrated with me. The partner +with the ill-tempered eyebrows wanted to know what my reasons were. The +partner with the sour smile reminded his colleague satirically that I +was a lady, and had therefore no reasons to give. I only answered, "Be +so good as to forward my letter, gentlemen," and left them. + +I have no wish to claim any credit to myself in these pages which I do +not honestly deserve. The truth is that my pride forbade me to accept +help from Eustace, now that he had left me. My own little fortune (eight +hundred a year) had been settled on myself when I married. It had been +more than I wanted as a single woman, and I was resolved that it should +be enough for me now. Benjamin had insisted on my considering his +cottage as my home. Under these circumstances, the expenses in which my +determination to clear my husband's character might involve me were +the only expenses for which I had to provide. I could afford to be +independent, and independent I resolved that I would be. + +While I am occupied in confessing my weakness and my errors, it is +only right to add that, dearly as I still loved my unhappy, misguided +husband, there was one little fault of his which I found it not easy to +forgive. + +Pardoning other things, I could not quite pardon his concealing from me +that he had been married to a first wife. Why I should have felt this +so bitterly as I did, at certain times and seasons, I am not able to +explain. Jealousy was at the bottom of it, I suppose. And yet I was +not conscious of being jealous--especially when I thought of the poor +creature's miserable death. Still, Eustace ought not to have kept _that_ +secret from me, I used to think to myself, at odd times when I was +discouraged and out of temper. What would _he_ have said if I had been a +widow, and had never told him of it? + +It was getting on toward evening when I returned to the cottage. +Benjamin appeared to have been on the lookout for me. Before I could +ring at the bell he opened the garden gate. + +"Prepare yourself for a surprise, my dear," he said. "Your uncle, the +Reverend Doctor Starkweather, has arrived from the North, and is waiting +to see you. He received your letter this morning, and he took the first +train to London as soon as he had read it." + +In another minute my uncle's strong arms were round me. In my forlorn +position, I felt the good vicar's kindness, in traveling all the way +to London to see me, very gratefully. It brought the tears into my +eyes--tears, without bitterness, that did me good. + +"I have come, my dear child, to take you back to your old home," he +said. "No words can tell how fervently I wish you had never left your +aunt and me. Well! well! we won't talk about it. The mischief is done, +and the next thing is to mend it as well as we can. If I could only get +within arm's-length of that husband of yours, Valeria--There! there! God +forgive me, I am forgetting that I am a clergyman. What shall I forget +next, I wonder? By-the-by, your aunt sends you her dearest love. She is +more superstitious than ever. This miserable business doesn't surprise +her a bit. She says it all began with your making that mistake about +your name in signing the church register. You remember? Was there ever +such stuff? Ah, she's a foolish woman, that wife of mine! But she means +well--a good soul at bottom. She would have traveled all the way here +along with me if I would have let her. I said, 'No; you stop at home, +and look after the house and the parish, and I'll bring the child back.' +You shall have your old bedroom, Valeria, with the white curtains, you +know, looped up with blue! We will return to the Vicarage (if you can +get up in time) by the nine-forty train to-morrow morning." + +Return to the Vicarage! How could I do that? How could I hope to gain +what was now the one object of my existence if I buried myself in +a remote north-country village? It was simply impossible for me to +accompany Doctor Starkweather on his return to his own house. + +"I thank you, uncle, with all my heart," I said. "But I am afraid I +can't leave London for the present." + +"You can't leave London for the present?" he repeated. "What does the +girl mean, Mr. Benjamin?" Benjamin evaded a direct reply. + +"She is kindly welcome here, Doctor Starkweather," he said, "as long as +she chooses to stay with me." + +"That's no answer," retorted my uncle, in his rough-and-ready way. He +turned to me. "What is there to keep you in London?" he asked. "You used +to hate London. I suppose there is some reason?" + +It was only due to my good guardian and friend that I should take him +into my confidence sooner or later. There was no help for it but to +rouse my courage, and tell him frankly what I had it in my mind to do. +The vicar listened in breathless dismay. He turned to Benjamin, with +distress as well as surprise in his face, when I had done. + +"God help her!" cried the worthy man. "The poor thing's troubles have +turned her brain!" + +"I thought you would disapprove of it, sir," said Benjamin, in his mild +and moderate way. "I confess I disapprove of it myself." + +"'Disapprove of it' isn't the word," retorted the vicar. "Don't put it +in that feeble way, if you please. An act of madness--that's what it is, +if she really mean what she says." He turned my way, and looked as +he used to look at the afternoon service when he was catechising an +obstinate child. "You don't mean it," he said, "do you?" + +"I am sorry to forfeit your good opinion, uncle," I replied. "But I must +own that I do certainly mean it." + +"In plain English," retorted the vicar, "you are conceited enough to +think that you can succeed where the greatest lawyers in Scotland +have failed. _They_ couldn't prove this man's innocence, all working +together. And _you_ are going to prove it single-handed? Upon my word, +you are a wonderful woman," cried my uncle, suddenly descending from +indignation to irony. "May a plain country parson, who isn't used to +lawyers in petticoats, be permitted to ask how you mean to do it?" + +"I mean to begin by reading the Trial, uncle." + +"Nice reading for a young woman! You will be wanting a batch of nasty +French novels next. Well, and when you have read the Trial--what then? +Have you thought of that?" + +"Yes, uncle; I have thought of that. I shall first try to form some +conclusion (after reading the Trial) as to the guilty person who really +committed the crime. Then I shall make out a list of the witnesses who +spoke in my husband's defense. I shall go to those witnesses, and tell +them who I am and what I want. I shall ask all sorts of questions which +grave lawyers might think it beneath their dignity to put. I shall be +guided, in what I do next, by the answers I receive. And I shall not be +discouraged, no matter what difficulties are thrown in my way. Those are +my plans, uncle, so far as I know them now." + +The vicar and Benjamin looked at each other as if they doubted the +evidence of their own senses. The vicar spoke. + +"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that you are going roaming about +the country to throw yourself on the mercy of strangers, and to risk +whatever rough reception you may get in the course of your travels? You! +A young woman! Deserted by your husband! With nobody to protect you! Mr. +Benjamin, do you hear her? And can you believe your ears? I declare to +Heaven _I_ don't know whether I am awake or dreaming. Look at her--just +look at her! There she sits as cool and easy as if she had said nothing +at all extraordinary, and was going to do nothing out of the common way! +What am I to do with her?--that's the serious question--what on earth am +I to do with her?" + +"Let me try my experiment, uncle, rash as it may look to you," I said. +"Nothing else will comfort and support me; and God knows I want comfort +and support. Don't think me obstinate. I am ready to admit that there +are serious difficulties in my way." + +The vicar resumed his ironical tone. + +"Oh!" he said. "You admit that, do you? Well, there is something gained, +at any rate." + +"Many another woman before me," I went on, "has faced serious +difficulties, and has conquered them--for the sake of the man she +loved." + +Doctor Starkweather rose slowly to his feet, with the air of a person +whose capacity of toleration had reached its last limits. + +"Am I to understand that you are still in love with Mr. Eustace +Macallan?" he asked. + +"Yes," I answered. + +"The hero of the great Poison Trial?" pursued my uncle. "The man who has +deceived and deserted you? You love him?" + +"I love him more dearly than ever." + +"Mr. Benjamin," said the vicar, "if she recover her senses between +this and nine o'clock to-morrow morning, send her with her luggage to +Loxley's Hotel, where I am now staying. Good-night, Valeria. I shall +consult with your aunt as to what is to be done next. I have no more to +say." + +"Give me a kiss, uncle, at parting." + +"Oh yes, I'll give you a kiss. Anything you like, Valeria. I shall be +sixty-five next birthday; and I thought I knew something of women, at +my time of life. It seems I know nothing. Loxley's Hotel is the address, +Mr. Benjamin. Good-night." + +Benjamin looked very grave when he returned to me after accompanying +Doctor Starkweather to the garden gate. + +"Pray be advised, my dear," he said. "I don't ask you to consider _my_ +view of this matter, as good for much. But your uncle's opinion is +surely worth considering?" + +I did not reply. It was useless to say any more. I made up my mind to be +misunderstood and discouraged, and to bear it. "Good-night, my dear old +friend," was all I said to Benjamin. Then I turned away--I confess with +the tears in my eyes--and took refuge in my bedroom. + +The window-blind was up, and the autumn moonlight shone brilliantly into +the little room. + +As I stood by the window, looking out, the memory came to me of another +moonlight night, when Eustace and I were walking together in the +Vicarage garden before our marriage. It was the night of which I have +written, many pages back, when there were obstacles to our union, and +when Eustace had offered to release me from my engagement to him. I saw +the dear face again looking at me in the moonlight; I heard once +more his words and mine. "Forgive me," he had said, "for having loved +you--passionately, devotedly loved you. Forgive me, and let me go." + +And I had answered, "Oh, Eustace, I am only a woman--don't madden me! +I can't live without you. I must and will be your wife!" And now, after +marriage had united us, we were parted! Parted, still loving each as +passionately as ever. And why? Because he had been accused of a crime +that he had never committed, and because a Scotch jury had failed to see +that he was an innocent man. + +I looked at the lovely moonlight, pursuing these remembrances and these +thoughts. A new ardor burned in me. "No!" I said to myself. "Neither +relations nor friends shall prevail on me to falter and fail in my +husband's cause. The assertion of his innocence is the work of my life; +I will begin it to-night." + +I drew down the blind and lighted the candles. In the quiet night, alone +and unaided, I took my first step on the toilsome and terrible journey +that lay before me. From the title-page to the end, without stopping to +rest and without missing a word, I read the Trial of my husband for the +murder of his wife. + + +***** + + + + +PART II. PARADISE REGAINED. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE STORY OF THE TRIAL. THE PRELIMINARIES. + +LET me confess another weakness, on my part, before I begin the Story +of the Trial. I cannot prevail upon myself to copy, for the second time, +the horrible title-page which holds up to public ignominy my husband's +name. I have copied it once in my tenth chapter. Let once be enough. + +Turning to the second page of the Trial, I found a Note, assuring the +reader of the absolute correctness of the Report of the Proceedings. The +compiler described himself as having enjoyed certain special privileges. +Thus, the presiding Judge had himself revised his charge to the jury. +And, again, the chief lawyers for the prosecution and the defense, +following the Judge's example, had revised their speeches for and +against the prisoner. Lastly, particular care had been taken to secure a +literally correct report of the evidence given by the various witnesses. +It was some relief to me to discover this Note, and to be satisfied at +the outset that the Story of the Trial was, in every particular, fully +and truly given. + +The next page interested me more nearly still. It enumerated the actors +in the Judicial Drama--the men who held in their hands my husband's +honor and my husband's life. Here is the List: + + THE LORD JUSTICE CLERK,} + LORD DRUMFENNICK, }Judges on the Bench. + LORD NOBLEKIRK, } + + THE LORD ADVOCATE (Mintlaw), } DONALD DREW, Esquire + (Advocate-Depute).} Counsel for the Crown. + + MR. JAMES ARLISS, W. S., Agent for the Crown. + + THE DEAN OF FACULTY (Farmichael), } Counsel for the Panel + ALEXANDER CROCKET, Esquire (Advocate),} (otherwise the Prisoner) + + MR. THORNIEBANK, W. S.,} + MR. PLAYMORE, W. S., } Agents for the Panel. + +The Indictment against the prisoner then followed. I shall not copy the +uncouth language, full of needless repetitions (and, if I know anything +of the subject, not guiltless of bad grammar as well), in which my +innocent husband was solemnly and falsely accused of poisoning his first +wife. The less there is of that false and hateful Indictment on this +page, the better and truer the page will look, to _my_ eyes. + +To be brief, then, Eustace Macallan was "indicted and accused, at the +instance of David Mintlaw, Esquire, Her Majesty's Advocate, for Her +Majesty's interest," of the Murder of his Wife by poison, at his +residence called Gleninch, in the county of Mid-Lothian. The poison was +alleged to have been wickedly and feloniously given by the prisoner to +his wife Sara, on two occasions, in the form of arsenic, administered +in tea, medicine, "or other article or articles of food or drink, to the +prosecutor unknown." It was further declared that the prisoner's wife +had died of the poison thus administered b y her husband, on one or +other, or both, of the stated occasions; and that she was thus murdered +by her husband. The next paragraph asserted that the said +Eustace Macallan, taken before John Daviot, Esquire, advocate, +Sheriff-Substitute of Mid-Lothian, did in his presence at Edinburgh +(on a given date, viz., the 29th of October), subscribe a Declaration +stating his innocence of the alleged crime: this Declaration being +reserved in the Indictment--together with certain documents, papers and +articles, enumerated in an Inventory--to be used in evidence against the +prisoner. The Indictment concluded by declaring that, in the event +of the offense charged against the prisoner being found proven by the +Verdict, he, the said Eustace Macallan, "ought to be punished with the +pains of the law, to deter others from committing like crimes in all +time coming." + +So much for the Indictment! I have done with it--and I am rejoiced to be +done with it. + +An Inventory of papers, documents, and articles followed at great length +on the next three pages. This, in its turn, was succeeded by the list +of the witnesses, and by the names of the jurors (fifteen in number) +balloted for to try the case. And then, at last, the Report of the Trial +began. It resolved itself, to my mind, into three great Questions. As it +appeared to me at the time, so let me present it here. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. FIRST QUESTION--DID THE WOMAN DIE POISONED? + +THE proceedings began at ten o'clock. The prisoner was placed at +the Bar, before the High Court of Justiciary, at Edinburgh. He bowed +respectfully to the Bench, and pleaded Not Guilty, in a low voice. + +It was observed by every one present that the prisoner's face betrayed +traces of acute mental suffering. He was deadly pale. His eyes never +once wandered to the crowd in the Court. When certain witnesses appeared +against him, he looked at them with a momentary attention. At other +times he kept his eyes on the ground. When the evidence touched on his +wife's illness and death, he was deeply affected, and covered his face +with his hands. It was a subject of general remark and general surprise +that the prisoner, in this case (although a man), showed far less +self-possession than the last prisoner tried in that Court for murder--a +woman, who had been convicted on overwhelming evidence. There were +persons present (a small minority only) who considered this want +of composure on the part of the prisoner to be a sign in his favor. +Self-possession, in his dreadful position, signified, to their minds, +the stark insensibility of a heartless and shameless criminal, and +afforded in itself a presumption, not of innocence, but of guilt. + +The first witness called was John Daviot, Esquire, Sheriff-Substitute +of Mid-Lothian. He was examined by the Lord Advocate (as counsel for the +prosecution); and said: + +"The prisoner was brought before me on the present charge. He made +and subscribed a Declaration on the 29th of October. It was freely +and voluntarily made, the prisoner having been first duly warned and +admonished." + +Having identified the Declaration, the Sheriff-Substitute--being +cross-examined by the Dean of Faculty (as counsel for the +defense)--continued his evidence in these words: + +"The charge against the prisoner was Murder. This was communicated +to him before he made the Declaration. The questions addressed to +the prisoner were put partly by me, partly by another officer, the +procurator-fiscal. The answers were given distinctly, and, so far as +I could judge, without reserve. The statements put forward in +the Declaration were all made in answer to questions asked by the +procurator-fiscal or by myself." + +A clerk in the Sheriff-Clerk's office then officially produced the +Declaration, and corroborated the evidence of the witness who had +preceded him. + +The appearance of the next witness created a marked sensation in the +Court. This was no less a person than the nurse who had attended Mrs. +Macallan in her last illness--by name Christina Ormsay. + +After the first formal answers, the nurse (examined by the Lord +Advocate) proceeded to say: + +"I was first sent for to attend the deceased lady on the 7th of October. +She was then suffering from a severe cold, accompanied by a rheumatic +affection of the left knee-joint. Previous to this I understood that +her health had been fairly good. She was not a very difficult person to +nurse when you got used to her, and understood how to manage her. The +main difficulty was caused by her temper. She was not a sullen person; +she was headstrong and violent--easily excited to fly into a passion, +and quite reckless in her fits of anger as to what she said or did. At +such times I really hardly think she knew what she was about. My own +idea is that her temper was made still more irritable by unhappiness in +her married life. She was far from being a reserved person. Indeed, +she was disposed (as I thought) to be a little too communicative about +herself and her troubles with persons like me who were beneath her in +station. She did not scruple, for instance, to tell me (when we had +been long enough together to get used to each other) that she was very +unhappy, and fretted a good deal about her husband. One night, when she +was wakeful and restless, she said to me--" + +The Dean of Faculty here interposed, speaking on the prisoner's behalf. +He appealed to the Judges to say whether such loose and unreliable +evidence as this was evidence which could be received by the Court. + +The Lord Advocate (speaking on behalf of the Crown) claimed it as his +right to produce the evidence. It was of the utmost importance in this +case to show (on the testimony of an unprejudiced witness) on what terms +the husband and wife were living. The witness was a most respectable +woman. She had won, and deserved, the confidence of the unhappy lady +whom she attended on her death-bed. + +After briefly consulting together, the Judges unanimously decided that +the evidence could not be admitted. What the witness had herself seen +and observed of the relations between the husband and wife was the only +evidence that they could receive. + +The Lord Advocate thereupon continued his examination of the witness. +Christina Ormsay resumed her evidence as follows: + +"My position as nurse led necessarily to my seeing more of Mrs. Macallan +than any other person in the house. I am able to speak from experience +of many things not known to others who were only in her room at +intervals. + +"For instance, I had more than one opportunity of personally observing +that Mr. and Mrs. Macallan did not live together very happily. I can +give you an example of this, not drawn from what others told me, but +from what I noticed for myself. + +"Toward the latter part of my attendance on Mrs. Macallan, a young widow +lady named Mrs. Beauly--a cousin of Mr. Macallan's--came to stay at +Gleninch. Mrs. Macallan was jealous of this lady; and she showed it in +my presence only the day before her death, when Mr. Macallan came into +her room to inquire how she had passed the night. 'Oh,' she said, 'never +mind how _I_ have slept! What do you care whether I sleep well or ill? +How has Mrs. Beauly passed the night? Is she more beautiful than ever +this morning? Go back to her--pray go back to her! Don't waste your time +with me!' Beginning in that manner, she worked herself into one of her +furious rages. I was brushing her hair at the time; and feeling that +my presence was an impropriety under the circumstances, I attempted to +leave the room. She forbade me to go. Mr. Macallan felt, as I did, that +my duty was to withdraw, and he said so in plain words. Mrs. Macallan +insisted on my staying in language so insolent to her husband that he +said, 'If you cannot control yourself, either the nurse leaves the room +or I do.' She refused to yield even then. 'A good excuse,' she said, +'for getting back to Mrs. Beauly. Go!' He took her at her word, and +walked out of the room. He had barely closed the door before she began +reviling him to me in the most shocking manner. She declared, among +other things she said of him, that the news of all others which he would +be most glad to hear would be the news of her death. I ventured, quite +respectfully, on remonstrating with her. She took up the hair-brush and +threw it at me, and then and there dismissed me from my attendance on +her. I left her, and waited below until her fit of passion had worn +itself out. Then I returned to my place at the bedside, and for a while +things went on again as usual. + +"It may not be amiss to add a word which may help to explain Mrs. +Macallan's jealousy of her husband's cousin. Mrs. Macallan was a very +plain woman. She had a cast in one of her eyes, and (if I may use the +expression) one of the most muddy, blotchy complexions it was ever my +misfortune to see in a person's face. Mrs. Beauly, on the other hand, +was a most attractive lady. Her eyes were universally admired, and she +had a most beautifully clear and delicate color. Poor Mrs. Macallan said +of her, most untruly, that she painted. + +"No; the defects in the complexion of the deceased lady were not in +any way attributable to her illness. I should call them born and bred +defects in herself. + +"Her illness, if I am asked to describe it, I should say was +troublesome--nothing more. Until the last day there were no symptoms +in the least degree serious about the malady that had taken her. +Her rheumatic knee was painful, of course--acutely painful, if you +like--when she moved it; and the confinement to bed was irksome enough, +no doubt. But otherwise there was nothing in the lady's condition, +before the fatal attack came, to alarm her or anybody about her. She had +her books and her writing materials on an invalid table, which worked on +a pivot, and could be arranged in any position most agreeable to her. +At times she read and wrote a good deal. At other times she lay quiet, +thinking her own thoughts, or talking with me, and with one or two lady +friends in the neighborhood who came regularly to see her. + +"Her writing, so far as I knew, was almost entirely of the poetical +sort. She was a great hand at composing poetry. On one occasion only she +showed me some of her poems. I am no judge of such things. Her poetry +was of the dismal kind, despairing about herself, and wondering why she +had ever been born, and nonsense like that. Her husband came in more +than once for some hard hits at his cruel heart and his ignorance of his +wife's merits. In short, she vented her discontent with her pen as well +as with her tongue. There were times--and pretty often too--when an +angel from heaven would have failed to have satisfied Mrs. Macallan. + +"Throughout the period of her illness the deceased lady occupied the +same room--a large bedroom situated (like all the best bedrooms) on the +first floor of the house. + +"Yes: the plan of the room now shown to me is quite accurately taken, +according to my remembrance of it. One door led into the great passage, +or corridor, on which all the doors opened. A second door, at one side +(marked B on the plan), led to Mr. Macallan's sleeping-room. A third +door, on the opposite side (marked C on the plan), communicated with +a little study, or book-room, used, as I was told, by Mr. Macallan's +mother when she was staying at Gleninch, but seldom or never entered +by any one else. Mr. Macallan's mother was not at Gleninch while I was +there. The door between the bedroom and this study was locked, and the +key was taken out. I don't know who had the key, or whether there +were more keys than one in existence. The door was never opened to +my knowledge. I only got into the study, to look at it along with the +housekeeper, by entering through a second door that opened on to the +corridor. + +"I beg to say that I can speak from my own knowledge positively about +Mrs. Macallan's illness, and about the sudden change which ended in +her death. By the doctor's advice I made notes at the time of dates and +hours, and such like. I looked at my notes before coming here. + +"From the 7th of October, when I was first called in to nurse her, to +the 20th of the same month, she slowly but steadily improved in health. +Her knee was still painful, no doubt; but the inflammatory look of it +was disappearing. As to the other symptoms, except weakness from lying +in bed, and irritability of temper, there was really nothing the matter +with her. She slept badly, I ought perhaps to add. But we remedied +this by means of composing draughts prescribed for that purpose by the +doctor. + +"On the morning of the 21st, at a few minutes past six, I got my first +alarm that something was going wrong with Mrs. Macallan. + +"I was awoke at the time I have mentioned by the ringing of the +hand-bell which she kept on her bed-table. Let me say for myself that +I had only fallen asleep on the sofa in the bedroom at past two in the +morning from sheer fatigue. Mrs. Macallan was then awake. She was in +one of her bad humors with me. I had tried to prevail on her to let me +remove her dressing-case from her bed-table, after she had used it in +making her toilet for the night. It took up a great deal of room; and +she could not possibly want it again before the morning. But no; she +insisted on my letting it be. There was a glass inside the case; and, +plain as she was, she never wearied of looking at herself in that glass. +I saw that she was in a bad state of temper, so I gave her her way, and +let the dressing-case be. Finding that she was too sullen to speak to me +after that, and too obstinate to take her composing draught from me +when I offered it, I laid me down on the sofa at her bed foot, and fell +asleep, as I have said. + +"The moment her bell rang I was up and at the bedside, ready to make +myself useful. + +"I asked what was the matter with her. She complained of faintness and +depression, and said she felt sick. I inquired if she had taken anything +in the way of physic or food while I had been asleep. She answered that +her husband had come in about an hour since, and, finding her still +sleepless, had himself administered the composing draught. Mr. Macallan +(sleeping in the next room) joined us while she was speaking. He too had +been aroused by the bell. He heard what Mrs. Macallan said to me about +the composing draught, and made no remark upon it. It seemed to me that +he was alarmed at his wife's faintness. I suggested that she should take +a little wine, or brandy and water. She answered that she could swallow +nothing so strong as wine or brandy, having a burning pain in her +stomach already. I put my hand on her stomach--quite lightly. She +screamed when I touched her. + +"This symptom alarmed us. We went to the village for the medical man who +had attended Mrs. Macallan during her illness: one Mr. Gale. + +"The doctor seemed no better able to account for the change for the +worse in his patient than we were. Hearing her complain of thirst, he +gave her some milk. Not long after taking it she was sick. The sickness +appeared to relieve her. She soon grew drowsy and slumbered. Mr. Gale +left us, with strict injunctions to send for him instantly if she was +taken ill again. + +"Nothing of the sort happened; no change took place for the next three +hours or more. She roused up toward half-past nine and inquired about +her husband. I informed her that he had returned to his own room, and +asked if I should send for him. She said 'No.' I asked next if she would +like anything to eat or drink. She said 'No' again, in rather a vacant, +stupefied way, and then told me to go downstairs and get my breakfast. +On my way down I met the housekeeper. She invited me to breakfast with +her in her room, instead of in the servants' hall as usual. I remained +with the housekeeper but a short time--certainly not more than half an +hour. + +"Coming upstairs again, I met the under-housemaid sweeping on one of the +landings. + +"The girl informed me that Mrs. Macallan had taken a cup of tea during +my absence in the housekeeper's room. Mr. Macallan's valet had ordered +the tea for his mistress by his master's directions. The under-housemaid +made it, and took it upstairs herself to Mrs. Macallan's room. Her +master, she said, opened the door when she knocked, and took the tea-cup +from her with his own hand. He opened the door widely enough for her to +see into the bedroom, and to notice that nobody was with Mrs. Macallan +but himself. + +"After a little talk with the under-housemaid, I returned to the +bedroom. No one was there. Mrs. Macallan was lying perfectly quiet, with +her face turned away from me on the pillow. Approaching the bedside, I +kicked against something on the floor. It was a broken tea-cup. I said +to Mrs. Macallan, 'How comes the tea-cup to be broken, ma'am?' She +answered, without turning toward me, in an odd, muffled kind of voice, +'I dropped it.' 'Before you drank your tea, ma'am?' I asked. 'No,' she +said; 'in handing the cup back to Mr. Macallan, after I had done.' I had +put my question, wishing to know, in case she had spilled the tea when +she dropped the cup, whether it would be necessary to get her any more. +I am quite sure I remember correctly my question and her answer. I +inquired next if she had been long alone. She said, shortly, 'Yes; I +have been trying to sleep.' I said, 'Do you feel pretty comfortable?' +She answered, 'Yes,' again. All this time she still kept her face +sulkily turned from me toward the wall. Stooping over her to arrange the +bedclothes, I looked toward her table. The writing materials which were +always kept on it were disturbed, and there was wet ink on one of the +pens. I said, 'Surely you haven't been writing, ma'am?' 'Why not?' +she said; 'I couldn't sleep.' 'Another poem?' I asked. She laughed to +herself--a bitter, short laugh. 'Yes,' she said, 'another poem.' 'That's +good,' I said; 'it looks as if you were getting quite like yourself +again. We shan't want the doctor any more to-day.' She made no answer +to this, except an impatient sign with her hand. I didn't understand the +sign. Upon that she spoke again, and crossly enough, too--'I want to be +alone; leave me.' + +"I had no choice but to do as I was told. To the best of my observation, +there was nothing the matter with her, and nothing for the nurse to +do. I put the bell-rope within reach of her hand, and I went downstairs +again. + +"Half an hour more, as well as I can guess it, passed. I kept +within hearing of the bell; but it never rang. I was not quite at my +ease--without exactly knowing why. That odd, muffled voice in which she +had spoken to me hung on my mind, as it were. I was not quite satisfied +about leaving her alone for too long a time together--and then, again, +I was unwilling to risk throwing her into one of her fits of passion +by going back before she rang for me. It ended in my venturing into +the room on the ground-floor called the Morning-Room, to consult Mr. +Macallan. He was usually to be found there in the forenoon of the day. + +"On this occasion, however, when I looked into the Morning-Room it was +empty. + +"At the same moment I heard the master's voice on the terrace outside. +I went out, and found him speaking to one Mr. Dexter, an old friend of +his, and (like Mrs. Beauly) a guest staying in the house. Mr. Dexter was +sitting at the window of his room upstairs (he was a cripple, and could +only move himself about in a chair on wheels), and Mr. Macallan was +speaking to him from the terrace below. + +"'Dexter!' I heard Mr. Macallan say. 'Where is Mrs. Beauly? Have you +seen anything of her?' + +"Mr. Dexter answered, in his quick, off-hand way of speaking, 'Not I. I +know nothing about her.' + +"Then I advanced, and, begging pardon for intruding, I mentioned to Mr. +Macallan the difficulty I was in about going back or not to his wife's +room without waiting until she rang for me. Before he could advise me +in the matter, the footman made his appearance and informed me that Mrs. +Macallan's bell was then ringing--and ringing violently. + +"It was then close on eleven o'clock. As fast as I could mount the +stairs I hastened back to the bedroom. + +"Before I opened the door I heard Mrs. Macallan groaning. She was in +dreadful pain; feeling a burning heat in the stomach and in the throat, +together with the same sickness which had troubled her in the early +morning. Though no doctor, I could see in her face that this second +attack was of a far more serious nature than the first. After ringing +the bell for a messenger to send to Mr. Macallan, I ran to the door to +see if any of the servants happened to be within call. + +"The only person I saw in the corridor was Mrs. Beauly. She was on +her way from her own room, she said, to inquire after Mrs. Macallan's +health. I said to her, 'Mrs. Macallan is seriously ill again, ma'am. +Would you please tell Mr. Macallan, and send for the doctor?' She ran +downstairs at once to do as I told her. + +"I had not been long back at the bedside when Mr. Macallan and Mrs. +Beauly both came in together. Mrs. Macallan cast a strange look on them +(a look I cannot at all describe), and bade them leave her. Mrs. +Beauly, looking very much frightened, withdrew immediately. Mr. Macallan +advanced a step or two nearer to the bed. His wife looked at him again +in the same strange way, and cried out--half as if she was threatening +him, half as if she was entreating him--'Leave me with the nurse. Go!' +He only waited to say to me in a whisper, 'The doctor is sent for,' and +then he left the room. + +"Before Mr. Gale arrived Mrs. Macallan was violently sick. What came +from her was muddy and frothy, and faintly streaked with blood. When Mr. +Gale saw it he looked very serious. I heard him say to himself, 'What +does this mean?' He did his best to relieve Mrs. Macallan, but with no +good result that I could see. After a time she seemed to suffer less. +Then more sickness came on. Then there was another intermission. Whether +she was suffering or not, I observed that her hands and feet (whenever +I touched them) remained equally cold. Also, the doctor's report of her +pulse was always the same--'very small and feeble.' I said to Mr. Gale, +'What is to be done, sir?' And Mr. Gale said to me, 'I won't take +the responsibility on myself any longer; I must have a physician from +Edinburgh.' + +"The fastest horse in the stables at Gleninch was put into a dog-cart, +and the coachman drove away full speed to Edinburgh to fetch the famous +Doctor Jerome. + +"While we were waiting for the physician, Mr. Macallan came into his +wife's room with Mr. Gale. Exhausted as she was, she instantly lifted +her hand and signed to him to leave her. He tried by soothing words to +persuade her to let him stay. No! She still insisted on sending him out +of her room. He seemed to feel it--at such a time, and in the presence +of the doctor. Before she was aware of him, he suddenly stepped up to +the bedside and kissed her on the forehead. She shrank from him with a +scream. Mr. Gale interfered, and led him out of the room. + +"In the afternoon Doctor Jerome arrived. + +"The great physician came just in time to see her seized with another +attack of sickness. He watched her attentively, without speaking a word. +In the interval when the sickness stopped, he still studied her, as it +were, in perfect silence. I thought he would never have done examining +her. When he was at last satisfied, he told me to leave him alone with +Mr. Gale. 'We will ring,' he said, 'when we want you here again.' + +"It was a long time before they rang for me. The coachman was sent +for before I was summoned back to the bedroom. He was dispatched to +Edinburgh for the second time, with a written message from Dr. Jerome +to his head servant, saying that there was no chance of his returning to +the city and to his patients for some hours to come. Some of us thought +this looked badly for Mrs. Macallan. Others said it might mean that the +doctor had hopes of saving her, but expected to be a long time in doing +it. + +"At last I was sent for. On my presenting myself in the bedroom, Doctor +Jerome went out to speak to Mr. Macallan, leaving Mr. Gale along with +me. From that time as long as the poor lady lived I was never left alone +with her. One of the two doctors was always in her room. Refreshments +were prepared for them; but still they took it in turns to eat their +meal, one relieving the other at the bedside. If they had administered +remedies to their patient, I should not have been surprised by this +proceeding. But they were at the end of their remedies; their only +business the seemed to be to keep watch. I was puzzled to account for +this. Keeping watch was the nurse's business. I thought the conduct of +the doctors very strange. + +"By the time that the lamp was lighted in the sick-room I could see +that the end was near. Excepting an occasional feeling of cramp in her +legs, she seemed to suffer less. But her eyes looked sunk in her head; +her skin was cold and clammy; her lips had turned to a bluish paleness. +Nothing roused her now--excepting the last attempt made by her +husband to see her. He came in with Doctor Jerome, looking like a man +terror-struck. She was past speaking; but the moment she saw him she +feebly made signs and sounds which showed that she was just as resolved +as ever not to let him come near her. He was so overwhelmed that Mr. +Gale was obliged to help him out of the room. No other person was +allowed to see the patient. Mr. Dexter and Mrs. Beauly made their +inquiries outside the door, and were not invited in. As the evening drew +on the doctors sat on either side of the bed, silently watching her, +silently waiting for her death. + +"Toward eight o'clock she seemed to have lost the use of her hands and +arms: they lay helpless outside the bed-clothes. A little later she +sank into a sort of dull sleep. Little by little the sound of her heavy +breathing grew fainter. At twenty minutes past nine Doctor Jerome told +me to bring the lamp to the bedside. He looked at her, and put his hand +on her heart. Then he said to me, 'You can go downstairs, nurse: it is +all over.' He turned to Mr. Gale. 'Will you inquire if Mr. Macallan can +see us?' he said. I opened the door for Mr. Gale, and followed him out. +Doctor Jerome called me back for a moment, and told me to give him +the key of the door. I did so, of course; but I thought this also very +strange. When I got down to the servants' hall I found there was a +general feeling that something was wrong. We were all uneasy--without +knowing why. + +"A little later the two doctors left the house. Mr. Macallan had been +quite incapable of receiving them and hearing what they had to say. +In this difficulty they had spoken privately with Mr. Dexter, as Mr. +Macallan's old friend, and the only gentleman then staying at Gleninch. + +"Before bed-time I went upstairs to prepare the remains of the deceased +lady for the coffin. The room in which she lay was locked, the door +leading into Mr. Macallan's room being secured, as well as the door +leading into the corridor. The keys had been taken away by Mr. Gale. Two +of the men-servants were posted outside the bedroom to keep watch. They +were to be relieved at four in the morning--that was all they could tell +me. + +"In the absence of any explanations or directions, I took the liberty of +knocking at the door of Mr. Dexter's room. From his lips I first heard +the startling news. Both the doctors had refused to give the usual +certificate of death! There was to be a medical examination of the body +the next morning." + +There the examination of the nurse, Christina Ormsay, came to an end. + +Ignorant as I was of the law, I could see what impression the evidence +(so far) was intended to produce on the minds of the jury. After first +showing that my husband had had two opportunities of administering the +poison--once in the medicine and once in the tea--the counsel for +the Crown led the jury to infer that the prisoner had taken those +opportunities to rid himself of an ugly and jealous wife, whose +detestable temper he could no longer endure. + +Having directed his examination to the attainment of this object, the +Lord Advocate had done with the witness. The Dean of Faculty--acting in +the prisoner's interests--then rose to bring out the favorable side of +the wife's character by cross-examining the nurse. If he succeeded in +this attempt, the jury might reconsider their conclusion that the wife +was a person who had exasperated her husband beyond endurance. In that +case, where (so far) was the husband's motive for poisoning her? and +where was the presumption of the prisoner's guilt? + +Pressed by this skillful lawyer, the nurse was obliged to exhibit my +husband's first wife under an entirely new aspect. Here is the substance +of what the Dean of Faculty extracted from Christina Ormsay: + +"I persist in declaring that Mrs. Macallan had a most violent temper. +But she was certainly in the habit of making amends for the offense that +she gave by her violence. When she was quiet again she always made her +excuses to me, and she made them with a good grace. Her manners were +engaging at such times as these. She spoke and acted like a well-bred +lady. Then, again, as to her personal appearance. Plain as she was in +face, she had a good figure; her hands and feet, I was told, had been +modeled by a sculptor. She had a very pleasant voice, and she was +reported when in health to sing beautifully. She was also (if her maid's +account was to be trusted) a pattern in the matter of dressing for the +other ladies in the neighborhood. Then, as to Mrs. Beauly, though she +was certainly jealous of the beautiful young widow, she had shown at +the same time that she was capable of controlling that feeling. It was +through Mrs. Macallan that Mrs. Beauly was in the house. Mrs. Beauly had +wished to postpone her visit on account of the state of Mrs. Macallan's +health. It was Mrs. Macallan herself--not her husband--who decided that +Mrs. Beauly should not be disappointed, and should pay her visit to +Gleninch then and there. Further, Mrs. Macallan (in spite of her temper) +was popular with her friends and popular with her servants. There was +hardly a dry eye in the house when it was known she was dying. And, +further still, in those little domestic disagreements at which the nurse +had been present, Mr. Macallan had never lost his temper, and had never +used harsh language: he seemed to be more sorry than angry when the +quarrels took place."--Moral for the jury: Was this the sort of woman +who would exasperate a man into poisoning her? And was this the sort of +man who would be capable of poisoning his wife? + +Having produced this salutary counter-impression, the Dean of Faculty +sat down; and the medical witnesses were called next. + +Here the evidence was simply irresistible. + +Dr. Jerome and Mr. Gale positively swore that the symptoms of the +illness were the symptoms of poisoning by arsenic. The surgeon who had +performed the post-mortem examination followed. He positively swore that +the appearance of the internal organs proved Doctor Jerome and Mr. Gale +to be right in declaring that their patient had died poisoned. Lastly, +to complete this overwhelming testimony, two analytical chemists +actually produced in Court the arsenic which they had found in the body, +in a quantity admittedly sufficient to have killed two persons instead +of one. In the face of such evidence as this, cross-examination was a +mere form. The first Question raised by the Trial--Did the Woman Die +Poisoned?--was answered in the affirmative, and answered beyond the +possibility of doubt. + +The next witnesses called were witnesses concerned with the question +that now followed--the obscure and terrible question, Who Poisoned Her? + + + +CHAPTER XVII. SECOND QUESTION--WHO POISONED HER? + +THE evidence of the doctors and the chemists closed the proceedings on +the first day of the Trial. + +On the second day the evidence to be produced by the prosecution was +anticipated with a general feeling of curiosity and interest. The Court +was now to hear what had been seen and done by the persons officially +appointed to verify such cases of suspected crime as the case which had +occurred at Gleninch. The Procurator-Fiscal--being the person officially +appointed to direct the preliminary investigations of the law--was the +first witness called on the second day of the Trial. + +Examined by the Lord Advocate, the Fiscal gave his evidence, as follows: + +"On the twenty-sixth of October I received a communication from Doctor +Jerome, of Edinburgh, and from Mr. Alexander Gale, medical practitioner, +residing in the village or hamlet of Dingdovie, near Edinburgh. The +communication related to the death, under circumstances of suspicion, of +Mrs. Eustace Macallan, at her husband's house, hard by Dingdovie, called +Gleninch. There were also forwarded to me, inclosed in the document +just mentioned, two reports. One described the results of a postmortem +examination of the deceased lady, and the other stated the discoveries +made after a chemical analysis of certain of the interior organs of her +body. The result in both instances proved to demonstration that Mrs. +Eustace Macallan had died of poisoning by arsenic. + +"Under these circumstances, I set in motion a search and inquiry in +the house at Gleninch and elsewhere, simply for the purpose of throwing +light on the circumstances which had attended the lady's death. + +"No criminal charge in connection with the death was made at my office +against any person, either in the communication which I received from +the medical men or in any other form. The investigations at Gleninch and +elsewhere, beginning on the twenty-sixth of October, were not completed +until the twenty-eighth. Upon this latter date--acting on certain +discoveries which were reported to me, and on my own examination of +letters and other documents brought to my office--I made a criminal +charge against the prisoner, and obtained a warrant for his +apprehension. He was examined before the Sheriff on the twenty-ninth of +October, and was committed for trial before this Court." + +The Fiscal having made his statement, and having been cross-examined (on +technical matters only), the persons employed in his office were called +next. These men had a story of startling interest to tell. Theirs were +the fatal discoveries which had justified the Fiscal in charging my +husband with the murder of his wife. The first of the witnesses was a +sheriff's officer. He gave his name as Isaiah Schoolcraft. + +Examined by Mr. Drew--Advocate-Depute, and counsel for the Crown, with +the Lord Advocate--Isaiah Schoolcraft said: + +"I got a warrant on the twenty-sixth of October to go to the +country-house near Edinburgh called Gleninch. I took with me Robert +Lorrie, assistant to the Fiscal. We first examined the room in which +Mrs. Eustace Macallan had died. On the bed, and on a movable table which +was attached to it, we found books and writing materials, and a paper +containing some unfinished verses in manuscript, afterward identified as +being in the handwriting of the deceased. We inclosed these articles in +paper, and sealed them up. + +"We next opened an Indian cabinet in the bedroom. Here we found many +more verses on many more sheets of paper in the same hand-writing. We +also discovered, first some letters, and next a crumpled piece of paper +thrown aside in a corner of one of the shelves. On closer examination, a +chemist's printed label was discovered on this morsel of paper. We also +found in the folds of it a few scattered grains of some white powder. +The paper and the letters were carefully inclosed, and sealed up as +before. + +"Further investigation of the room revealed nothing which could throw +any light on the purpose of our inquiry. We examined the clothes, +jewelry, and books of the deceased. These we left under lock and key. We +also found her dressing-case, which we protected by seals, and took away +with us to the Fiscal's office, along with all the other articles that +we had discovered in the room. + +"The next day we continued our examination in the house, having received +in the interval fresh instructions from the Fiscal. We began our work in +the bedroom communicating with the room in which Mrs. Macallan had +died. It had been kept locked since the death. Finding nothing of any +importance here, we went next to another room on the same floor, in +which we were informed the prisoner was then lying ill in bed. + +"His illness was described to us as a nervous complaint, caused by the +death of his wife, and by the proceedings which had followed it. He was +reported to be quite incapable of exerting himself, and quite unfit +to see strangers. We insisted nevertheless (in deference to our +instructions) on obtaining admission to his room. He made no reply +when we inquired whether he had or had not removed anything from the +sleeping-room next to his late wife's, which he usually occupied, to the +sleeping-room in which he now lay. All he did was to close his eyes, as +if he were too feeble to speak to us or to notice us. Without further +disturbing him, we began to examine the room and the different objects +in it. + +"While we were so employed, we were interrupted by a strange sound. We +likened it to the rumbling of wheels in the corridor outside. + +"The door opened, and there came swiftly in a gentleman--a +cripple--wheeling himself along in a chair. He wheeled his chair +straight up to a little table which stood by the prisoner's bedside, and +said something to him in a whisper too low to be overheard. The prisoner +opened his eyes, and quickly answered by a sign. We informed the +crippled gentleman, quite respectfully, that we could not allow him to +be in the room at this time. He appeared to think nothing of what we +said. He only answered, 'My name is Dexter. I am one of Mr. Macallan's +old friends. It is you who are intruding here--not I.' We again notified +to him that he must leave the room; and we pointed out particularly that +he had got his chair in such a position against the bedside table as +to prevent us from examining it. He only laughed. 'Can't you see for +yourselves,' he said, 'that it is a table, and nothing more?' In reply +to this we warned him that we were acting under a legal warrant, and +that he might get into trouble if he obstructed us in the execution +of our duty. Finding there was no moving him by fair means, I took his +chair and pulled it away, while Robert Lorrie laid hold of the table +and carried it to the other end of the room. The crippled gentleman flew +into a furious rage with me for presuming to touch his chair. 'My chair +is Me,' he said: 'how dare you lay hands on Me?' I first opened the +door, and then, by way of accommodating him, gave the chair a good push +behind with my stick instead of my hand, and so sent it and him safely +and swiftly out of the room. + +"Having locked the door, so as to prevent any further intrusion, I +joined Robert Lorrie in examining the bedside table. It had one drawer +in it, and that drawer we found secured. + +"We asked the prisoner for the key. + +"He flatly refused to give it to us, and said we had no right to unlock +his drawers. He was so angry that he even declared it was lucky for us +he was too weak to rise from his bed. I answered civilly that our duty +obliged us to examine the drawer, and that if he still declined to +produce the key, he would only oblige us to take the table away and have +the lock opened by a smith. + +"While we were still disputing there was a knock at the door of the +room. + +"I opened the door cautiously. Instead of the crippled gentleman, whom I +had expected to see again, there was another stranger standing outside. +The prisoner hailed him as a friend and neighbor, and eagerly called +upon him for protection from us. We found this second gentleman pleasant +enough to deal with. He informed us readily that he had been sent for +by Mr. Dexter, and that he was himself a lawyer, and he asked to see +our warrant. Having looked at it, he at once informed the prisoner +(evidently very much to the prisoner's surprise) that he must submit to +have the drawer examined, under protest. And then, without more ado, he +got the key, and opened the table drawer for us himself. + +"We found inside several letters, and a large book with a lock to it, +having the words 'My Diary' inscribed on it in gilt letters. As a matter +of course, we took possession of the letters and the Diary, and sealed +them up, to be given to the Fiscal. At the same time the gentleman wrote +out a protest on the prisoner's behalf, and handed us his card. The +card informed us that he was Mr. Playmore, now one of the Agents for +the prisoner. The card and the protest were deposited, with the other +documents, in the care of the Fiscal. No other discoveries of any +importance were made at Gleninch. + +"Our next inquiries took us to Edinburgh--to the druggist whose label +we had found on the crumpled morsel of paper, and to other druggists +likewise whom we were instructed to question. On the twenty-eighth of +October the Fiscal was in possession of all the information that we +could collect, and our duties for the time being came to an end." + +This concluded the evidence of Schoolcraft and Lorrie. It was not shaken +on cross-examination, and it was plainly unfavorable to the prisoner. + +Matters grew worse still when the next witnesses were called. The +druggist whose label had been found on the crumpled bit of paper now +appeared on the stand, to make the position of my unhappy husband more +critical than ever. + +Andrew Kinlay, druggist, of Edinburgh, deposed as follows: + +"I keep a special registry book of the poisons sold by me. I produce the +book. On the date therein mentioned the prisoner at the bar, Mr. Eustace +Macallan, came into my shop, and said that he wished to purchase some +arsenic. I asked him what it was wanted for. He told me it was wanted by +his gardener, to be used, in solution, for the killing of insects in +the greenhouse. At the same time he mentioned his name--Mr. Macallan, +of Gleninch. I at once directed my assistant to put up the arsenic (two +ounces of it), and I made the necessary entry in my book. Mr. Macallan +signed the entry, and I signed it afterward as witness. He paid for the +arsenic, and took it away with him wrapped up in two papers, the outer +wrapper being labeled with my name and address, and with the word +'Poison' in large letters--exactly like the label now produced on the +piece of paper found at Gleninch." + +The next witness, Peter Stockdale (also a druggist of Edinburgh), +followed, and said: + +"The prisoner at the bar called at my shop on the date indicated on my +register, some days later than the date indicated in the register of Mr. +Kinlay. He wished to purchase sixpenny-worth of arsenic. My assistant, +to whom he had addressed himself, called me. It is a rule in my shop +that no one sells poisons but myself. I asked the prisoner what he +wanted the arsenic for. He answered that he wanted it for killing rats +at his house, called Gleninch. I said, 'Have I the honor of speaking to +Mr. Macallan, of Gleninch?' He said that was his name. I sold him the +arsenic--about an ounce and a half--and labeled the bottle in which +I put it with the word 'Poison' in my own handwriting. He signed the +register, and took the arsenic away with him, after paying for it." + +The cross-examination of the two men succeeded in asserting certain +technical objections to their evidence. But the terrible fact that +my husband himself had actually purchased the arsenic in both cases +remained unshaken. + +The next witnesses--the gardener and the cook at Gleninch--wound the +chain of hostile evidence around the prisoner more mercilessly still. + +On examination the gardener said, on his oath: + +"I never received any arsenic from the prisoner, or from any one else, +at the date to which you refer, of at any other date. I never used any +such thing as a solution of arsenic, or ever allowed the men working +under me to use it, in the conservatories or in the garden at Gleninch. +I disapprove of arsenic as a means of destroying noxious insects +infesting flowers and plants." + +The cook, being called next, spoke as positively as the gardener: + +"Neither my master nor any other person gave me any arsenic to destroy +rats at any time. No such thing was wanted. I declare, on my oath, that +I never saw any rats in or about the house, or ever heard of any rats +infesting it." + +Other household servants at Gleninch gave similar evidence. Nothing +could be extracted from them on cross-examination except that there +might have been rats in the house, though they were not aware of it. The +possession of the poison was traced directly to my husband, and to no +one else. That he had bought it was actually proved, and that he had +kept it was the one conclusion that the evidence justified. + +The witnesses who came next did their best to press the charge against +the prisoner home to him. Having the arsenic in his possession, what +had he done with it? The evidence led the jury to infer what he had done +with it. + +The prisoner's valet deposed that his master had rung for him at twenty +minutes to ten on the morning of the day on which his mistress died, and +had ordered a cup of tea for her. The man had received the order at the +open door of Mrs. Macallan's room, and could positively swear that no +other person but his master was there at the time. + +The under-housemaid, appearing next, said that she had made the tea, +and had herself taken it upstairs before ten o'clock to Mrs. Macallan's +room. Her master had received it from her at the open door. She could +look in, and could see that he was alone in her mistress's room. + +The nurse, Christina Ormsay, being recalled, repeated what Mrs. Macallan +had said to her on the day when that lady was first taken ill. She +had said (speaking to the nurse at six o'clock in the morning), "Mr. +Macallan came in about an hour since; he found me still sleepless, and +gave me my composing draught." This was at five o'clock in the morning, +while Christina Ormsay was asleep on the sofa. The nurse further swore +that she had looked at the bottle containing the composing mixture, +and had seen by the measuring marks on the bottle that a dose had been +poured out since the dose previously given, administered by herself. + +On this occasion special interest was excited by the cross-examination. +The closing questions put to the under-housemaid and the nurse revealed +for the first time what the nature of the defense was to be. + +Cross-examining the under-housemaid, the Dean of Faculty said: + +"Did you ever notice when you were setting Mrs. Eustace Macallan's +room to rights whether the water left in the basin was of a blackish or +bluish color?" The witness answered, "I never noticed anything of the +sort." + +The Dean of Faculty went on: + +"Did you ever find under the pillow of the bed, or in any other hiding +place in Mrs. Macallan's room, any books or pamphlets telling of +remedies used for improving a bad complexion?" The witness answered, +"No." + +The Dean of Faculty persisted: + +"Did you ever hear Mrs. Macallan speak of arsenic, taken as a wash or +taken as a medicine, as a good thing to improve the complexion?" The +witness answered, "Never." + +Similar questions were next put to the nurse, and were all answered by +this witness also in the negative. + +Here, then, in spite of the negative answers, was the plan of the +defense made dimly visible for the first time to the jury and to the +audience. By way of preventing the possibility of a mistake in so +serious a matter, the Chief Judge (the Lord Justice Clerk) put this +plain question, when the witnesses had retired, to the Counsel for the +defense: + +"The Court and the jury," said his lordship, "wish distinctly to +understand the object of your cross-examination of the housemaid and the +nurse. Is it the theory of the defense that Mrs. Eustace Macallan used +the arsenic which--her husband purchased for the purpose of improving +the defects of her complexion?" + +The Dean of Faculty answered: + +"That is what we say, my lord, and what we propose to prove as the +foundation of the defense. We cannot dispute the medical evidence which +declares that Mrs. Macallan died poisoned. But we assert that she died +of an overdose of arsenic, ignorantly taken, in the privacy of her own +room, as a remedy for the defects--the proved and admitted defects--of +her complexion. The prisoner's Declaration before the Sheriff expressly +sets forth that he purchased the arsenic at the request of his wife." + +The Lord Justice Clerk inquired upon this if there were any objection on +the part of either of the learned counsel to have the Declaration read +in Court before the Trial proceeded further. + +To this the Dean of Faculty replied that he would be glad to have the +Declaration read. If he might use the expression, it would usefully pave +the way in the minds of the jury for the defense which he had to submit +to them. + +The Lord Advocate (speaking on the other side) was happy to be able +to accommodate his learned brother in this matter. So long as the mere +assertions which the Declaration contained were not supported by proof, +he looked upon that document as evidence for the prosecution, and he too +was quite willing to have it read. + +Thereupon the prisoner's Declaration of his innocence--on being char +ged before the Sheriff with the murder of his wife--was read, in the +following terms: + +"I bought the two packets of arsenic, on each occasion at my wife's own +request. On the first occasion she told me the poison was wanted by the +gardener for use in the conservatories. On the second occasion she said +it was required by the cook for ridding the lower part of the house of +rats. + +"I handed both packets of arsenic to my wife immediately on my return +home. I had nothing to do with the poison after buying it. My wife was +the person who gave orders to the gardener and cook--not I. I never held +any communication with either of them. + +"I asked my wife no questions about the use of the arsenic, feeling no +interest in the subject. I never entered the conservatories for months +together; I care little about flowers. As for the rats, I left the +killing of them to the cook and the other servants, just as I should +have left any other part of the domestic business to the cook and the +other servants. + +"My wife never told me she wanted the arsenic to improve her complexion. +Surely I should be the last person admitted to the knowledge of such a +secret of her toilet as that? I implicitly believed what she told me; +viz., that the poison was wanted for the purposes specified by the +gardener and the cook. + +"I assert positively that I lived on friendly terms with my wife, +allowing, of course, for the little occasional disagreements and +misunderstandings of married life. Any sense of disappointment in +connection with my marriage which I might have felt privately I +conceived it to be my duty as a husband and a gentleman to conceal from +my wife. I was not only shocked and grieved by her untimely death--I +was filled with fear that I had not, with all my care, behaved +affectionately enough to her in her lifetime. + +"Furthermore, I solemnly declare that I know no more of how she took the +arsenic found in her body than the babe unborn. I am innocent even of +the thought of harming that unhappy woman. I administered the composing +draught exactly as I found it in the bottle. I afterward gave her the +cup of tea exactly as I received it from the under-housemaid's hand. I +never had access to the arsenic after I placed the two packages in my +wife's possession. I am entirely ignorant of what she did with them +or of where she kept them. I declare before God I am innocent of the +horrible crime with which I am charged." + +With the reading of those true and touching words the proceedings on the +second day of the Trial came to an end. + +So far, I must own, the effect on me of reading the Report was to +depress my spirits and to lower my hopes. The whole weight of the +evidence at the close of the second day was against my unhappy husband. +Woman as I was, and partisan as I was, I could plainly see that. + +The merciless Lord Advocate (I confess I hated him!) had proved (1) that +Eustace had bought the poison; (2) that the reason which he had given to +the druggists for buying the poison was not the true reason; (3) that +he had had two opportunities of secretly administering the poison to +his wife. On the other side, what had the Dean of Faculty proved? +As yet--nothing. The assertions in the prisoner's Declaration of his +innocence were still, as the Lord Advocate had remarked, assertions not +supported by proof. Not one atom of evidence had been produced to show +that it was the wife who had secretly used the arsenic, and used it for +her complexion. + +My one consolation was that the reading of the Trial had already +revealed to me the helpful figures of two friends on whose sympathy I +might surely rely. The crippled Mr. Dexter had especially shown himself +to be a thorough good ally of my husband's. My heart warmed to the +man who had moved his chair against the bedside table--the man who had +struggled to the last to defend Eustace's papers from the wretches who +had seized them. I decided then and there that the first person to whom +I would confide my aspirations and my hopes should be Mr. Dexter. If he +felt any difficulty about advising me, I would then apply next to the +agent, Mr. Playmore--the second good friend, who had formally protested +against the seizure of my husband's papers. + +Fortified by this resolution, I turned the page, and read the history of +the third day of the Trial. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. THIRD QUESTION--WHAT WAS HIS MOTIVE? + +THE first question (Did the Woman Die Poisoned?) had been answered, +positively. The second question (Who Poisoned Her?) had been answered, +apparently. There now remained the third and final question--What was +His Motive? The first evidence called in answer to that inquiry was the +evidence of relatives and friends of the dead wife. + +Lady Brydehaven, widow of Rear-Admiral Sir George Brydehaven, examined +by Mr. Drew (counsel for the Crown with the Lord Advocate), gave +evidence as follows: + +"The deceased lady (Mrs. Eustace Macallan) was my niece. She was the +only child of my sister, and she lived under my roof after the time of +her mother's death. I objected to her marriage, on grounds which were +considered purely fanciful and sentimental by her other friends. It is +extremely painful to me to state the circumstances in public, but I am +ready to make the sacrifice if the ends of justice require it. + +"The prisoner at the bar, at the time of which I am now speaking, was +staying as a guest in my house. He met with an accident while he was +out riding which caused a serious injury to one of his legs. The leg had +been previously hurt while he was serving with the army in India. This +circumstance tended greatly to aggravate the injury received in the +accident. He was confined to a recumbent position on a sofa for many +weeks together; and the ladies in the house took it in turns to sit with +him, and while away the weary time by reading to him and talking to him. +My niece was foremost among these volunteer nurses. She played admirably +on the piano; and the sick man happened--most unfortunately, as the +event proved--to be fond of music. + +"The consequences of the perfectly innocent intercourse thus begun were +deplorable consequences for my niece. She became passionately attached +to Mr. Eustace Macallan, without awakening any corresponding affection +on his side. + +"I did my best to interfere, delicately and usefully, while it was still +possible to interfere with advantage. Unhappily, my niece refused +to place any confidence in me. She persistently denied that she was +actuated by any warmer feeling toward Mr. Macallan than a feeling of +friendly interest. This made it impossible for me to separate them +without openly acknowledging my reason for doing so, and thus producing +a scandal which might have affected my niece's reputation. My husband +was alive at that time; and the one thing I could do under the +circumstances was the thing I did. I requested him to speak privately +to Mr. Macallan, and to appeal to his honor to help us out of the +difficulty without prejudice to my niece. + +"Mr. Macallan behaved admirably. He was still helpless. But he made an +excuse for leaving us which it was impossible to dispute. In two days +after my husband had spoken to him he was removed from the house. + +"The remedy was well intended; but it came too late, and it utterly +failed. The mischief was done. My niece pined away visibly; neither +medical help nor change of air and scene did anything for her. In +course of time--after Mr. Macallan had recovered from the effects of his +accident--I found that she was carrying on a clandestine correspondence +with him by means of her maid. His letters, I am bound to say, were most +considerately and carefully written. Nevertheless, I felt it my duty to +stop the correspondence. + +"My interference--what else could I do but interfere?--brought matters +to a crisis. One day my niece was missing at breakfast-time. The next +day we discovered that the poor infatuated creature had gone to Mr. +Macallan's chambers in London, and had been found hidden in his bedroom +by some bachelor friends who came to visit him. + +"For this disaster Mr. Macallan was in no respect to blame. Hearing +footsteps outside, he had only time to take measures for saving her +character by concealing her in the nearest room--and the nearest room +happened to be his bedchamber. The matter was talked about, of course, +and motives were misinterpreted in the vilest manner. My husband +had another private conversation with Mr. Macallan. He again behaved +admirably. He publicly declared that my niece had visited him as his +betrothed wife. In a fortnight from that time he silenced scandal in the +one way that was possible--he married her. + +"I was alone in opposing the marriage. I thought it at the time what it +has proved to be since--a fatal mistake. + +"It would have been sad enough if Mr. Macallan had only married her +without a particle of love on his side. But to make the prospect more +hopeless still, he was at that very time the victim of a misplaced +attachment to a lady who was engaged to another man. I am well aware +that he compassionately denied this, just as he compassionately affected +to be in love with my niece when he married her. But his hopeless +admiration of the lady whom I have mentioned was a matter of fact +notorious among his friends. It may not be amiss to add that _her_ +marriage preceded _his_ marriage. He had irretrievably lost the woman +he really loved--he was without a hope or an aspiration in life--when he +took pity on my niece. + +"In conclusion, I can only repeat that no evil which could have happened +(if she had remained a single woman) would have been comparable, in +my opinion, to the evil of such a marriage as this. Never, I sincerely +believe, were two more ill-assorted persons united in the bonds of +matrimony than the prisoner at the bar and his deceased wife." + +The evidence of this witness produced a strong sensation among +the audience, and had a marked effect on the minds of the jury. +Cross-examination forced Lady Brydehaven to modify some of her opinions, +and to acknowledge that the hopeless attachment of the prisoner to +another woman was a matter of rumor only. But the facts in her narrative +remained unshaken, and, for that one reason, they invested the crime +charged against the prisoner with an appearance of possibility, which it +had entirely failed to assume during the earlier part of the Trial. + +Two other ladies (intimate friends of Mrs. Eustace Macallan) were +called next. They differed from Lady Brydehaven in their opinions on the +propriety of the marriage but on all the material points they supported +her testimony, and confirmed the serious impression which the first +witness had produced on every person in Court. + +The next evidence which the prosecution proposed to put in was the +silent evidence of the letters and the Diary found at Gleninch. + +In answer to a question from the Bench, the Lord Advocate stated that +the letters were written by friends of the prisoner and his deceased +wife, and that passages in them bore directly on the terms on which the +two associated in their married life. The Diary was still more valuable +as evidence. It contained the prisoner's daily record of domestic +events, and of the thoughts and feelings which they aroused in him at +the time. + +A most painful scene followed this explanation. + +Writing, as I do, long after the events took place, I still cannot +prevail upon myself to describe in detail what my unhappy husband said +and did at this distressing period of the Trial. Deeply affected +while Lady Brydehaven was giving her evidence, he had with difficulty +restrained himself from interrupting her. He now lost all control +over his feelings. In piercing tones, which rang through the Court, +he protested against the contemplated violation of his own most sacred +secrets and his wife's most sacred secrets. "Hang me, innocent as I am!" +he cried, "but spare me _that!_" The effect of this terrible outbreak on +the audience is reported to have been indescribable. Some of the women +present were in hysterics. The Judges interfered from the Bench, +but with no good result. Quiet was at length restored by the Dean of +Faculty, who succeeded in soothing the prisoner, and who then addressed +the Judges, pleading for indulgence to his unhappy client in most +touching and eloquent language. The speech, a masterpiece of impromptu +oratory, concluded with a temperate yet strongly urged protest against +the reading of the papers discovered at Gleninch. + +The three Judges retired to consider the legal question submitted to +them. The sitting was suspended for more than half an hour. + +As usual in such cases, the excitement in the Court communicated itself +to the crowd outside in the street. The general opinion here--led, as it +was supposed, by one of the clerks or other inferior persons connected +with the legal proceedings--was decidedly adverse to the prisoner's +chance of escaping a sentence of death. "If the letters and the Diary +are read," said the brutal spokesman of the mob, "the letters and the +Diary will hang him." + +On the return of the Judges into Court, it was announced that they had +decided, by a majority of two to one, on permitting the documents in +dispute to be produced in evidence. Each of the Judges, in turn, gave +his reasons for the decision at which he had arrived. This done, the +Trial proceeded. The reading of the extracts from the letters and the +extracts from the Diary began. + +The first letters produced were the letters found in the Indian cabinet +in Mrs. Eustace Macallan's room. They were addressed to the deceased +lady by intimate (female) friends of hers, with whom she was accustomed +to correspond. Three separate extracts from letters written by three +different correspondents were selected to be read in Court. + +FIRST CORRESPONDENT: "I despair, my dearest Sara, of being able to tell +you how your last letter has distressed me. Pray forgive me if I own to +thinking that your very sensitive nature exaggerates or misinterprets, +quite unconsciously, of course, the neglect that you experience at the +hands of your husband. I cannot say anything about _his_ peculiarities +of character, because I am not well enough acquainted with him to know +what they are. But, my dear, I am much older than you, and I have had a +much longer experience than yours of what somebody calls 'the lights and +shadows of married life.' Speaking from that experience, I must tell you +what I have observed. Young married women, like you, who are devotedly +attached to their husbands, are apt to make one very serious mistake. As +a rule, they all expect too much from their husbands. Men, my poor Sara, +are not like _us._ Their love, even when it is quite sincere, is not +like our love. It does not last as it does with us. It is not the +one hope and one thought of their lives, as it is with us. We have no +alternative, even when we most truly respect and love them, but to make +allowance for this difference between the man's nature and the woman's. +I do not for one moment excuse your husband's coldness. He is wrong, +for example, in never looking at you when he speaks to you, and in +never noticing the efforts that you make to please him. He is worse than +wrong--he is really cruel, if you like--in never returning your kiss +when you kiss him. But, my dear, are you quite sure that he is always +_designedly_ cold and cruel? May not his conduct be sometimes the +result of troubles and anxieties which weigh on his mind, and which are +troubles and anxieties that you cannot share? If you try to look at his +behavior in this light, you will understand many things which puzzle +and pain you now. Be patient with him, my child. Make no complaints, +and never approach him with your caresses at times when his mind is +preoccupied or his temper ruffled. This may be hard advice to follow, +loving him as ardently as you do. But, rely on it, the secret of +happiness for us women is to be found (alas! only too often) in such +exercise of restraint and resignation as your old friend now recommends. +Think, my dear, over what I have written, and let me hear from you +again." + +SECOND CORRESPONDENT: "How can you be so foolish, Sara, as to waste your +love on such a cold-blooded brute as your husband seems to be? To be +sure, I am not married yet, or perhaps I should not be so surprised at +you. But I shall be married one of these days, and if my husband ever +treat me as Mr. Macallan treats you, I shall insist on a separation. I +declare, I think I would rather be actually beaten, like the women among +the lower orders, than be treated with the polite neglect and contempt +which you describe. I burn with indignation when I think of it. It must +be quite insufferable. Don't bear it any longer, my poor dear. Leave +him, and come and stay with me. My brother is a lawyer, as you know. I +read to him portions of your letter, and he is of opinion that you might +get what he calls a judicial separation. Come and consult him." + +THIRD CORRESPONDENT: "YOU know, my dear Mrs. Macallan, what _my_ +experience of men has been. Your letter does not surprise me in the +least. Your husband's conduct to you points to one conclusion. He is in +love with some other woman. There is Somebody in the dark, who gets from +him everything that he denies to you. I have been through it all--and I +know! Don't give way. Make it the business of your life to find out who +the creature is. Perhaps there may be more than one of them. It doesn't +matter. One or many, if you can only discover them, you may make his +existence as miserable to him as he makes your existence to you. If you +want my experience to help you, say the word, and it is freely at your +service. I can come and stay with you at Gleninch any time after the +fourth of next month." + +With those abominable lines the readings from the letters of the women +came to an end. The first and longest of the Extracts produced the +most vivid impression in Court. Evidently the writer was in this case +a worthy and sensible person. It was generally felt, however, that all +three of the letters, no matter how widely they might differ in tone, +justified the same conclusion. The wife's position at Gleninch (if the +wife's account of it were to be trusted) was the position of a neglected +and an unhappy woman. + +The correspondence of the prisoner, which had been found, with his +Diary, in the locked bed-table drawer, was produced next. The letters in +this case were with one exception all written by men. Though the tone of +them was moderation itself as compared with the second and third of the +women's letters, the conclusion still pointed the same way. The life of +the husband at Gleninch appeared to be just as intolerable as the life +of the wife. + +For example, one of the prisoner's male friends wrote inviting him to +make a yacht voyage around the world. Another suggested an absence +of six months on the Continent. A third recommended field-sports and +fishing. The one object aimed at by all the writers was plainly to +counsel a separation, more or less plausible and more or less complete, +between the married pair. + +The last letter read was addressed to the prisoner in a woman's +handwriting, and was signed by a woman's Christian name only. + +"Ah, my poor Eustace, what a cruel destiny is ours!" the letter began. +"When I think of your life, sacrificed to that wretched woman, my heart +bleeds for you. If _we_ had been man and wife--if it had been _my_ +unutterable happiness to love and cherish the best, the dearest of +men--what a paradise of our own we might have lived in! what delicious +hours we might have known! But regret is vain; we are separated in this +life--separated by ties which we both mourn, and yet which we must both +respect. My Eustace, there is a world beyond this. There our souls will +fly to meet each other, and mingle in one long heavenly embrace--in +a rapture forbidden to us on earth. The misery described in your +letter--oh, why, why did you marry her?--has wrung this confession of +feeling from me. Let it comfort you, but let no other eyes see it. Burn +my rashly written lines, and look (as I look) to the better life which +you may yet share with your own + +"HELENA." + + +The reading of this outrageous letter provoked a question from the +Bench. One of the Judges asked if the writer had attached any date or +address to her letter. + +In answer to this the Lord Advocate stated that neither the one nor the +other appeared. The envelope showed that the letter had been posted in +London. "We propose," the learned counsel continued, "to read certain +passages from the prisoner's Diary, in which the name signed at the +end of the letter occurs more than once; and we may possibly find other +means of identifying the writer, to the satisfaction of your lordships, +before the Trial is over." + +The promised passages from my husband's private Diary were now read. The +first extract related to a period of nearly a year before the date of +Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death. It was expressed in these terms: + +"News, by this morning's post, which has quite overwhelmed me. Helena's +husband died suddenly two days since of heart-disease. She is free--my +beloved Helena is free! And I? + +"I am fettered to a woman with whom I have not a single feeling in +common. Helena is lost to me, by my own act. Ah! I can understand now, +as I never understood before, how irresistible temptation can be, and +how easily sometimes crime may follow it. I had better shut up these +leaves for the night. It maddens me to no purpose to think of my +position or to write of it." + +The next passage, dated a few days later, dwelt on the same subject. + +"Of all the follies that a man can commit, the greatest is acting on +impulse. I acted on impulse when I married the unfortunate creature who +is now my wife. + +"Helena was then lost to me, as I too hastily supposed. She had married +the man to whom she rashly engaged herself before she met with me. He +was younger than I, and, to all appearance, heartier and stronger +than I. So far as I could see, my fate was sealed for life. Helena had +written her farewell letter, taking leave of me in this world for good. +My prospects were closed; my hopes had ended. I had not an aspiration +left; I had no necessity to stimulate me to take refuge in work. A +chivalrous action, an exertion of noble self-denial, seemed to be all +that was left to me, all that I was fit for. + +"The circumstances of the moment adapted themselves, with a fatal +facility, to this idea. The ill-fated woman who had become attached to +me (Heaven knows--without so much as the shadow of encouragement on my +part!) had, just at that time, rashly placed her reputation at the mercy +of the world. It rested with me to silence the scandalous tongues that +reviled her. With Helena lost to me, happiness was not to be expected. +All women were equally indifferent to me. A generous action would be +the salvation of this woman. Why not perform it? I married her on that +impulse--married her just as I might have jumped into the water and +saved her if she had been drowning; just as I might have knocked a man +down if I had seen him ill-treating her in the street! + +"And now the woman for whom I have made this sacrifice stands between me +and my Helena--my Helena, free to pour out all the treasures of her love +on the man who adores the earth that she touches with her foot! + +"Fool! madman! Why don't I dash out my brains against the wall that I +see opposite to me while I write these lines? + +"My gun is there in the corner. I have only to tie a string to the +trigger and to put the muzzle to my mouth--No! My mother is alive; my +mother's love is sacred. I have no right to take the life which she gave +me. I must suffer and submit. Oh, Helena! Helena!" + +The third extract--one among many similar passages--had been written +about two months before the death of the prisoner's wife. + +"More reproaches addressed to me! There never was such a woman for +complaining; she lives in a perfect atmosphere of ill-temper and +discontent. + +"My new offenses are two in number: I never ask her to play to me now; +and when she puts on a new dress expressly to please me, I never notice +it. Notice it! Good Heavens! The effort of my life is _not_ to notice +her in anything she does or says. How could I keep my temper, unless I +kept as much as possible out of the way of private interviews with +her? And I do keep my temper. I am never hard on her; I never use harsh +language to her. She has a double claim on my forbearance---she is +a woman, and the law has made her my wife. I remember this; but I am +human. The less I see of her--except when visitors are present--the +more certain I can feel of preserving my self-control. + +"I wonder what it is that makes her so utterly distasteful to me? She +is a plain woman; but I have seen uglier women than she whose caresses +I could have endured without the sense of shrinking that comes over me +when I am obliged to submit to _her_ caresses. I keep the feeling hidden +from her. She loves me, poor thing--and I pity her. I wish I could do +more; I wish I could return in the smallest degree the feeling with +which she regards me. But no--I can only pity her. If she would +be content to live on friendly terms with me, and never to exact +demonstrations of tenderness, we might get on pretty well. But she wants +love. Unfortunate creature, she wants love! + +"Oh, my Helena! I have no love to give her. My heart is yours. + +"I dreamed last night that this unhappy wife of mine was dead. The dream +was so vivid that I actually got out of my bed and opened the door of +her room and listened. + +"Her calm, regular breathing was distinctly audible in the stillness of +the night. She was in a deep sleep: I closed the door again and lighted +my candle and read. Helena was in all my thoughts; it was hard work to +fix my attention on the book. But anything was better than going to bed +again, and dreaming perhaps for the second time that I too was free. + +"What a life mine is! what a life my wife's is! If the house were to +take fire, I wonder whether I should make an effort to save myself or to +save her?" + +The last two passages read referred to later dates still. + +"A gleam of brightness has shone over this dismal existence of mine at +last. + +"Helena is no longer condemned to the seclusion of widowhood. Time +enough has passed to permit of her mixing again in society. She is +paying visits to friends in our part of Scotland; and, as she and I are +cousins, it is universally understood that she cannot leave the North +without also spending a few days at my house. She writes me word +that the visit, however embarrassing it may be to us privately, is +nevertheless a visit that must be made for the sake of appearances. +Blessings on appearances! I shall see this angel in my purgatory--and +all because Society in Mid-Lothian would think it strange that my cousin +should be visiting in my part of Scotland and not visit Me! + +"But we are to be very careful. Helena says, in so many words, 'I come +to see you, Eustace, as a sister. You must receive me as a brother, or +not receive me at all. I shall write to your wife to propose the day +for my visit. I shall not forget--do you not forget--that it is by your +wife's permission that I enter your house.' + +"Only let me see her! I will submit to anything to obtain the +unutterable happiness of seeing her!" + +The last extract followed, and consisted of these lines only: + +"A new misfortune! My wife has fallen ill. She has taken to her bed with +a bad rheumatic cold, just at the time appointed for Helena's visit +to Gleninch. But on this occasion (I gladly own it!) she has behaved +charmingly. She has written to Helena to say that her illness is not +serious enough to render a change necessary in the arrangements, and to +make it her particular request that my cousin's visit shall take place +upon the day originally decided on. + +"This is a great sacrifice made to me on my wife's part. Jealous of +every woman under forty who comes near me, she is, of course, jealous of +Helena--and she controls herself, and trusts me! + +"I am bound to show my gratitude for this and I will show it. From this +day forth I vow to live more affectionately with my wife. I tenderly +embraced her this very morning, and I hope, poor soul, she did not +discover the effort that it cost me." + +There the readings from the Diary came to an end. + +The most unpleasant pages in the whole Report of the Trial were--to +me--the pages which contained the extracts from my husband's Diary. +There were expressions here and there which not only pained me, but +which almost shook Eustace's position in my estimation. I think I would +have given everything I possessed to have had the power of annihilating +certain lines in the Diary. As for his passionate expressions of love +for Mrs. Beauly, every one of them went through me like a sting. He had +whispered words quite as warm into my ears in the days of his courtship. +I had no reason to doubt that he truly and dearly loved me. But the +question was, Had he just as truly and dearly loved Mrs. Beauly before +me? Had she or I--won the first love of his heart? He had declared to +me over and over again that he had only fancied himself to be in love +before the day when we met. I had believed him then. I determined to +believe him still. I did believe him. But I hated Mrs. Beauly! + +As for the painful impression produced in Court by the readings from +the letters and the Diary, it seemed to be impossible to increase it. +Nevertheless it _was_ perceptibly increased. In other words, it was +rendered more unfavorable still toward the prisoner by the evidence of +the next and last witness called on the part of the prosecution. + +William Enzie, under-gardener at Gleninch, was sworn, and deposed as +follows: + +On the twentieth of October, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, I was +sent to work in the shrubbery, on the side next to the garden called the +Dutch Garden. There was a summer-house in the Dutch Garden, having its +back set toward the shrubbery. The day was wonderfully fine and--warm +for the time of year. + +"Passing to my work, I passed the back of the summer-house. I heard +voices inside--a man's voice and a lady's voice. The lady's voice was +strange to me. The man's voice I recognized as the voice of my master. +The ground in the shrubbery was soft, and my curiosity was excited. I +stepped up to the back of the summer-house without being heard, and I +listened to what was going on inside. + +"The first words I could distinguish were spoken in my master's voice. +He said, 'If I could only have foreseen that you might one day be free, +what a happy man I might have been!' The lady's voice answered, 'Hush! +you must not talk so.' My master said upon that, 'I must talk of what is +in my mind; it is always in my mind that I have lost you.' He stopped +a bit there, and then he said on a sudden, 'Do me one favor, my angel! +Promise me not to marry again.' The lady's voice spoke out thereupon +sharply enough, 'What do you mean?' My master said, 'I wish no harm to +the unhappy creature who is a burden on my life; but suppose--' 'Suppose +nothing,' the lady said; 'come back to the house.' + +"She led the way into the garden, and turned round, beckoning my master +to join her. In that position I saw her face plainly, and I knew it for +the face of the young widow lady who was visiting at the house. She was +pointed out to me by the head-gardener when she first arrived, for the +purpose of warning me that I was not to interfere if I found her picking +the flowers. The gardens at Gleninch were shown to tourists on certain +days, and we made a difference, of course, in the matter of the flowers +between strangers and guests staying in the house. I am quite certain of +the identity of the lady who was talking with my master. Mrs. Beauly +was a comely person--and there was no mistaking her for any other than +herself. She and my master withdrew together on the way to the house. I +heard nothing more of what passed between them." + +This witness was severely cross-examined as to the correctness of his +recollection of the talk in the summer-house, and as to his capacity for +identifying both the speakers. On certain minor points he was shaken. +But he firmly asserted his accurate remembrance of the last words +exchanged between his master and Mrs. Beauly; and he personally +described the lady in terms which proved that he had corruptly +identified her. + +With this the answer to the third question raised by the Trial--the +question of the prisoner's motive for poisoning his wife--came to an +end. + +The story for the prosecution was now a story told. The staunchest +friends of the prisoner in Court were compelled to acknowledge that +the evidence thus far pointed clearly and conclusively against him. He +seemed to feel this himself. When he withdrew at the close of the third +day of the Trial he was so depressed and exhausted that he was obliged +to lean on the arm of the governor of the jail. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE EVIDENCE FOR THE DEFENSE. + +THE feeling of interest excited by the Trial was prodigiously increased +on the fourth day. The witnesses for the defense were now to be heard, +and first and foremost among them appeared the prisoner's mother. She +looked at her son as she lifted her veil to take the oath. He burst into +tears. At that moment the sympathy felt for the mother was generally +extended to the unhappy son. + +Examined by the Dean of Faculty, Mrs. Macallan the elder gave her +answers with remarkable dignity and self-control. + +Questioned as to certain private conversations which had passed between +her late daughter-in-law and herself, she declared that Mrs. Eustace +Macallan was morbidly sensitive on the subject of her personal +appearance. She was devotedly attached to her husband; the great anxiety +of her life was to make herself as attractive to him as possible. +The imperfections in her personal appearance--and especially in her +complexion--were subjects to her of the bitterest regret. The witness +had heard her say, over and over again (referring to her complexion), +that there was no risk she would not run, and no pain she would not +suffer, to improve it. "Men" (she had said) "are all caught by outward +appearances: my husband might love me better if I had a better color." + +Being asked next if the passages from her son's Diary were to be +depended on as evidence--that is to say, if they fairly represented +the peculiarities in his character, and his true sentiments toward his +wife--Mrs. Macallan denied it in the plainest and strongest terms. + +"The extracts from my son's Diary are a libel on his character," she +said. "And not the less a libel because they happen to be written by +himself. Speaking from a mother's experience of him, I know that he +must have written the passages produced in moments of uncontrollable +depression and despair. No just person judges hastily of a man by the +rash words which may escape him in his moody and miserable moments. Is +my son to be so judged because he happens to have written _his_ rash +words, instead of speaking them? His pen has been his most deadly enemy, +in this case--it has presented him at his very worst. He was not happy +in his marriage--I admit that. But I say at the same time that he was +invariably considerate toward his wife. I was implicitly trusted by both +of them; I saw them in their most private moments. I declare--in +the face of what she appears to have written to her friends and +correspondents--that my son never gave his wife any just cause to assert +that he treated her with cruelty or neglect." + +The words, firmly and clearly spoken, produced a strong impression. +The Lord Advocate--evidently perceiving that any attempt to weaken +that impression would not be likely to succeed--confined himself, in +cross-examination, to two significant questions. + +"In speaking to you of the defects in her complexion," he said, "did +your daughter-in-law refer in any way to the use of arsenic as a +remedy?" + +The answer to this was, "No." + +The Lord Advocate proceeded: + +"Did you yourself ever recommend arsenic, or mention it casually, in the +course of the private conversations which you have described?" + +The answer to this was, "Never." + +The Lord Advocate resumed his seat. Mrs. Macallan the elder withdrew. + +An interest of a new kind was excited by the appearance of the next +witness. This was no less a person than Mrs. Beauly herself. The Report +describes her as a remarkably attractive person; modest and lady-like +in her manner, and, to all appearance, feeling sensitively the public +position in which she was placed. + +The first portion of her evidence was almost a recapitulation of the +evidence given by the prisoner's mother--with this difference, that Mrs. +Beauly had been actually questioned by the deceased lady on the subject +of cosmetic applications to the complexion. Mrs. Eustace Macallan had +complimented her on the beauty of her complexion, and had asked what +artificial means she used to keep it in such good order. Using no +artificial means, and knowing nothing whatever of cosmetics, Mrs. Beauly +had resented the question, and a temporary coolness between the two +ladies had been the result. + +Interrogated as to her relations with the prisoner, Mrs. Beauly +indignantly denied that she or Mr. Macallan had ever given the deceased +lady the slightest cause for jealousy. It was impossible for Mrs. +Beauly to leave Scotland, after visiting at the houses of her cousin's +neighbors, without also visiting at her cousin's house. To take any +other course would have been an act of downright rudeness, and would +have excited remark. She did not deny that Mr. Macallan had admired her +in the days when they were both single people. But there was no further +expression of that feeling when she had married another man, and when +he had married another woman. From that time their intercourse was +the innocent intercourse of a brother and sister. Mr. Macallan was a +gentleman: he knew what was due to his wife and to Mrs. Beauly--she +would not have entered the house if experience had not satisfied her of +that. As for the evidence of the under-gardener, it was little better +than pure invention. The greater part of the conversation which he had +described himself as overhearing had never taken place. The little that +was really said (as the man reported it) was said jestingly; and she had +checked it immediately--as the witness had himself confessed. For the +rest, Mr. Macallan's behavior toward his wife was invariably kind +and considerate. He was constantly devising means to alleviate her +sufferings from the rheumatic affection which confined her to her bed; +he had spoken of her, not once but many times, in terms of the sincerest +sympathy. When she ordered her husband and witness to leave the room, on +the day of her death, Mr. Macallan said to witness afterward, "We must +bear with her jealousy, poor soul: we know that we don't deserve it." In +that patient manner he submitted to her infirmities of temper from first +to last. + +The main interest in the cross-examination of Mrs. Beauly centered in +a question which was put at the end. After reminding her that she had +given her name, on being sworn, as "Helena Beauly," the Lord Advocate +said: + +"A letter addressed to the prisoner, and signed 'Helena,' has been read +in Court. Look at it, if you please. Are you the writer of that letter?" + +Before the witness could reply the Dean of Faculty protested against +the question. The Judges allowed the protest, and refused to permit the +question to be put. Mrs. Beauly thereupon withdrew. She had betrayed +a very perceptible agitation on hearing the letter referred to, and on +having it placed in her hands. This exhibition of feeling was variously +interpreted among the audience. Upon the whole, however, Mrs. Beauly's +evidence was considered to have aided the impression which the mother's +evidence had produced in the prisoner's favor. + +The next witnesses--both ladies, and both school friends of Mrs. Eustace +Macallan--created a new feeling of interest in Court. They supplied the +missing link in the evidence for the defense. + +The first of the ladies declared that she had mentioned arsenic as a +means of improving the complexion in conversation with Mrs. Eustace +Macallan. She had never used it herself, but she had read of the +practice of eating arsenic among the Styrian peasantry for the purpose +of clearing the color, and of producing a general appearance of +plumpness and good health. She positively swore that she had related +this result of her reading to the deceased lady exactly as she now +related it in Court. + +The second witness, present at the conversation already mentioned, +corroborated the first witness in every particular; and added that she +had procured the book relating to the arsenic-eating practices of the +Styrian peasantry, and their results, at Mrs. Eustace Macallan's own +request. This book she had herself dispatched by post to Mrs. Eustace +Macallan at Gleninch. + +There was but one assailable point in this otherwise conclusive +evidence. The cross-examination discovered it. + +Both the ladies were asked, in turn, if Mrs. Eustace Macallan had +expressed to them, directly or indirectly, any intention of obtaining +arsenic, with a view to the improvement of her complexion. In each case +the answer to that all-important question was, No. Mrs. Eustace Macallan +had heard of the remedy, and had received the book. But of her own +intentions in the future she had not said one word. She had begged both +the ladies to consider the conversation as strictly private--and there +it had ended. + +It required no lawyer's eye to discern the fatal defect which was now +revealed in the evidence for the defense. Every intelligent person +present could see that the prisoner's chance of an honorable acquittal +depended on tracing the poison to the possession of his wife--or at +least on proving her expressed intention to obtain it. In either of +these cases the prisoner's Declaration of his innocence would claim the +support of testimony, which, however indirect it might be, no honest +and intelligent men would be likely to resist. Was that testimony +forthcoming? Was the counsel for the defense not at the end of his +resources yet? + +The crowded audience waited in breathless expectation for the appearance +of the next witness. A whisper went round among certain well-instructed +persons that the Court was now to see and hear the prisoner's old +friend--already often referred to in the course of the Trial as "Mr. +Dexter." + +After a brief interval of delay there was a sudden commotion among +the audience, accompanied by suppressed exclamations of curiosity and +surprise. At the same moment the crier summoned the new witness by the +extraordinary name of + +"MISERRIMUS DEXTER" + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE END OF THE TRIAL. + +THE calling of the new witness provoked a burst of laughter among the +audience due partly, no doubt, to the strange name by which he had +been summoned; partly, also, to the instinctive desire of all crowded +assemblies, when their interest is painfully excited, to seize on any +relief in the shape of the first subject of merriment which may +present itself. A severe rebuke from the Bench restored order among +the audience. The Lord Justice Clerk declared that he would "clear the +Court" if the interruption to the proceedings were renewed. + +During the silence which followed this announcement the new witness +appeared. + +Gliding, self-propelled in his chair on wheels, through the opening made +for him among the crowd, a strange and startling creature--literally the +half of a man--revealed himself to the general view. A coverlet which +had been thrown over his chair had fallen off during his progress +through the throng. The loss of it exposed to the public curiosity +the head, the arms, and the trunk of a living human being: absolutely +deprived of the lower limbs. To make this deformity all the more +striking and all the more terrible, the victim of it was--as to his face +and his body--an unusually handsome and an unusually well-made man. His +long silky hair, of a bright and beautiful chestnut color, fell over +shoulders that were the perfection of strength and grace. His face was +bright with vivacity and intelligence. His large clear blue eyes and his +long delicate white hands were like the eyes and hands of a beautiful +woman. He would have looked effeminate but for the manly proportions +of his throat and chest, aided in their effect by his flowing beard and +long mustache, of a lighter chestnut shade than the color of his hair. +Never had a magnificent head and body been more hopelessly ill-bestowed +than in this instance! Never had Nature committed a more careless or a +more cruel mistake than in the making of this man! + +He was sworn, seated, of course, in his chair. Having given his name, +he bowed to the Judges and requested their permission to preface his +evidence with a word of explanation. + +"People generally laugh when they first hear my strange Christian +name," he said, in a low, clear, resonant voice which penetrated to the +remotest corners of the Court. "I may inform the good people here that +many names, still common among us, have their significations, and that +mine is one of them. 'Alexander,' for instance, means, in the Greek, +'a helper of men.' 'David' means, in Hebrew, 'well-beloved.' 'Francis' +means, in German, 'free.' My name, 'Miserrimus,' means, in Latin, 'most +unhappy.' It was given to me by my father, in allusion to the deformity +which you all see--the deformity with which it was my misfortune to be +born. You won't laugh at 'Miserrimus' again, will you?" He turned to the +Dean of Faculty, waiting to examine him for the defense. "Mr. Dean. I +am at your service. I apologize for delaying, even for a moment, the +proceedings of the Court." + +He delivered his little address with perfect grace and good-humor. +Examined by the Dean, he gave his evidence clearly, without the +slightest appearance of hesitation or reserve. + +"I was staying at Gleninch as a guest in the house at the time of Mrs. +Eustace Macallan's death," he began. "Doctor Jerome and Mr. Gale desired +to see me at a private interview--the prisoner being then in a state of +prostration which made it impossible for him to attend to his duties as +master of the house. At this interview the two doctors astonished and +horrified me by declaring that Mrs. Eustace Macallan had died poisoned. +They left it to me to communicate the dreadful news to her husband, and +they warned me that a post-mortem examination must be held on the body. + +"If the Fiscal had seen my old friend when I communicated the doctors' +message, I doubt if he would have ventured to charge the prisoner with +the murder of his wife. To my mind the charge was nothing less than an +outrage. I resisted the seizure of the prisoner's Diary and letters, +animated by that feeling. Now that the Diary has been produced, I agree +with the prisoner's mother in denying that it is fair evidence to bring +against him. A Diary (when it extends beyond a bare record of facts and +dates) is nothing but an expression of the poorest and weakest side in +the character of the person who keeps it. It is, in nine cases out of +ten, the more or less contemptible outpouring of vanity and conceit +which the writer dare not exhibit to any mortal but himself. I am the +prisoner's oldest friend. I solemnly declare that I never knew he could +write downright nonsense until I heard his Diary read in this Court! + +"_He_ kill his wife! _He_ treat his wife with neglect and cruelty! I +venture to say, from twenty years' experience of him, that there is no +man in this assembly who is constitutionally more incapable of crime and +more incapable of cruelty than the man who stands at the Bar. While I +am about it, I go further still. I even doubt whether a man capable of +crime and capable of cruelty could have found it in his heart to do evil +to the woman whose untimely death is the subject of this inquiry. + +"I have heard what the ignorant and prejudiced nurse, Christina Ormsay, +has said of the deceased lady. From my own personal observation, +I contradict every word of it. Mrs. Eustace Macallan--granting her +personal defects--was nevertheless one of the most charming women I ever +met with. She was highly bred, in the best sense of the word. I never +saw in any other person so sweet a smile as hers, or such grace and +beauty of movement as hers. If you liked music, she sang beautifully; +and few professed musicians had such a touch on the piano as hers. If +you preferred talking, I never yet met with the man (or even the woman, +which is saying a great deal more) whom her conversation could not +charm. To say that such a wife as this could be first cruelly neglected, +and then barbarously murdered, by the man--no! by the martyr--who stands +there, is to tell me that the sun never shines at noonday, or that the +heaven is not above the earth. + +"Oh yes! I know that the letters of her friends show that she wrote to +them in bitter complaint of her husband's conduct to her. But remember +what one of those friends (the wisest and the best of them) says in +reply. 'I own to thinking,' she writes, 'that your sensitive nature +exaggerates or misinterprets the neglect that you experience at the +hands of your husband.' There, in that one sentence, is the whole truth! +Mrs. Eustace Macallan's nature was the imaginative, self-tormenting +nature of a poet. No mortal love could ever have been refined enough for +_her._ Trifles which women of a coarser moral fiber would have passed +over without notice, were causes of downright agony to that exquisitely +sensitive temperament. There are persons born to be unhappy. That poor +lady was one of them. When I have said this, I have said all. + +"No! There is one word more still to be added. + +"It may be as well to remind the prosecution that Mrs. Eustace +Macallan's death was in the pecuniary sense a serious loss to her +husband. He had insisted on having the whole of her fortune settled on +herself, and on her relatives after her, when he married. Her income +from that fortune helped to keep in splendor the house and grounds +at Gleninch. The prisoner's own resources (aided even by his mother's +jointure) were quite inadequate fitly to defray the expenses of living +at his splendid country-seat. Knowing all the circumstances, I can +positively assert that the wife's death has deprived the husband of +two-thirds of his income. And the prosecution, viewing him as the basest +and cruelest of men, declares that he deliberately killed her--with all +his pecuniary interests pointing to the preservation of her life! + +"It is useless to ask me whether I noticed anything in the conduct of +the prisoner and Mrs. Beauly which might justify a wife's jealousy. I +never observed Mrs. Beauly with any attention, and I never encouraged +the prisoner in talking to me about her. He was a general admirer of +pretty women--so far as I know, in a perfectly innocent way. That he +could prefer Mrs. Beauly to his wife is inconceivable to me, unless he +were out of his senses. I never had any reason to believe that he was +out of his senses. + +"As to the question of the arsenic--I mean the question of tracing that +poison to the possession of Mrs. Eustace Macallan--I am able to give +evidence which may, perhaps, be worthy of the attention of the Court. + +"I was present in the Fiscal's office during the examination of +the papers, and of the other objects discovered at Gleninch. The +dressing-case belonging to the deceased lady was shown to me after +its contents had been officially investigated by the Fiscal himself. I +happen to have a very sensitive sense of touch. In handling the lid of +the dressing-case, on the inner side I felt something at a certain +place which induced me to examine the whole structure of the lid +very carefully. The result was the discovery of a private repository +concealed in the space between the outer wood and the lining. In that +repository I found the bottle which I now produce." + +The further examination of the witness was suspended while the +hidden bottle was compared with the bottles properly belonging to the +dressing-case. + +These last were of the finest cut glass, and of a very elegant +form--entirely unlike the bottle found in the private repository, which +was of the commonest manufacture, and of the shape ordinarily in use +among chemists. Not a drop of liquid, not the smallest atom of any +solid substance, remained in it. No smell exhaled from it--and, more +unfortunately still for the interests of the defense, no label was found +attached to the bottle when it had been discovered. + +The chemist who had sold the second supply of arsenic to the prisoner +was recalled and examined. He declared that the bottle was exactly like +the bottle in which he had placed the arsenic. It was, however, equally +like hundreds of other bottles in his shop. In the absence of the label +(on which he had himself written the word "Poison"), it was impossible +for him to identify the bottle. The dressing-case and the deceased +lady's bedroom had been vainly searched for the chemist's missing +label--on the chance that it might have become accidentally detached +from the mysterious empty bottle. In both instances the search had been +without result. Morally, it was a fair conclusion that this might be +really the bottle which had contained the poison. Legally, there was not +the slightest proof of it. + +Thus ended the last effort of the defense to trace the arsenic purchased +by the prisoner to the possession of his wife. The book relating the +practices of the Styrian peasantry (found in the deceased lady's room) +had been produced But could the book prove that she had asked her +husband to buy arsenic for her? The crumpled paper, with the grains +of powder left in it, had been identified by the chemist, and had been +declared to contain grains of arsenic. But where was the proof that Mrs. +Eustace Macallan's hand had placed the packet in the cabinet, and had +emptied it of its contents? No direct evidence anywhere! Nothing but +conjecture! + +The renewed examination of Miserrimus Dexter touched on matters of no +general interest. The cross-examination resolved itself, in substance, +into a mental trial of strength between the witness and the Lord +Advocate; the struggle terminating (according to the general opinion) +in favor of the witness. One question and one answer only I will repeat +here. They appeared to me to be of serious importance to the object that +I had in view in reading the Trial. + +"I believe, Mr. Dexter," the Lord Advocate remarked, in his most +ironical manner, "that you have a theory of your own, which makes the +death of Mrs. Eustace Macallan no mystery to _you?_" + +"I may have my own ideas on that subject, as on other subjects," the +witness replied. "But let me ask their lordships, the Judges: Am I here +to declare theories or to state facts?" + +I made a note of that answer. Mr. Dexter's "ideas" were the ideas of +a true friend to my husband, and of a man of far more than average +ability. They might be of inestimable value to me in the coming time--if +I could prevail on him to communicate them. + +I may mention, while I am writing on the subject, that I added to this +first note a second, containing an observation of my own. In alluding to +Mrs. Beauly, while he was giving his evidence, Mr. Dexter had spoken of +her so slightingly--so rudely, I might almost say--as to suggest he had +some strong private reasons for disliking (perhaps for distrusting) +this lady. Here, again, it might be of vital importance to me to see Mr. +Dexter, and to clear up, if I could, what the dignity of the Court had +passed over without notice. + +The last witness had been now examined. The chair on wheels glided away +with the half-man in it, and was lost in a distant corner of the Court. +The Lord Advocate rose to address the Jury for the prosecution. + +I do not scruple to say that I never read anything so infamous as this +great lawyer's speech. He was not ashamed to declare, at starting, that +he firmly believed the prisoner to be guilty. What right had he to say +anything of the sort? Was it for _him_ to decide? Was he the Judge +and Jury both, I should like to know? Having begun by condemning the +prisoner on his own authority, the Lord Advocate proceeded to pervert +the most innocent actions of that unhappy man so as to give them as +vile an aspect as possible. Thus: When Eustace kissed his poor wife's +forehead on her death-bed, he did it to create a favorable impression in +the minds of the doctor and the nurse! Again, when his grief under his +bereavement completely overwhelmed him, he was triumphing in secret, +and acting a part! If you looked into his heart, you would see there +a diabolical hatred for his wife and an infatuated passion for Mrs. +Beauly! In everything he had said he had lied; in everything he had done +he had acted like a crafty and heartless wretch! So the chief counsel +for the prosecution spoke of the prisoner, standing helpless before him +at the Bar. In my husband's place, if I could have done nothing more, +I would have thrown something at his head. As it was, I tore the pages +which contained the speech for the prosecution out of the Report and +trampled them under my feet--and felt all the better too for having done +it. At the same time I feel a little ashamed of having revenged myself +on the harmless printed leaves now. + +The fifth day of the Trial opened with the speech for the defense. Ah, +what a contrast to the infamies uttered by the Lord Advocate was +the grand burst of eloquence by the Dean of Faculty, speaking on my +husband's side! + +This illustrious lawyer struck the right note at starting. + +"I yield to no one," he began, "in the pity I feel for the wife. But +I say, the martyr in this case, from first to last, is the husband. +Whatever the poor woman may have endured, that unhappy man at the Bar +has suffered, and is now suffering, more. If he had not been the kindest +of men, the most docile and most devoted of husbands, he would never +have occupied his present dreadful situation. A man of a meaner and +harder nature would have felt suspicions of his wife's motives when +she asked him to buy poison--would have seen through the wretchedly +commonplace excuses she made for wanting it--and would have wisely and +cruelly said, 'No.' The prisoner is not that sort of man. He is too good +to his wife, too innocent of any evil thought toward her, or toward any +one, to foresee the inconveniences and the dangers to which his fatal +compliance may expose him. And what is the result? He stands there, +branded as a murderer, because he was too high-minded and too honorable +to suspect his wife." + +Speaking thus of the husband, the Dean was just as eloquent and just as +unanswerable when he came to speak of the wife. + +"The Lord Advocate," he said, "has asked, with the bitter irony for +which he is celebrated at the Scottish Bar, why we have failed entirely +to prove that the prisoner placed the two packets of poison in the +possession of his wife. I say, in answer, we have proved, first, that +the wife was passionately attached to the husband; secondly, that she +felt bitterly the defects in her personal appearance, and especially +the defects in her complexion; and, thirdly, that she was informed of +arsenic as a supposed remedy for those defects, taken internally. To +men who know anything of human nature, there is proof enough. Does +my learned friend actually suppose that women are in the habit of +mentioning the secret artifices and applications by which they improve +their personal appearance? Is it in his experience of the sex that a +woman who is eagerly bent on making herself attractive to a man would +tell that man, or tell anybody else who might communicate with him, that +the charm by which she hoped to win his heart--say the charm of a pretty +complexion--had been artificially acquired by the perilous use of a +deadly poison? The bare idea of such a thing is absurd. Of course nobody +ever heard Mrs. Eustace Macallan speak of arsenic. Of course nobody ever +surprised her in the act of taking arsenic. It is in the evidence +that she would not even confide her intention to try the poison to the +friends who had told her of it as a remedy, and who had got her the +book. She actually begged them to consider their brief conversation on +the subject as strictly private. From first to last, poor creature, she +kept her secret; just as she would have kept her secret if she had worn +false hair, or if she had been indebted to the dentist for her teeth. +And there you see her husband, in peril of his life, because a woman +acted _like_ a woman--as your wives, gentlemen of the Jury, would, in a +similar position, act toward You." + +After such glorious oratory as this (I wish I had room to quote more of +it!), the next, and last, speech delivered at the Trial--that is to say, +the Charge of the Judge to the Jury--is dreary reading indeed. + +His lordship first told the Jury that they could not expect to have +direct evidence of the poisoning. Such evidence hardly ever occurred in +cases of poisoning. They must be satisfied with the best circumstantial +evidence. All quite true, I dare say. But, having told the Jury they +might accept circumstantial evidence, he turned back again on his own +words, and warned them against being too ready to trust it! "You must +have evidence satisfactory and convincing to your own minds," he said, +"in which you find no conjectures--but only irresistible and just +inferences." Who is to decide what is a just inference? And what is +circumstantial evidence _but_ conjecture? + +After this specimen, I need give no further extracts from the summing +up. The Jury, thoroughly bewildered no doubt, took refuge in a +compromise. They occupied an hour in considering and debating among +themselves in their own room. (A jury of women would not have taken +a minute!) Then they returned into Court, and gave their timid and +trimming Scotch Verdict in these words: + +"Not Proven." + +Some slight applause followed among the audience, which was instantly +checked. The prisoner was dismissed from the Bar. He slowly retired, +like a man in deep grief: his head sunk on his breast--not looking at +any one, and not replying when his friends spoke to him. He knew, poor +fellow, the slur that the Verdict left on him. "We don't say you are +innocent of the crime charged against you; we only say there is not +evidence enough to convict you." In that lame and impotent conclusion +the proceedings ended at the time. And there they would have remained +for all time--but for Me. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. I SEE MY WAY. + +IN the gray light of the new morning I closed the Report of my husband's +Trial for the Murder of his first Wife. + +No sense of fatigue overpowered me. I had no wish, after my long hours +of reading and thinking, to lie down and sleep. It was strange, but it +was so. I felt as if I _had_ slept, and had now just awakened--a new +woman, with a new mind. + +I could now at last understand Eustace's desertion of me. To a man of +his refinement it would have been a martyrdom to meet his wife after she +had read the things published of him to all the world in the Report. I +felt that as he would have felt it. At the same time I thought he might +have trusted Me to make amends to him for the martyrdom, and might +have come back. Perhaps it might yet end in his coming back. In the +meanwhile, and in that expectation, I pitied and forgave him with my +whole heart. + +One little matter only dwelt on my mind disagreeably, in spite of +my philosophy. Did Eustace still secretly love Mrs. Beauly? or had I +extinguished that passion in him? To what order of beauty did this lady +belong? Were we by any chance, the least in the world like one another? + +The window of my room looked to the east. I drew up the blind, and saw +the sun rising grandly in a clear sky. The temptation to go out and +breathe the fresh morning air was irresistible. I put on my hat and +shawl, and took the Report of the Trial under my arm. The bolts of the +back door were easily drawn. In another minute I was out in Benjamin's +pretty little garden. + +Composed and strengthened by the inviting solitude and the delicious +air, I found courage enough to face the serious question that now +confronted me--the question of the future. + +I had read the Trial. I had vowed to devote my life to the sacred object +of vindicating my husband's innocence. A solitary, defenseless woman, I +stood pledged to myself to carry that desperate resolution through to an +end. How was I to begin? + +The bold way of beginning was surely the wise way in such a position as +mine. I had good reasons (founded, as I have already mentioned, on the +important part played by this witness at the Trial) for believing that +the fittest person to advise and assist me was--Miserrimus Dexter. He +might disappoint the expectations that I had fixed on him, or he might +refuse to help me, or (like my uncle Starkweather) he might think I had +taken leave of my senses. All these events were possible. Nevertheless, +I held to my resolution to try the experiment. If he were in the land of +the living, I decided that my first step at starting should take me to +the deformed man with the strange name. + +Supposing he received me, sympathized with me, understood me? What would +he say? The nurse, in her evidence, had reported him as speaking in an +off-hand manner. He would say, in all probability, "What do you mean to +do? And how can I help you to do it?" + +Had I answers ready if those two plain questions were put to me? Yes! if +I dared own to any human creature what was at that very moment secretly +fermenting in my mind. Yes! if I could confide to a stranger a suspicion +roused in me by the Trial which I have been thus far afraid to mention +even in these pages! + +It must, nevertheless, be mentioned now. My suspicion led to results +which are part of my story and part of my life. + +Let me own, then, to begin with, that I closed the record of the Trial +actually agreeing in one important particular with the opinion of my +enemy and my husband's enemy--the Lord Advocate! He had characterized +the explanation of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death offered by the defense +as a "clumsy subterfuge, in which no reasonable being could discern the +smallest fragment of probability." Without going quite so far as this, +I, too, could see no reason whatever in the evidence for assuming +that the poor woman had taken an overdose of the poison by mistake. I +believed that she had the arsenic secretly in her possession, and that +she had tried, or intended to try, the use of it internally, for the +purpose of improving her complexion. But further than this I could +not advance. The more I thought of it, the more plainly justified the +lawyers for the prosecution seemed to me to be in declaring that Mrs. +Eustace Macallan had died by the hand of a poisoner--although they were +entirely and certainly mistaken in charging my husband with the crime. + +My husband being innocent, somebody else, on my own showing, must be +guilty. Who among the persons inhabiting the house at the time had +poisoned Mrs. Eustace Macallan? My suspicion in answering that question +pointed straight to a woman. And the name of that woman was--Mrs. +Beauly! + +Yes! To that startling conclusion I had arrived. It was, to my mind, the +inevitable result of reading the evidence. + +Look back for a moment to the letter produced in court, signed "Helena," +and addressed to Mr. Macallan. No reasonable person can doubt (though +the Judges excused her from answering the question) that Mrs. Beauly +was the writer. Very well. The letter offers, as I think, trustworthy +evidence to show the state of the woman's mind when she paid her visit +to Gleninch. + +Writing to Mr. Macallan, at a time when she was married to another +man--a man to whom she had engaged herself before she met with Mr. +Macallan what does she say? She says, "When I think of your life +sacrificed to that wretched woman, my heart bleeds for you." And, again, +she says, "If it had been my unutterable happiness to love and cherish +the best, the dearest of men, what a paradise of our own we might have +lived in, what delicious hours we might have known!" + +If this is not the language of a woman shamelessly and furiously in love +with a man--not her husband--what is? She is so full of him that even +her idea of another world (see the letter) is the idea of "embracing" +Mr. Macallan's "soul." In this condition of mind and morals, the lady +one day finds herself and her embraces free, through the death of her +husband. As soon as she can decently visit she goes visiting; and in +due course of time she becomes the guest of the man whom she adores. His +wife is ill in her bed. The one other visitor at Gleninch is a cripple, +who can only move in his chair on wheels. The lady has the house and the +one beloved object in it all to herself. No obstacle stands between her +and "the unutterable happiness of loving and cherishing the best, the +dearest of men" but a poor, sick, ugly wife, for whom Mr. Macallan never +has felt, and never can feel, the smallest particle of love. + +Is it perfectly absurd to believe that such a woman as this, impelled by +these motives, and surrounded by these circumstances, would be capable +of committing a crime--if the safe opportunity offered itself? + +What does her own evidence say? + +She admits that she had a conversation with Mrs. Eustace Macallan, in +which that lady questioned her on the subject of cosmetic applications +to the complexion. Did nothing else take place at that interview? Did +Mrs. Beauly make no discoveries (afterward turned to fatal account) of +the dangerous experiment which her hostess was then trying to improve +her ugly complexion? All we know is that Mrs. Beauly said nothing about +it. + +What does the under-gardener say? + +He heard a conversation between Mr. Macallan and Mrs. Beauly, which +shows that the possibility of Mrs. Beauly becoming Mrs. Eustace Macallan +had certainly presented itself to that lady's mind, and was certainly +considered by her to be too dangerous a topic of discourse to be +pursued. Innocent Mr. Macallan would have gone on talking. Mrs. Beauly +is discreet and stops him. + +And what does the nurse (Christina Ormsay) tell us? + +On the day of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death, the nurse is dismissed from +attendance, and is sent downstairs. She leaves the sick woman, recovered +from her first attack of illness, and able to amuse herself with +writing. The nurse remains away for half an hour, and then gets uneasy +at not hearing the invalid's bell. She goes to the Morning-Room to +consult Mr. Macallan, and there she hears that Mrs. Beauly is missing. +Mr. Macallan doesn't know where she is, and asks Mr. Dexter if he has +seen her. Mr. Dexter had not set eyes on her. At what time does the +disappearance of Mrs. Beauly take place? At the very time when Christina +Ormsay had left Mrs. Eustace Macallan alone in her room! + +Meanwhile the bell rings at last--rings violently. The nurse goes back +to the sick-room at five minutes to eleven, or thereabouts, and +finds that the bad symptoms of the morning have returned in a gravely +aggravated form. A second dose of poison--larger than the dose +administered in the early morning--has been given during the absence of +the nurse, and (observe) during the disappearance also of Mrs. Beauly. +The nurse looking out into the corridor for help, encounters Mrs. Beauly +herself, innocently on her way from her own room--just up, we are to +suppose, at eleven in the morning!--to inquire after the sick woman. + +A little later Mrs. Beauly accompanies Mr. Macallan to visit the +invalid. The dying woman casts a strange look at both of them, and tells +them to leave her. Mr. Macallan understands this as the fretful outbreak +of a person in pain, and waits in the room to tell the nurse that the +doctor is sent for. What does Mrs. Beauly do? + +She runs out panic-stricken the instant Mrs. Eustace Macallan looks at +her. Even Mrs. Beauly, it seems, has a conscience! + +Is there nothing to justify suspicion in such circumstances as +these--circumstances sworn to on the oaths of the witnesses? + +To me the conclusion is plain. Mrs. Beauly's hand gave that second dose +of poison. Admit this; and the inference follows that she also gave the +first dose in the early morning. How could she do it? Look again at +the evidence. The nurse admits that she was asleep from past two in the +morning to six. She also speaks of a locked door of communication with +the sickroom, the key of which had been removed, nobody knew by whom. +Some person must have stolen that key. Why not Mrs. Beauly? + +One word more, and all that I had in my mind at that time will be +honestly revealed. + +Miserrimus Dexter, under cross-examination, had indirectly admitted that +he had ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death. +At the same time he had spoken of Mrs. Beauly in a tone which plainly +betrayed that he was no friend to that lady. Did _he_ suspect her too? +My chief motive in deciding to ask his advice before I applied to any +one else was to find an opportunity of putting that question to him. If +he really thought of her as I did, my course was clear before me. The +next step to take would be carefully to conceal my identity--and then to +present myself, in the character of a harmless stranger, to Mrs. Beauly. + +There were difficulties, of course, in my way. The first and greatest +difficulty was to obtain an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter. + +The composing influence of the fresh air in the garden had by this +time made me readier to lie down and rest than to occupy my mind in +reflecting on my difficulties. Little by little I grew too drowsy +to think--then too lazy to go on walking. My bed looked wonderfully +inviting as I passed by the open window of my room. + +In five minutes more I had accepted the invitation of the bed, and had +said farewell to my anxieties and my troubles. In five minutes more I +was fast asleep. + +A discreetly gentle knock at my door was the first sound that aroused +me. I heard the voice of my good old Benjamin speaking outside. + +"My dear! I am afraid you will be starved if I let you sleep any longer. +It is half-past one o'clock; and a friend of yours has come to lunch +with us." + +A friend of mine? What friends had I? My husband was far away; and my +uncle Starkweather had given me up in despair. + +"Who is it?" I cried out from my bed, through the door. + +"Major Fitz-David," Benjamin answered, by the same medium. + +I sprang out of bed. The very man I wanted was waiting to see me! Major +Fitz-David, as the phrase is, knew everybody. Intimate with my husband, +he would certainly know my husband's old friend--Miserrimus Dexter. + +Shall I confess that I took particular pains with my toilet, and that +I kept the luncheon waiting? The woman doesn't live who would have done +otherwise--when she had a particular favor to ask of Major Fitz-David. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE MAJOR MAKES DIFFICULTIES. + +As I opened the dining-room door the Major hastened to meet me. He +looked the brightest and the youngest of living elderly gentlemen, with +his smart blue frock-coat, his winning smile, his ruby ring, and his +ready compliment. It was quite cheering to meet the modern Don Juan once +more. + +"I don't ask after your health," said the old gentleman; "your eyes +answer me, my dear lady, before I can put the question. At your age +a long sleep is the true beauty-draught. Plenty of bed--there is the +simple secret of keeping your good looks and living a long life--plenty +of bed!" + +"I have not been so long in my bed, Major, as you suppose. To tell the +truth, I have been up all night, reading." + +Major Fitz-David lifted his well-painted eyebrows in polite surprise. + +"What is the happy book which has interested you so deeply?" he asked. + +"The book," I answered, "is the Trial of my husband for the murder of +his first wife." + +"Don't mention that horrid book!" he exclaimed. "Don't speak of +that dreadful subject! What have beauty and grace to do with Trials, +Poisonings, Horrors? Why, my charming friend, profane your lips by +talking of such things? Why frighten away the Loves and the Graces that +lie hid in your smile. Humor an old fellow who adores the Loves and the +Graces, and who asks nothing better than to sun himself in your smiles. +Luncheon is ready. Let us be cheerful. Let us laugh and lunch." + +He led me to the table, and filled my plate and my glass with the air of +a man who considered himself to be engaged in one of the most important +occupations of his life. Benjamin kept the conversation going in the +interval. + +"Major Fitz-David brings you some news, my dear," he said. "Your +mother-in-law, Mrs. Macallan, is coming here to see you to-day." + +My mother-in-law coming to see me! I turned eagerly to the Major for +further information. + +"Has Mrs. Macallan heard anything of my husband?" I asked. "Is she +coming here to tell me about him?" + +"She has heard from him, I believe," said the Major, "and she has also +heard from your uncle the vicar. Our excellent Starkweather has written +to her--to what purpose I have not been informed. I only know that on +receipt of his letter she has decided on paying you a visit. I met the +old lady last night at a party, and I tried hard to discover whether she +were coming to you as your friend or your enemy. My powers of persuasion +were completely thrown away on her. The fact is," said the Major, +speaking in the character of a youth of five-and-twenty making a modest +confession, "I don't get on well with old women. Take the will for the +deed, my sweet friend. I have tried to be of some use to you and have +failed." + +Those words offered me the opportunity for which I was waiting. I +determined not to lose it. + +"You can be of the greatest use to me," I said, "if you will allow me to +presume, Major, on your past kindness. I want to ask you a question; and +I may have a favor to beg when you have answered me." + +Major Fitz-David set down his wine-glass on its way to his lips, and +looked at me with an appearance of breathless interest. + +"Command me, my dear lady--I am yours and yours only," said the gallant +old gentleman. "What do you wish to ask me?" + +"I wish to ask if you know Miserrimus Dexter." + +"Good Heavens!" cried the Major; "that _is_ an unexpected question! Know +Miserrimus Dexter? I have known him for more years than I like to reckon +up. What _can_ be your object--" + +"I can tell you what my object is in two words," I interposed. "I want +you to give me an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter." + +My impression is that the Major turned pale under his paint. This, at +any rate, is certain--his sparkling little gray eyes looked at me in +undisguised bewilderment and alarm. + +"You want to know Miserrimus Dexter?" he repeated, with the air of a man +who doubted the evidence of his own senses. "Mr. Benjamin, have I taken +too much of your excellent wine? Am I the victim of a delusion--or did +our fair friend really ask me to give her an introduction to Miserrimus +Dexter?" + +Benjamin looked at me in some bewilderment on his side, and answered, +quite seriously, + +"I think you said so, my dear." + +"I certainly said so," I rejoined. "What is there so very surprising in +my request?" + +"The man is mad!" cried the Major. "In all England you could not +have picked out a person more essentially unfit to be introduced to a +lady--to a young lady especially--than Dexter. Have you heard of his +horrible deformity?" + +"I have heard of it--and it doesn't daunt me." + +"Doesn't daunt you? My dear lady, the man's mind is as deformed as his +body. What Voltaire said satirically of the character of his countrymen +in general is literally true of Miserrimus Dexter. He is a mixture of +the tiger and the monkey. At one moment he would frighten you, and at +the next he would set you screaming with laughter. I don't deny that he +is clever in some respects--brilliantly clever, I admit. And I don't +say that he has ever committed any acts of violence, or ever willingly +injured anybody. But, for all that, he is mad, if ever a man were mad +yet. Forgive me if the inquiry is impertinent. What can your motive +possibly be for wanting an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter?" + +"I want to consult him?" + +"May I ask on what subject?" + +"On the subject of my husband's Trial." + +Major Fitz-David groaned, and sought a momentary consolation in his +friend Benjamin's claret. + +"That dreadful subject again!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Benjamin, why does she +persist in dwelling on that dreadful subject?" + +"I must dwell on what is now the one employment and the one hope of my +life," I said. "I have reason to hope that Miserrimus Dexter can help +me to clear my husband's character of the stain which the Scotch Verdict +has left on it. Tiger and monkey as he may be, I am ready to run +the risk of being introduced to him. And I ask you again--rashly and +obstinately as I fear you will think--to give me the introduction. It +will put you to no inconvenience. I won't trouble you to escort me; a +letter to Mr. Dexter will do." + +The Major looked piteously at Benjamin, and shook his head. Benjamin +looked piteously at the Major, and shook _his_ head. + +"She appears to insist on it," said the Major. + +"Yes," said Benjamin. "She appears to insist on it." + +"I won't take the responsibility, Mr. Benjamin, of sending her alone to +Miserrimus Dexter." + +"Shall I go with her, sir?" + +The Major reflected. Benjamin, in the capacity of protector, did not +appear to inspire our military friend with confidence. After a moment's +consideration a new idea seemed to strike him. He turned to me. + +"My charming friend," he said, "be more charming than ever--consent to +a compromise. Let us treat this difficulty about Dexter from a social +point of view. What do you say to a little dinner?" + +"A little dinner?" I repeated, not in the least understanding him. + +"A little dinner," the Major reiterated, "at my house. You insist on my +introducing you to Dexter, and I refuse to trust you alone with that +crack-brained personage. The only alternative under the circumstances +is to invite him to meet you, and to let you form your own opinion of +him--under the protection of my roof. Who shall we have to meet you +besides?" pursued the Major, brightening with hospitable intentions. +"We want a perfect galaxy of beauty around the table, as a species +of compensation when we have got Miserrimus Dexter as one the guests. +Madame Mirliflore is still in London. You would be sure to like her--she +is charming; she possesses your firmness, your extraordinary tenacity +of purpose. Yes, we will have Madame Mirliflore. Who else? Shall we say +Lady Clarinda? Another charming person, Mr. Benjamin! You would be sure +to admire her--she is so sympathetic, she resembles in so many respects +our fair friend here. Yes, Lady Clarinda shall be one of us; and you +shall sit next to her, Mr. Benjamin, as a proof of my sincere regard for +you. Shall we have my young prima donna to sing to us in the evening? +think so. She is pretty; she will assist in obscuring the deformity of +Dexter. Very well; there is our party complete! I will shut myself up +this evening and approach the question of dinner with my cook. Shall +we say this day week," asked the Major, taking out his pocketbook, "at +eight o'clock?" + +I consented to the proposed compromise--but not very willingly. With +a letter of introduction, I might have seen Miserrimus Dexter that +afternoon. As it was, the "little dinner" compelled me to wait in +absolute inaction through a whole week. However, there was no help +for it but to submit. Major Fitz-David, in his polite way, could be +as obstinate as I was. He had evidently made up his mind; and further +opposition on my part would be of no service to me. + +"Punctually at eight, Mr. Benjamin," reiterated the Major. "Put it down +in your book." + +Benjamin obeyed--with a side look at me, which I was at no loss to +interpret. My good old friend did not relish meeting a man at dinner who +was described as "half tiger, half monkey;" and the privilege of sitting +next to Lady Clarinda rather daunted than delighted him. It was all my +doing, and he too had no choice but to submit. "Punctually at eight, +sir," said poor old Benjamin, obediently recording his formidable +engagement. "Please to take another glass of wine." + +The Major looked at his watch, and rose--with fluent apologies for +abruptly leaving the table. + +"It is later than I thought," he said. "I have an appointment with a +friend--a female friend; a most attractive person. You a little remind +me of her, my dear lady--you resemble her in complexion: the same +creamy paleness. I adore creamy paleness. As I was saying, I have an +appointment with my friend; she does me the honor to ask my opinion on +some very remarkable specimens of old lace. I have studied old lace. I +study everything that can make me useful or agreeable to your enchanting +sex. You won't forget our little dinner? I will send Dexter his +invitation the moment I get home." He took my hand and looked at it +critically, with his head a little on one side. "A delicious hand," he +said; "you don't mind my looking at it--you don't mind my kissing it, do +you? A delicious hand is one of my weaknesses. Forgive my weaknesses. I +promise to repent and amend one of these days." + +"At your age, Major, do you think you have much time to lose?" asked a +strange voice, speaking behind us. + +We all three looked around toward the door. There stood my husband's +mother, smiling satirically, with Benjamin's shy little maid-servant +waiting to announce her. + +Major Fitz-David was ready with his answer. + +The old soldier was not easily taken by surprise. + +"Age, my dear Mrs. Macallan, is a purely relative expression," he said. +"There are some people who are never young, and there are other people +who are never old. I am one of the other people. _Au revoir!_" + +With that answer the incorrigible Major kissed the tips of his fingers +to us and walked out. Benjamin, bowing with his old-fashioned courtesy, +threw open the door of his little library, and, inviting Mrs. Macallan +and myself to pass in, left us together in the room. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +MY MOTHER-IN-LAW SURPRISES ME. + +I TOOK a chair at a respectful distance from the sofa on which Mrs. +Macallan seated herself. The old lady smiled, and beckoned to me to take +my place by her side. Judging by appearances, she had certainly not come +to see me in the character of an enemy. It remained to be discovered I +whether she were really disposed to be my friend. + +"I have received a letter from your uncle the vicar," she began. "He +asks me to visit you, and I am happy--for reasons which you shall +presently hear--to comply with his request. Under other circumstances +I doubt very much, my dear child--strange as the confession may +appear--whether I should have ventured into your presence. My son has +behaved to you so weakly, and (in my opinion) so inexcusably, that I am +really, speaking as his mother, almost ashamed to face you." + +Was she in earnest? I listened to her and looked at her in amazement. + +"Your uncle's letter," pursued Mrs. Macallan, "tells me how you have +behaved under your hard trial, and what you propose to do now Eustace +has left you. Doctor Starkweather, poor man, seems to be inexpressibly +shocked by what you said to him when he was in London. He begs me to use +my influence to induce you to abandon your present ideas, and to make +you return to your old home at the Vicarage. I don't in the least agree +with your uncle, my dear. Wild as I believe your plans to be--you have +not the slightest chance of succeeding in carrying them out--I admire +your courage, your fidelity, your unshaken faith in my unhappy son, +after his unpardonable behavior to you. You are a fine creature, +Valeria, and I have come here to tell you so in plain words. Give me a +kiss, child. You deserve to be the wife of a hero, and you have married +one of the weakest of living mortals. God forgive me for speaking so of +my own son; but it's in my mind, and it must come out!" + +This way of speaking of Eustace was more than I could suffer, even from +his mother. I recovered the use of my tongue in my husband's defense. + +"I am sincerely proud of your good opinion, dear Mrs. Macallan," I said. +"But you distress me--forgive me if I own it plainly--when I hear you +speak so disparagingly of Eustace. I cannot agree with you that my +husband is the weakest of living mortals." + +"Of course not!" retorted the old lady. "You are like all good +women--you make a hero of the man you love,--whether he deserve it or +not. Your husband has hosts of good qualities, child--and perhaps I know +them better than you do. But his whole conduct, from the moment when he +first entered your uncle's house to the present time, has been, I say +again, the conduct of an essentially weak man. What do you think he has +done now by way of climax? He has joined a charitable brotherhood; and +he is off to the war in Spain with a red cross on his arm, when he ought +to be here on his knees, asking his wife to forgive him. I say that is +the conduct of a weak man. Some people might call it by a harder name." + +This news startled and distressed me. I might be resigned to his leaving +me for a time; but all my instincts as a woman revolted at his placing +himself in a position of danger during his separation from his wife. +He had now deliberately added to my anxieties. I thought it cruel of +him--but I would not confess what I thought to his mother. I affected +to be as cool as she was; and I disputed her conclusions with all the +firmness that I could summon to help me. The terrible old woman only +went on abusing him more vehemently than ever. + +"What I complain of in my son," proceeded Mrs. Macallan, "is that he has +entirely failed to understand you. If he had married a fool, his conduct +would be intelligible enough. He would have done wisely to conceal from +a fool that he had been married already, and that he had suffered the +horrid public exposure of a Trial for the murder of his wife. Then, +again, he would have been quite right, when this same fool had +discovered the truth, to take himself out of her way before she could +suspect him of poisoning he r--for the sake of the peace and quiet of +both parties. But you are not a fool. I can see that, after only a short +experience of you. Why can't he see it too? Why didn't he trust you +with his secret from the first, instead of stealing his way into your +affections under an assumed name? Why did he plan (as he confessed to +me) to take you away to the Mediterranean, and to keep you abroad, +for fear of some officious friends at home betraying him to you as the +prisoner of the famous Trial? What is the plain answer to all these +questions? What is the one possible explanation of this otherwise +unaccountable conduct? There is only one answer, and one explanation. My +poor, wretched son--he takes after his father; he isn't the least like +me!--is weak: weak in his way of judging, weak in his way of acting, +and, like all weak people, headstrong and unreasonable to the last +degree. There is the truth! Don't get red and angry. I am as fond of +him as you are. I can see his merits too. And one of them is that he has +married a woman of spirit and resolution--so faithful and so fond of +him that she won't even let his own mother tell her of his faults. Good +child! I like you for hating me!" + +"Dear madam, don't say that I hate you!" I exclaimed (feeling very much +as if I did hate her, though, for all that). "I only presume to think +that you are confusing a delicate-minded man with a weak-minded man. Our +dear unhappy Eustace--" + +"Is a delicate-minded man," said the impenetrable Mrs. Macallan, +finishing my sentence for me. "We will leave it there, my dear, and get +on to another subject. I wonder whether we shall disagree about that +too?" + +"What is the subject, madam?" + +"I won't tell you if you call me madam. Call me mother. Say, 'What is +the subject, mother?'" + +"What is the subject, mother?" + +"Your notion of turning yourself into a Court of Appeal for a new Trial +of Eustace, and forcing the world to pronounce a just verdict on him. Do +you really mean to try it?" + +"I do!" + +Mrs. Macallan considered for a moment grimly with herself. + +"You know how heartily I admire your courage, and your devotion to my +unfortunate son," she said. "You know by this time that _I_ don't cant. +But I cannot see you attempt to perform impossibilities; I cannot let +you uselessly risk your reputation and your happiness without warning +you before it is too late. My child, the thing you have got it in your +head to do is not to be done by you or by anybody. Give it up." + +"I am deeply obliged to you, Mrs. Macallan--" + +"'Mother!'" + +"I am deeply obliged to you, mother, for the interest that you take in +me, but I cannot give it up. Right or wrong, risk or no risk, I must and +I will try it!" + +Mrs. Macallan looked at me very attentively, and sighed to herself. + +"Oh, youth, youth!" she said to herself, sadly. "What a grand thing +it is to be young!" She controlled the rising regret, and turned on me +suddenly, almost fiercely, with these words: "What, in God's name, do +you mean to do?" + +At the instant when she put the question, the idea crossed my mind that +Mrs. Macallan could introduce me, if she pleased, to Miserrimus Dexter. +She must know him, and know him well, as a guest at Gleninch and an old +friend of her son. + +"I mean to consult Miserrimus Dexter," I answered, boldly. + +Mrs. Macallan started back from me with a loud exclamation of surprise. + +"Are you out of your senses?" she asked. + +I told her, as I had told Major Fitz-David, that I had reason to think +Mr. Dexter's advice might be of real assistance to me at starting. + +"And I," rejoined Mrs. Macallan, "have reason to think that your whole +project is a mad one, and that in asking Dexter's advice on it you +appropriately consult a madman. You needn't start, child! There is no +harm in the creature. I don't mean that he will attack you, or be rude +to you. I only say that the last person whom a young woman, placed in +your painful and delicate position, ought to associate herself with is +Miserrimus Dexter." + +Strange! Here was the Major's warning repeated by Mrs. Macallan, almost +in the Major's own words. Well! It shared the fate of most warnings. It +only made me more and more eager to have my own way. + +"You surprise me very much," I said. "Mr. Dexter's evidence, given at +the Trial, seems as clear and reasonable as evidence can be." + +"Of course it is!" answered Mrs. Macallan. "The shorthand writers and +reporters put his evidence into presentable language before they printed +it. If you had heard what he really said, as I did, you would have +been either very much disgusted with him or very much amused by him, +according to your way of looking at things. He began, fairly enough, +with a modest explanation of his absurd Christian name, which at once +checked the merriment of the audience. But as he went on the mad side +of him showed itself. He mixed up sense and nonsense in the strangest +confusion; he was called to order over and over again; he was even +threatened with fine and imprisonment for contempt of Court. In short, +he was just like himself--a mixture of the strangest and the most +opposite qualities; at one time perfectly clear and reasonable, as +you said just now; at another breaking out into rhapsodies of the most +outrageous kind, like a man in a state of delirium. A more entirely +unfit person to advise anybody, I tell you again, never lived. You don't +expect Me to introduce you to him, I hope?" + +"I did think of such a thing," I answered. "But after what you have +said, dear Mrs. Macallan, I give up the idea, of course. It is not +a great sacrifice--it only obliges me to wait a week for Major +Fitz-David's dinner-party. He has promised to ask Miserrimus Dexter to +meet me." + +"There is the Major all over!" cried the old lady. "If you pin your +faith on that man, I pity you. He is as slippery as an eel. I suppose +you asked him to introduce you to Dexter?" + +"Yes." + +"Exactly! Dexter despises him, my dear. He knows as well as I do that +Dexter won't go to his dinner. And he takes that roundabout way of +keeping you apart, instead of saying No to you plainly, like an honest +man." + +This was bad news. But I was, as usual, too obstinate to own myself +defeated. + +"If the worst comes to the worst," I said, "I can but write to Mr. +Dexter, and beg him to grant me an interview." + +"And go to him by yourself, if he does grant it?" inquired Mrs. +Macallan. + +"Certainly. By myself." + +"You really mean it?" + +"I do, indeed." + +"I won't allow you to go by yourself." + +"May I venture to ask, ma'am how you propose to prevent me?" + +"By going with you, to be sure, you obstinate hussy! Yes, yes--I can be +as headstrong as you are when I like. Mind! I don't want to know what +your plans are. I don't want to be mixed up with your plans. My son is +resigned to the Scotch Verdict. I am resigned to the Scotch Verdict. +It is you who won't let matters rest as they are. You are a vain and +foolhardy young person. But, somehow, I have taken a liking to you, +and I won't let you go to Miserrimus Dexter by yourself. Put on your +bonnet!" + +"Now?" I asked. + +"Certainly! My carriage is at the door. And the sooner it's over the +better I shall be pleased. Get ready--and be quick about it!" + +I required no second bidding. In ten minutes more we were on our way to +Miserrimus Dexter. + +Such was the result of my mother-in-law's visit! + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. MISERRIMUS DEXTER--FIRST VIEW. + +WE had dawdled over our luncheon before Mrs. Macallan arrived at +Benjamin's cottage. The ensuing conversation between the old lady and +myself (of which I have only presented a brief abstract) lasted until +quite late in the afternoon. The sun was setting in heavy clouds when we +got into the carriage, and the autumn twilight began to fall around us +while we were still on the road. + +The direction in which we drove took us (as well as I could judge) +toward the great northern suburb of London. + +For more than an hour the carriage threaded its way through a dingy +brick labyrinth of streets, growing smaller and smaller and dirtier and +dirtier the further we went. Emerging from the labyrinth, I noticed in +the gathering darkness dreary patches of waste ground which seemed to +be neither town nor country. Crossing these, we passed some forlorn +outlying groups of houses with dim little scattered shops among them, +looking like lost country villages wandering on the way to London, +disfigured and smoke-dried already by their journey. Darker and darker +and drearier and drearier the prospect drew, until the carriage stopped +at last, and Mrs. Macallan announced, in her sharply satirical way, +that we had reached the end of our journey. "Prince Dexter's Palace, my +dear," she said. "What do you think of it?" + +I looked around me, not knowing what to think of it, if the truth must +be told. + +We had got out of the carriage, and we were standing on a rough +half-made gravel-path. Right and left of me, in the dim light, I saw +the half-completed foundations of new houses in their first stage of +existence. Boards and bricks were scattered about us. At places gaunt +scaffolding poles rose like the branchless trees of the brick desert. +Behind us, on the other side of the high-road, stretched another plot +of waste ground, as yet not built on. Over the surface of this second +desert the ghostly white figures of vagrant ducks gleamed at intervals +in the mystic light. In front of us, at a distance of two hundred yards +or so as well as I could calculate, rose a black mass, which gradually +resolved itself, as my eyes became accustomed to the twilight, into +a long, low, and ancient house, with a hedge of evergreens and a +pitch-black paling in front of it. The footman led the way toward the +paling through the boards and the bricks, the oyster shells and the +broken crockery, that strewed the ground. And this was "Prince Dexter's +Palace!" + +There was a gate in the pitch-black paling, and a +bell-handle--discovered with great difficulty. Pulling at the handle, +the footman set in motion, to judge by the sound produced, a bell of +prodigious size, fitter for a church than a house. + +While we were waiting for admission, Mrs. Macallan pointed to the low, +dark line of the old building. + +"There is one of his madnesses," she said. "The speculators in this new +neighborhood have offered him I don't know how many thousand pounds for +the ground that house stands on. It was originally the manor-house of +the district. Dexter purchased it many years since in one of his freaks +of fancy. He has no old family associations with the place; the walls +are all but tumbling about his ears; and the money offered would really +be of use to him. But no! He refused the proposal of the enterprising +speculators by letter in these words: 'My house is a standing monument +of the picturesque and beautiful, amid the mean, dishonest, and +groveling constructions of a mean, dishonest, and groveling age. I keep +my house, gentlemen, as a useful lesson to you. Look at it while you +are building around me, and blush, if you can, for your work.' Was there +ever such an absurd letter written yet? Hush! I hear footsteps in the +garden. Here comes his cousin. His cousin is a woman. I may as well tell +you that, or you might mistake her for a man in the dark." + +A rough, deep voice, which I should certainly never have supposed to be +the voice of a woman, hailed us from the inner side of the paling. + +"Who's there?" + +"Mrs. Macallan," answered my mother-in-law. + +"What do you want?" + +"We want to see Dexter." + +"You can't see him." + +"Why not?" + +"What did you say your name was?" + +"Macallan. Mrs. Macallan. Eustace Macallan's mother. _Now_ do you +understand?" + +The voice muttered and grunted behind the paling, and a key turned in +the lock of the gate. + +Admitted to the garden, in the deep shadow of the shrubs, I could see +nothing distinctly of the woman with the rough voice, except that she +wore a man's hat. Closing the gate behind us, without a word of welcome +or explanation, she led the way to the house. Mrs. Macallan followed her +easily, knowing the place; and I walked in Mrs. Macallan's footsteps as +closely as I could. "This is a nice family," my mother-in-law whispered +to me. "Dexter's cousin is the only woman in the house--and Dexter's +cousin is an idiot." + +We entered a spacious hall with a low ceiling, dimly lighted at its +further end by one small oil-lamp. I could see that there were pictures +on the grim, brown walls, but the subjects represented were invisible in +the obscure and shadowy light. + +Mrs. Macallan addressed herself to the speechless cousin with the man's +hat. + +"Now tell me," she said. "Why can't we see Dexter?" + +The cousin took a sheet of paper off the table, and handed it to Mrs. +Macallan. + +"The Master's writing," said this strange creature, in a hoarse whisper, +as if the bare idea of "the Master" terrified her. "Read it. And stay or +go, which you please." + +She opened an invisible side door in the wall, masked by one of the +pictures--disappeared through it like a ghost--and left us together +alone in the hall. + +Mrs. Macallan approached the oil-lamp, and looked by its light at the +sheet of paper which the woman had given to her. I followed and +peeped over her shoulder without ceremony. The paper exhibited written +characters, traced in a wonderfully large and firm handwriting. Had I +caught the infection of madness in the air of the house? Or did I really +see before me these words? + +"NOTICE.--My immense imagination is at work. Visions of heroes unroll +themselves before me. I reanimate in myself the spirits of the departed +great. My brains are boiling in my head. Any persons who disturb +me, under existing circumstances, will do it at the peril of their +lives.--DEXTER." + +Mrs. Macallan looked around at me quietly with her sardonic smile. + +"Do you still persist in wanting to be introduced to him?" she asked. + +The mockery in the tone of the question roused my pride. I determined +that I would not be the first to give way. + +"Not if I am putting you in peril of your life, ma'am," I answered, +pertly enough, pointing to the paper in her hand. + +My mother-in-law returned to the hall table, and put the paper back on +it without condescending to reply. She then led the way to an arched +recess on our right hand, beyond which I dimly discerned a broad flight +of oaken stairs. + +"Follow me," said Mrs. Macallan, mounting the stairs in the dark. "I +know where to find him." + +We groped our way up the stairs to the first landing. The next flight of +steps, turning in the reverse direction, was faintly illuminated, like +the hall below, by one oil-lamp, placed in some invisible position above +us. Ascending the second flight of stairs and crossing a short corridor, +we discovered the lamp, through the open door of a quaintly shaped +circular room, burning on the mantel-piece. Its light illuminated a +strip of thick tapestry, hanging loose from the ceiling to the floor, on +the wall opposite to the door by which we had entered. + +Mrs. Macallan drew aside the strip of tapestry, and, signing me to +follow her, passed behind it. + +"Listen!" she whispered. + +Standing on the inner side of the tapestry, I found myself in a dark +recess or passage, at the end of which a ray of light from the lamp +showed me a closed door. I listened, and heard on the other side of +the door a shouting voice, accompanied by an extraordinary rumbling +and whistling sound, traveling backward and forward, as well as I could +judge, over a great space. Now the rumbling and the whistling would +reach their climax of loudness, and would overcome the resonant notes of +the shouting voice. Then again those louder sounds gradually retreated +into distance, and the shouting voice made itself heard as the more +audible sound of the two. The door must have been of prodigious +solidity. Listen as intently as I might, I failed to catch the +articulate words (if any) which the voice was pronouncing, and I was +equally at a loss to penetrate the cause which produced the rumbling and +whistling sounds. + +"What can possibly be going on," I whispered to Mrs. Macallan, "on the +other side of that door?" + +"Step softly," my mother-in-law answered, "and come and see." + +She arranged the tapestry behind us so as completely to shut out the +light in the circular room. Then noiselessly turning the handle, she +opened the heavy door. + +We kept ourselves concealed in the shadow of the recess, and looked +through the open doorway. + +I saw (or fancied I saw, in the obscurity) a long room with a low +ceiling. The dying gleam of an ill-kept fire formed the only light by +which I could judge of objects and distances. Redly illuminating the +central portion of the room, opposite to which we were standing, the +fire-light left the extremities shadowed in almost total darkness. I +had barely time to notice this before I heard the rumbling and whistling +sounds approaching me. A high chair on wheels moved by, through the +field of red light, carrying a shadowy figure with floating hair, and +arms furiously raised and lowered working the machinery that propelled +the chair at its utmost rate of speed. "I am Napoleon, at the sunrise +of Austerlitz!" shouted the man in the chair as he swept past me on his +rumbling and whistling wheels, in the red glow of the fire-light. "I +give the word, and thrones rock, and kings fall, and nations tremble, +and men by tens of thousands fight and bleed and die!" The chair rushed +out of sight, and the shouting man in it became another hero. "I +am Nelson!" the ringing voice cried now. "I am leading the fleet at +Trafalgar. I issue my commands, prophetically conscious of victory and +death. I see my own apotheosis, my public funeral, my nation's tears, my +burial in the glorious church. The ages remember me, and the poets sing +my praise in immortal verse!" The strident wheels turned at the far end +of the room and came back. The fantastic and frightful apparition, +man and machinery blended in one--the new Centaur, half man, half +chair--flew by me again in the dying light. "I am Shakespeare!" +cried the frantic creature now. "I am writing 'Lear,' the tragedy of +tragedies. Ancients and moderns, I am the poet who towers over them +all. Light! light! the lines flow out like lava from the eruption of my +volcanic mind. Light! light! for the poet of all time to write the words +that live forever!" He ground and tore his way back toward the middle of +the room. As he approached the fire-place a last morsel of unburned coal +(or wood) burst into momentary flame, and showed the open doorway. In +that moment he saw us! The wheel-chair stopped with a shock that shook +the crazy old floor of the room, altered its course, and flew at us +with the rush of a wild animal. We drew back, just in time to escape it, +against the wall of the recess. The chair passed on, and burst aside the +hanging tapestry. The light of the lamp in the circular room poured in +through the gap. The creature in the chair checked his furious wheels, +and looked back over his shoulder with an impish curiosity horrible to +see. + +"Have I run over them? Have I ground them to powder for presuming to +intrude on me?" he said to himself. As the expression of this amiable +doubt passed his lips his eyes lighted on us. His mind instantly veered +back again to Shakespeare and King Lear. "Goneril and Regan!" he cried. +"My two unnatural daughters, my she-devil children come to mock at me!" + +"Nothing of the sort," said my mother-in-law, as quietly as if she were +addressing a perfectly reasonable being. "I am your old friend, Mrs. +Macallan; and I have brought Eustace Macallan's second wife to see you." + +The instant she pronounced those last words, "Eustace Macallan's second +wife," the man in the chair sprang out of it with a shrill cry of +horror, as if she had shot him. For one moment we saw a head and body in +the air, absolutely deprived of the lower limbs. The moment after, +the terrible creature touched the floor as lightly as a monkey, on his +hands. The grotesque horror of the scene culminated in his hopping away +on his hands, at a prodigious speed, until he reached the fire-place in +the long room. There he crouched over the dying embers, shuddering and +shivering, and muttering, "Oh, pity me, pity me!" dozens and dozens of +times to himself. + +This was the man whose advice I had come to ask--who assistance I had +confidently counted on in my hour of need. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. MISERRIMUS DEXTER--SECOND VIEW + +THOROUGHLY disheartened and disgusted, and (if I must honestly confess +it) thoroughly frightened too, I whispered to Mrs. Macallan, "I was +wrong, and you were right. Let us go." + +The ears of Miserrimus Dexter must have been as sensitive as the ears of +a dog. He heard me say, "Let us go." + +"No!" he called out. "Bring Eustace Macallan's second wife in here. I +am a gentleman--I must apologize to her. I am a student of human +character--I wish to see her." + +The whole man appeared to have undergone a complete transformation. He +spoke in the gentlest of voices, and he sighed hysterically when he had +done, like a woman recovering from a burst of tears. Was it reviving +courage or reviving curiosity? When Mrs. Macallan said to me, "The fit +is over now; do you still wish to go away?" I answered, "No; I am ready +to go in." + +"Have you recovered your belief in him already?" asked my mother-in-law, +in her mercilessly satirical way. + +"I have recovered from my terror of him," I replied. + +"I am sorry I terrified you," said the soft voice at the fire-place. +"Some people think I am a little mad at times. You came, I suppose, +at one of the times--if some people are right. I admit that I am a +visionary. My imagination runs away with me, and I say and do strange +things. On those occasions, anybody who reminds me of that horrible +Trial throws me back again into the past, and causes me unutterable +nervous suffering. I am a very tender-hearted man. As the necessary +consequence (in such a world as this), I am a miserable wretch. Accept +my excuses. Come in, both of you. Come in and pity me." + +A child would not have been frightened of him now. A child would have +gone in and pitied him. + +The room was getting darker and darker. We could just see the crouching +figure of Miserrimus Dexter at the expiring fire--and that was all. + +"Are we to have no light?" asked Mrs. Macallan. "And is this lady to see +you, when the light comes, out of your chair?" + +He lifted something bright and metallic, hanging round his neck, and +blew on it a series of shrill, trilling, bird-like notes. After an +interval he was answered by a similar series of notes sounding faintly +in some distant region of the house. + +"Ariel is coming," he said. "Compose yourself, Mamma Macallan; Ariel +with make me presentable to a lady's eyes." + +He hopped away on his hands into the darkness at the end of the +room. "Wait a little," said Mrs. Macallan, "and you will have another +surprise--you will see the 'delicate Ariel.'" + +We heard heavy footsteps in the circular room. + +"Ariel!" sighed Miserrimus Dexter out of the darkness, in his softest +notes. + +To my astonishment the coarse, masculine voice of the cousin in the +man's hat--the Caliban's, rather than the Ariel's voice--answered, +"Here!" + +"My chair, Ariel!" + +The person thus strangely misnamed drew aside the tapestry, so as to let +in more light; then entered the room, pushing the wheeled chair before +her. She stooped and lifted Miserrimus Dexter from the floor, like a +child. Before she could put him into the chair, he sprang out of her +arms with a little gleeful cry, and alighted on his seat, like a bird +alighting on its perch! + +"The lamp," said Miserrimus Dexter, "and the looking-glass.--Pardon me," +he added, addressing us, "for turning my back on you. You mustn't see +me until my hair is set to rights.--Ariel! the brush, the comb, and the +perfumes!" + +Carrying the lamp in one hand, the looking-glass in the other, and the +brush (with the comb stuck in it) between her teeth, Ariel the Second, +otherwise Dexter's cousin, presented herself plainly before me for the +first time. I could now see the girl's round, fleshy, inexpressive +face, her rayless and colorless eyes, her coarse nose and heavy chin. A +creature half alive; an imperfectly developed animal in shapeless form +clad in a man's pilot jacket, and treading in a man's heavy laced boots, +with nothing but an old red-flannel petticoat, and a broken comb in +her frowzy flaxen hair, to tell us that she was a woman--such was the +inhospitable person who had received us in the darkness when we first +entered the house. + +This wonderful valet, collecting her materials for dressing her +still more wonderful master's hair, gave him the looking-glass (a +hand-mirror), and addressed herself to her work. + +She combed, she brushed, she oiled, she perfumed the flowing locks and +the long silky beard of Miserrimus Dexter with the strangest mixture of +dullness and dexterity that I ever saw. Done in brute silence, with +a lumpish look and a clumsy gait, the work was perfectly well done +nevertheless. The imp in the chair superintended the whole proceeding +critically by means of his hand-mirror. He was too deeply interested +in this occupation to speak until some of the concluding touches to his +beard brought the misnamed Ariel in front of him, and so turned her +full face toward the part of the room in which Mrs. Macallan and I were +standing. Then he addressed us, taking especial care, however, not to +turn his head our way while his toilet was still incomplete. + +"Mamma Macallan," he said, "what is the Christian name of your son's +second wife?" + +"Why do you want to know?" asked my mother-in-law. + +"I want to know because I can't address her as 'Mrs. Eustace Macallan.'" + +"Why not?" + +"It recalls _the other_ Mrs. Eustace Macallan. If I am reminded of those +horrible days at Gleninch my fortitude will give way--I shall burst out +screaming again." + +Hearing this, I hastened to interpose. + +"My name is Valeria," I said. + +"A Roman name," remarked Miserrimus Dexter. "I like it. My mind is cast +in the Roman mold. My bodily build would have been Roman if I had been +born with legs. I shall call you Mrs. Valeria, unless you disapprove of +it." + +I hastened to say that I was far from disapproving of it. + +"Very good," said Miserrimus Dexter "Mrs. Valeria, do you see the face +of this creature in front of me?" + +He pointed with the hand-mirror to his cousin as unconcernedly as he +might have pointed to a dog. His cousin, on her side, took no more +notice than a dog would have taken of the contemptuous phrase by which +he had designated her. She went on combing and oiling his beard as +composedly as ever. + +"It is the face of an idiot, isn't it?" pursued Miserrimus Dexter! "Look +at her! She is a mere vegetable. A cabbage in a garden has as much life +and expression in it as that girl exhibits at the present moment. Would +you believe there was latent intelligence, affection, pride, fidelity, +in such a half-developed being as this?" + +I was really ashamed to answer him. Quite needlessly! The impenetrable +young woman went on with her master's beard. A machine could not +have taken less notice of the life and the talk around it than this +incomprehensible creature. + +"_I_ have got at that latent affection, pride, fidelity, and the rest +of it," resumed Miserrimus Dexter. "_I_ hold the key to that dormant +Intelligence. Grand thought! Now look at her when I speak. (I named +her, poor wretch, in one of my ironical moments. She has got to like her +name, just as a dog gets to like his collar.) Now, Mrs. Valeria, look +and listen.--Ariel!" + +The girl's dull face began to brighten. The girl's mechanically moving +hand stopped, and held the comb in suspense. + +"Ariel! you have learned to dress my hair and anoint my beard, haven't +you?" + +Her face still brightened. "Yes! yes! yes!" she answered, eagerly. "And +you say I have learned to do it well, don't you?" + +"I say that. Would you like to let anybody else do it for you?" + +Her eyes melted softly into light and life. Her strange unwomanly voice +sank to the gentlest tones that I had heard from her yet. + +"Nobody else shall do it for me," she said at once proudly and tenderly. +"Nobody, as long as I live, shall touch you but me." + +"Not even the lady there?" asked Miserrimus Dexter, pointing backward +with his hand-mirror to the place at which I was standing. + +Her eyes suddenly flashed, her hand suddenly shook the comb at me, in a +burst of jealous rage. + +"Let her try!" cried the poor creature, raising her voice again to its +hoarsest notes. "Let her touch you if she dares!" + +Dexter laughed at the childish outbreak. "That will do, my delicate +Ariel," he said. "I dismiss your Intelligence for the present. Relapse +into your former self. Finish my beard." + +She passively resumed her work. The new light in her eyes, the new +expression in her face, faded little by little and died out. In another +minute the face was as vacant and as lumpish as before; the hands did +their work again with the lifeless dexterity which had so painfully +impressed me when she first took up the brush. Miserrimus Dexter +appeared to be perfectly satisfied with these results. + +"I thought my little experiment might interest you," he said. "You see +how it is? The dormant intelligence of my curious cousin is like the +dormant sound in a musical instrument. I play upon it--and it answers to +my touch. She likes being played upon. But her great delight is to hear +me tell a story. I puzzle her to the verge of distraction; and the more +I confuse her the better she likes the story. It is the greatest fun; +you really must see it some day." He indulged himself in a last look +at the mirror. "Ha!" he said, complacently; "now I shall do. Vanish, +Ariel!" + +She tramped out of the room in her heavy boots, with the mute obedience +of a trained animal. I said "Good-night" as she passed me. She neither +returned the salutation nor looked at me: the words simply produced +no effect on her dull senses. The one voice that could reach her was +silent. She had relapsed once more into the vacant inanimate creature +who had opened the gate to us, until it pleased Miserrimus Dexter to +speak to her again. + +"Valeria!" said my mother-in-law. "Our modest host is waiting to see +what you think of him." + +While my attention was fixed on his cousin he had wheeled his chair +around so as to face me with the light of the lamp falling full on him. +In mentioning his appearance as a witness at the Trial, I find I have +borrowed (without meaning to do so) from my experience of him at this +later time. I saw plainly now the bright intelligent face and the large +clear blue eyes, the lustrous waving hair of a light chestnut color, the +long delicate white hands, and the magnificent throat and chest which I +have elsewhere described. The deformity which degraded and destroyed the +manly beauty of his head and breast was hidden from view by an Oriental +robe of many colors, thrown over the chair like a coverlet. He was +clothed in a jacket of black velvet, fastened loosely across his chest +with large malachite buttons; and he wore lace ruffles at the ends of +his sleeves, in the fashion of the last century. It may well have been +due to want of perception on my part--but I could see nothing mad in +him, nothing in any way repelling, as he now looked at me. The one +defect that I could discover in his face was at the outer corners of +his eyes, just under the temple. Here when he laughed, and in a lesser +degree when he smiled, the skin contracted into quaint little wrinkles +and folds, which looked strangely out of harmony with the almost +youthful appearance of the rest of his face. As to his other features, +the mouth, so far as his beard and mustache permitted me to see it, was +small and delicately formed; the nose--perfectly shaped on the straight +Grecian model--was perhaps a little too thin, judged by comparison with +the full cheeks and the high massive forehead. Looking at him as a whole +(and speaking of him, of course, from a woman's, not a physiognomist's +point of view), I can only describe him as being an unusually handsome +man. A painter would have reveled in him as a model for St. John. And a +young girl, ignorant of what the Oriental robe hid from view, would have +said to herself, the instant she looked at him, "Here is the hero of my +dreams!" + +His blue eyes--large as the eyes of a woman, clear as the eyes of a +child--rested on me the moment I turned toward him, with a strangely +varying play of expression, which at once interested and perplexed me. + +Now there was doubt--uneasy, painful doubt--in the look; and now again +it changed brightly to approval, so open and unrestrained that a vain +woman might have fancied she had made a conquest of him at first sight. +Suddenly a new emotion seemed to take possession of him. His eyes sank, +his head drooped; he lifted his hands with a gesture of regret. He +muttered and murmured to himself; pursuing some secret and melancholy +train of thought, which seemed to lead him further and further away +from present objects of interest, and to plunge him deeper and deeper in +troubled recollections of the past. Here and there I caught some of the +words. Little by little I found myself trying to fathom what was darkly +passing in this strange man's mind. + +"A far more charming face," I heard him say. "But no--not a more +beautiful figure. What figure was ever more beautiful than hers? +Something--but not all--of her enchanting grace. Where is the +resemblance which has brought her back to me? In the pose of the figure, +perhaps. In the movement of the figure, perhaps. Poor martyred angel! +What a life! And what a death! what a death!" + +Was he comparing me with the victim of the poison--with my husband's +first wife? His words seemed to justify the conclusion. If I were right, +the dead woman had evidently been a favorite with him. There was no +misinterpreting the broken tones of his voice when he spoke of her: he +had admired her, living; he mourned her, dead. Supposing that I +could prevail upon myself to admit this extraordinary person into my +confidence, what would be the result? Should I be the gainer or the +loser by the resemblance which he fancied he had discovered? Would the +sight of me console him or pain him? I waited eagerly to hear more on +the subject of the first wife. Not a word more escaped his lips. A new +change came over him. He lifted his head with a start, and looked about +him as a weary man might look if he was suddenly disturbed in a deep +sleep. + +"What have I done?" he said. "Have I been letting my mind drift again?" +He shuddered and sighed. "Oh, that house of Gleninch!" he murmured, +sadly, to himself. "Shall I never get away from it in my thoughts? Oh, +that house of Gleninch!" + +To my infinite disappointment, Mrs. Macallan checked the further +revelation of what was passing in his mind. + +Something in the tone and manner of his allusion to her son's +country-house seemed to have offended her. She interposed sharply and +decisively. + +"Gently, my friend, gently!" she said. "I don't think you quite know +what you are talking about." + +His great blue eyes flashed at her fiercely. With one turn of his hand +he brought his chair close at her side. The next instant he caught her +by the arm, and forced her to bend to him, until he could whisper in +her ear. He was violently agitated. His whisper was loud enough to make +itself heard where I was sitting at the time. + +"I don't know what I am talking about?" he repeated, with his eyes fixed +attentively, not on my mother-in-law, but on me. "You shortsighted +old woman! where are your spectacles? Look at her! Do you see no +resemblance--the figure, not the face!--do you see no resemblance there +to Eustace's first wife?" + +"Pure fancy!" rejoined Mrs. Macallan. "I see nothing of the sort." + +He shook her impatiently. + +"Not so loud!" he whispered. "She will hear you." + +"I have heard you both," I said. "You need have no fear, Mr. Dexter, of +speaking before me. I know that my husband had a first wife, and I know +how miserably she died. I have read the Trial." + +"You have read the life and death of a martyr!" cried Miserrimus Dexter. +He suddenly wheeled his chair my way; he bent over me; his eyes filled +with tears. "Nobody appreciated her at her true value," he said, "but +me. Nobody but me! nobody but me!" + +Mrs. Macallan walked away impatiently to the end of the room. + +"When you are ready, Valeria, I am," she said. "We cannot keep the +servants and the horses waiting much longer in this bleak place." + +I was too deeply interested in leading Miserrimus Dexter to pursue +the subject on which he had touched to be willing to leave him at that +moment. I pretended not to have heard Mrs. Macallan. I laid my hand, as +if by accident, on the wheel-chair to keep him near me. + +"You showed me how highly you esteemed that poor lady in your evidence +at the Trial," I said. "I believe, Mr. Dexter, you have ideas of your +own about the mystery of her death?" + +He had been looking at my hand, resting on the arm of his chair, until I +ventured on my question. At that he suddenly raised his eyes, and fixed +them with a frowning and furtive suspicion on my face. + +"How do you know I have ideas of my own?" he asked, sternly. + +"I know it from reading the Trial," I answered. "The lawyer who +cross-examined you spoke almost in the very words which I have just +used. I had no intention of offending you, Mr. Dexter." + +His face cleared as rapidly as it had clouded. He smiled, and laid +his hand on mine. His touch struck me cold. I felt every nerve in me +shivering under it; I drew my hand away quickly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, "if I have misunderstood you. I _have_ +ideas of my own about that unhappy lady." He paused and looked at me in +silence very earnestly. "Have _you_ any ideas?" he asked. "Ideas about +her life? or about her death?" + +I was deeply interested; I was burning to hear more. It might encourage +him to speak if I were candid with him. I answered, "Yes." + +"Ideas which you have mentioned to any one?" he went on. + +"To no living creature," I replied--"as yet." + +"This very strange!" he said, still earnestly reading my face. "What +interest can _you_ have in a dead woman whom you never knew? Why did you +ask me that question just now? Have you any motive in coming here to see +me?" + +I boldly acknowledged the truth. I said, "I have a motive." + +"Is it connected with Eustace Macallan's first wife?" + +"It is." + +"With anything that happened in her lifetime?" + +"No." + +"With her death?" + +"Yes." + +He suddenly clasped his hands with a wild gesture of despair, and then +pressed them both on his head, as if he were struck by some sudden pain. + +"I can't hear it to-night!" he said. "I would give worlds to hear it, +but I daren't. I should lose all hold over myself in the state I am in +now. I am not equal to raking up the horror and the mystery of the past; +I have not courage enough to open the grave of the martyred dead. Did +you hear me when you came here? I have an immense imagination. It runs +riot at times. It makes an actor of me. I play the parts of all the +heroes that ever lived. I feel their characters. I merge myself in their +individualities. For the time I _am_ the man I fancy myself to be. I +can't help it. I am obliged to do it. If I restrained my imagination +when the fit is on me, I should go mad. I let myself loose. It lasts +for hours. It leaves me with my energies worn out, with my sensibilities +frightfully acute. Rouse any melancholy or terrible associations in me +at such times, and I am capable of hysterics, I am capable of screaming. +You heard me scream. You shall _not_ see me in hysterics. No, Mrs. +Valeria--no, you innocent reflection of the dead and gone--I would not +frighten you for the world. Will you come here to-morrow in the daytime? +I have got a chaise and a pony. Ariel, my delicate Ariel, can drive. She +shall call at Mamma Macallan's and fetch you. We will talk to-morrow, +when I am fit for it. I am dying to hear you. I will be fit for you +in the morning. I will be civil, intelligent, communicative, in the +morning. No more of it now. Away with the subject--the too exciting, the +too interesting subject! I must compose myself or my brains will explode +in my head. Music is the true narcotic for excitable brains. My harp! my +harp!" + +He rushed away in his chair to the far end of the room, passing Mrs. +Macallan as she returned to me, bent on hastening our departure. + +"Come!" said the old lady, irritably. "You have seen him, and he has +made a good show of himself. More of him might be tiresome. Come away." + +The chair returned to us more slowly. Miserrimus Dexter was working it +with one hand only. In the other he held a harp of a pattern which I had +hitherto only seen in pictures. The strings were few in number, and the +instrument was so small that I could have held it easily on my lap. +It was the ancient harp of the pictured Muses and the legendary Welsh +bards. + +"Good-night, Dexter," said Mrs. Macallan. + +He held up one hand imperatively. + +"Wait!" he said. "Let her hear me sing." He turned to me. "I decline to +be indebted to other people for my poetry and my music," he went on. "I +compose my own poetry and my own music. I improvise. Give me a moment to +think. I will improvise for You." + +He closed his eyes and rested his head on the frame of the harp. His +fingers gently touched the strings while he was thinking. In a +few minutes he lifted his head, looked at me, and struck the first +notes--the prelude to the song. It was wild, barbaric, monotonous music, +utterly unlike any modern composition. Sometimes it suggested a slow +and undulating Oriental dance. Sometimes it modulated into tones which +reminded me of the severer harmonies of the old Gregorian chants. The +words, when they followed the prelude, were as wild, as recklessly free +from all restraint of critical rules, as the music. They were assuredly +inspired by the occasion; I was the theme of the strange song. And +thus--in one of the finest tenor voices I ever heard--my poet sang of +me: + +"Why does she come? She reminds me of the lost; She reminds me of the +dead: In her form like the other, In her walk like the other: Why does +she come? + +"Does Destiny bring her? Shall we range together The mazes of the past? +Shall we search together The secrets of the past? Shall we interchange +thoughts, surmises, suspicions? Does Destiny bring her? + +"The Future will show. Let the night pass; Let the day come. I shall see +into Her mind: She will look into Mine. The Future will show." + +His voice sank, his fingers touched the strings more and more feebly as +he approached the last lines. The overwrought brain needed and took its +reanimating repose. At the final words his eyes slowly closed. His head +lay back on the chair. He slept with his arms around his harp, as a +child sleeps hugging its last new toy. + +We stole out of the room on tiptoe, and left Miserrimus Dexter--poet, +composer, and madman--in his peaceful sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. MORE OF MY OBSTINACY. + +ARIEL was downstairs in the shadowy hall, half asleep, half awake, +waiting to see the visitors clear of the house. Without speaking to us, +without looking at us, she led the way down the dark garden walk, and +locked the gate behind us. "Good-night, Ariel," I called out to her over +the paling. Nothing answered me but the tramp of her heavy footsteps +returning to the house, and the dull thump, a moment afterward, of the +closing door. + +The footman had thoughtfully lighted the carriage lamps. Carrying one +of them to serve as a lantern, he lighted us over the wilds of the brick +desert, and landed us safely on the path by the high-road. + +"Well!" said my mother-in-law, when we were comfortably seated in the +carriage again. "You have seen Miserrimus Dexter, and I hope you are +satisfied. I will do him the justice to declare that I never, in all my +experience, saw him more completely crazy than he was to-night. What do +_you_ say?" + +"I don't presume to dispute your opinion," I answered. "But, speaking +for myself, I'm not quite sure that he is mad." + +"Not mad!" cried Mrs. Macallan, "after those frantic performances in his +chair? Not mad, after the exhibition he made of his unfortunate cousin? +Not mad, after the song that he sang in your honor, and the falling +asleep by way of conclusion? Oh, Valeria! Valeria! Well said the wisdom +of our ancestors--there are none so blind as those who won't see." + +"Pardon me, dear Mrs. Macallan, I saw everything that you mention, and I +never felt more surprised or more confounded in my life. But now I have +recovered from my amazement, and can think it over quietly, I must still +venture to doubt whether this strange man is really mad in the true +meaning of the word. It seems to me that he only expresses--I admit in a +very reckless and boisterous way--thoughts and feelings which most of +us are ashamed of as weaknesses, and which we keep to ourselves +accordingly. I confess I have often fancied myself transformed into some +other person, and have felt a certain pleasure in seeing myself in my +new character. One of our first amusements as children (if we have any +imagination at all) is to get out of our own characters, and to try the +characters of other personages as a change--to fairies, to be queens, to +be anything, in short, but what we really are. Mr. Dexter lets out the +secret just as the children do, and if that is madness, he is certainly +mad. But I noticed that when his imagination cooled down he became +Miserrimus Dexter again--he no more believed himself than we believed +him to be Napoleon or Shakespeare. Besides, some allowance is surely to +be made for the solitary, sedentary life that he leads. I am not learned +enough to trace the influence of that life in making him what he is; but +I think I can see the result in an over-excited imagination, and I +fancy I can trace his exhibiting his power over the poor cousin and +his singing of that wonderful song to no more formidable cause than +inordinate self-conceit. I hope the confession will not lower me +seriously in your good opinion; but I must say I have enjoyed my visit, +and, worse still, Miserrimus Dexter really interests me." + +"Does this learned discourse on Dexter mean that you are going to see +him again?" asked Mrs. Macallan. + +"I don't know how I may feel about it tomorrow morning," I said; "but +my impulse at this moment is decidedly to see him again. I had a little +talk with him while you were away at the other end of the room, and I +believe he really can be of use to me--" + +"Of use to you in what?" interposed my mother-in-law. + +"In the one object which I have in view--the object, dear Mrs. Macallan, +which I regret to say you do not approve." + +"And you are going to take him into your confidence? to open your whole +mind to such a man as the man we have just left?" + +"Yes, if I think of it to-morrow as I think of it to-night. I dare +say it is a risk; but I must run risks. I know I am not prudent; but +prudence won't help a woman in my position, with my end to gain." + +Mrs. Macallan made no further remonstrance in words. She opened a +capacious pocket in front of the carriage, and took from it a box of +matches and a railway reading-lamp. + +"You provoke me," said the old lady, "into showing you what your husband +thinks of this new whim of yours. I have got his letter with me--his +last letter from Spain. You shall judge for yourself, you poor deluded +young creature, whether my son is worthy of the sacrifice--the useless +and hopeless sacrifice--which you are bent on making of yourself for his +sake. Strike a light!" + +I willingly obeyed her. Ever since she had informed me of Eustace's +departure to Spain I had been eager for more news of him, for something +to sustain my spirits, after so much that had disappointed and depressed +me. Thus far I did not even know whether my husband thought of me +sometimes in his self-imposed exile. As to this regretting already the +rash act which had separated us, it was still too soon to begin hoping +for that. + +The lamp having been lighted, and fixed in its place between the two +front windows of the carriage, Mrs. Macallan produced her son's letter. +There is no folly like the folly of love. It cost me a hard struggle +to restrain myself from kissing the paper on which the dear hand had +rested. + +"There!" said my mother-in-law. "Begin on the second page, the page +devoted to you. Read straight down to the last line at the bottom, and, +in God's name, come back to your senses, child, before it is too late!" + +I followed my instructions, and read these words: + +"Can I trust myself to write of Valeria? I _must_ write of her. Tell me +how she is, how she looks, what she is doing. I am always thinking of +her. Not a day passes but I mourn the loss of her. Oh, if she had only +been contented to let matters rest as they were! Oh, if she had never +discovered the miserable truth! + +"She spoke of reading the Trial when I saw her last. Has she persisted +in doing so? I believe--I say this seriously, mother--I believe the +shame and the horror of it would have been the death of me if I had +met her face to face when she first knew of the ignominy that I have +suffered, of the infamous suspicion of which I have been publicly made +the subject. Think of those pure eyes looking at a man who has been +accused (and never wholly absolved) of the foulest and the vilest of +all murders, and then think of what that man must feel if he have any +heart and any sense of shame left in him. I sicken as I write of it. + +"Does she still meditate that hopeless project--the offspring, poor +angel, of her artless, unthinking generosity? Does she still fancy that +it is in _her_ power to assert my innocence before the world? Oh, mother +(if she do), use your utmost influence to make her give up the idea! +Spare her the humiliation, the disappointment, the insult, perhaps, +to which she may innocently expose herself. For her sake, for my sake, +leave no means untried to attain this righteous, this merciful end. + +"I send her no message--I dare not do it. Say nothing, when you see her, +which can recall me to her memory. On the contrary, help her to forget +me as soon as possible. The kindest thing I can do--the one atonement I +can make to her--is to drop out of her life." + +With those wretched words it ended. I handed his letter back to his +mother in silence. She said but little on her side. + +"If _this_ doesn't discourage you," she remarked, slowly folding up the +letter, "nothing will. Let us leave it there, and say no more." + +I made no answer--I was crying behind my veil. My domestic prospect +looked so dreary! my unfortunate husband was so hopelessly misguided, so +pitiably wrong! The one chance for both of us, and the one consolation +for poor Me, was to hold to my desperate resolution more firmly than +ever. If I had wanted anything to confirm me in this view, and to arm me +against the remonstrances of every one of my friends, Eustace's letter +would have proved more than sufficient to answer the purpose. At least +he had not forgotten me; he thought of me, and he mourned the loss of me +every day of his life. That was encouragement enough--for the present. +"If Ariel calls for me in the pony-chaise to-morrow," I thought to +myself, "with Ariel I go." + +Mrs. Macallan set me down at Benjamin's door. + +I mentioned to her at parting--I stood sufficiently in awe of her to put +it off till the last moment--that Miserrimus Dexter had arranged to send +his cousin and his pony-chaise to her residence on the next day; and I +inquired thereupon whether my mother-in-law would permit me to call at +her house to wait for the appearance of the cousin, or whether she would +prefer sending the chaise on to Benjamin's cottage. I fully expected an +explosion of anger to follow this bold avowal of my plans for the next +day. The old lady agreeably surprised me. She proved that she had really +taken a liking to me: she kept her temper. + +"If you persist in going back to Dexter, you certainly shall not go to +him from my door," she said. "But I hope you will _not_ persist. I hope +you will awake a wiser woman to-morrow morning." + +The morning came. A little before noon the arrival of the pony-chaise +was announced at the door, and a letter was brought in to me from Mrs. +Macallan. + +"I have no right to control your movements," my mother-in-law wrote. "I +send the chaise to Mr. Benjamin's house; and I sincerely trust that you +will not take your place in it. I wish I could persuade you, Valeria, +how truly I am your friend. I have been thinking about you anxiously +in the wakeful hours of the night. _How_ anxiously, you will understand +when I tell you that I now reproach myself for not having done more than +I did to prevent your unhappy marriage. And yet, what more I could have +done I don't really know. My son admitted to me that he was courting you +under an assumed name, but he never told me what the name was. Or who +you were, or where your friends lived. Perhaps I ought to have taken +measures to find this out. Perhaps, if I had succeeded, I ought to have +interfered and enlightened you, even at the sad sacrifice of making an +enemy of my own son. I honestly thought I did my duty in expressing my +disapproval, and in refusing to be present at the marriage. Was I too +easily satisfied? It is too late to ask. Why do I trouble you with an +old woman's vain misgivings and regrets? My child, if you come to any +harm, I shall feel (indirectly) responsible for it. It is this uneasy +state of mind which sets me writing, with nothing to say that can +interest you. Don't go to Dexter! The fear has been pursuing me all +night that your going to Dexter will end badly. Write him an excuse. +Valeria! I firmly believe you will repent it if you return to that +house." + +Was ever a woman more plainly warned, more carefully advised, than I? +And yet warning and advice were both thrown away on me. + +Let me say for myself that I was really touched by the kindness of my +mother-in-law's letter, though I was not shaken by it in the smallest +degree. As long as I lived, moved, and thought, my one purpose now was +to make Miserrimus Dexter confide to me his ideas on the subject of Mrs. +Eustace Macallan's death. To those ideas I looked as my guiding stars +along the dark way on which I was going. I wrote back to Mrs. Macallan, +as I really felt gratefully and penitently. And then I went out to the +chaise. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. MR. DEXTER AT HOME. + +I FOUND all the idle boys in the neighborhood collected around the +pony-chaise, expressing, in the occult language of slang, their high +enjoyment and appreciation at the appearance of "Ariel" in her man's +jacket and hat. The pony was fidgety--_he_ felt the influence of the +popular uproar. His driver sat, whip in hand, magnificently +impenetrable to the gibes and jests that were flying around her. I said +"Good-morning" on getting into the chaise. Ariel only said "Gee up!" and +started the pony. + +I made up my mind to perform the journey to the distant northern suburb +in silence. It was evidently useless for me to attempt to speak, and +experience informed me that I need not expect to hear a word fall from +the lips of my companion. Experience, however, is not always infallible. +After driving for half an hour in stolid silence, Ariel astounded me by +suddenly bursting into speech. + +"Do you know what we are coming to?" she asked, keeping her eyes +straight between the pony's ears. + +"No," I answered. "I don't know the road. What are we coming to?" + +"We are coming to a canal." + +"Well?" + +"Well, I have half a mind to upset you in the canal." + +This formidable announcement appeared to require some explanation. I +took the liberty of asking for it. + +"Why should you upset me?" I inquired. + +"Because I hate you," was the cool and candid reply. + +"What have I done to offend you?" I asked next. + +"What do you want with the Master?" Ariel asked, in her turn. + +"Do you mean Mr. Dexter?" + +"Yes." + +"I want to have some talk with Mr. Dexter." + +"You don't! You want to take my place. You want to brush his hair and +oil his beard, instead of me. You wretch!" + +I now began to understand. The idea which Miserrimus Dexter had +jestingly put into her head, in exhibiting her to us on the previous +night, had been ripening slowly in that dull brain, and had found +its way outward into words, about fifteen hours afterward, under the +irritating influence of my presence! + +"I don't want to touch his hair or his beard," I said. "I leave that +entirely to you." + +She looked around at me, her fat face flushing, her dull eyes dilating, +with the unaccustomed effort to express herself in speech, and to +understand what was said to her in return. + +"Say that again," she burst out. "And say it slower this time." + +I said it again, and I said it slower. + +"Swear it!" she cried, getting more and more excited. + +I preserved my gravity (the canal was just visible in the distance), and +swore it. + +"Are you satisfied now?" I asked. + +There was no answer. Her last resources of speech were exhausted. The +strange creature looked back again straight between the pony's ears, +emitted hoarsely a grunt of relief, and never more looked at me, never +more spoke to me, for the rest of the journey. We drove past the banks +of the canal, and I escaped immersion. We rattled, in our jingling +little vehicle, through the streets and across the waste patches of +ground, which I dimly remembered in the darkness, and which looked more +squalid and more hideous than ever in the broad daylight. The chaise +turned down a lane, too narrow for the passage of any larger vehicle, and +stopped at a wall and a gate that were new objects to me. Opening the +gate with her key, and leading the pony, Ariel introduced me to the back +garden and yard of Miserrimus Dexter's rotten and rambling old house. +The pony walked off independently to his stable, with the chaise behind +him. My silent companion led me through a bleak and barren kitchen, and +along a stone passage. Opening a door at the end, she admitted me to the +back of the hall, into which Mrs. Macallan and I had penetrated by the +front entrance to the house. Here Ariel lifted a whistle which hung +around her neck, and blew the shrill trilling notes with the sound +of which I was already familiar as the means of communication between +Miserrimus Dexter and his slave. The whistling over, the slave's +unwilling lips struggled into speech for the last time. + +"Wait till you hear the Master's whistle," she said; "then go upstairs." + +So! I was to be whistled for like a dog! And, worse still, there was +no help for it but to submit like a dog. Had Ariel any excuses to make? +Nothing of the sort. + +She turned her shapeless back on me and vanished into the kitchen region +of the house. + +After waiting for a minute or two, and hearing no signal from the floor +above, I advanced into the broader and brighter part of the hall, to +look by daylight at the pictures which I had only imperfectly discovered +in the darkness of the night. A painted inscription in many colors, +just under the cornice of the ceiling, informed me that the works on the +walls were the production of the all-accomplished Dexter himself. Not +satisfied with being poet and composer, he was painter as well. On one +wall the subjects were described as "Illustrations of the Passions;" +on the other, as "Episodes in the Life of the Wandering Jew." +Chance speculators like myself were gravely warned, by means of the +inscription, to view the pictures as efforts of pure imagination. +"Persons who look for mere Nature in works of Art" (the inscription +announced) "are persons to whom Mr. Dexter does not address himself with +the brush. He relies entirely on his imagination. Nature puts him out." + +Taking due care to dismiss all ideas of Nature from my mind, to begin +with, I looked at the pictures which represented the Passions first. + +Little as I knew critically of Art, I could see that Miserrimus Dexter +knew still less of the rules of drawing, color, and composition. His +pictures were, in the strictest meaning of that expressive word, Daubs. +The diseased and riotous delight of the painter in representing +Horrors was (with certain exceptions to be hereafter mentioned) the one +remarkable quality that I could discover in the series of his works. + +The first of the Passion pictures illustrated Revenge. A corpse, in +fancy costume, lay on the bank of a foaming river, under the shade of a +giant tree. An infuriated man, also in fancy costume, stood astride over +the dead body, with his sword lifted to the lowering sky, and watched, +with a horrid expression of delight, the blood of the man whom he had +just killed dripping slowly in a procession of big red drops down the +broad blade of his weapon. The next picture illustrated Cruelty, in many +compartments. In one I saw a disemboweled horse savagely spurred on +by his rider at a bull-fight. In another, an aged philosopher was +dissecting a living cat, and gloating over his work. In a third, two +pagans politely congratulated each other on the torture of two saints: +one saint was roasting on a grid-iron; the other, hung up to a tree by +his heels, had been just skinned, and was not quite dead yet. Feeling +no great desire, after these specimens, to look at any more of the +illustrated Passions, I turned to the opposite wall to be instructed in +the career of the Wandering Jew. Here a second inscription informed me +that the painter considered the Flying Dutchman to be no other than +the Wandering Jew, pursuing his interminable Journey by sea. The marine +adventures of this mysterious personage were the adventures chosen for +representation by Dexter's brush. The first picture showed me a harbor +on a rocky coast. A vessel was at anchor, with the helmsman singing on +the deck. The sea in the offing was black and rolling; thunder-clouds +lay low on the horizon, split by broad flashes of lightning. In the +glare of the lightning, heaving and pitching, appeared the misty form +of the Phantom Ship approaching the shore. In this work, badly as it was +painted, there were really signs of a powerful imagination, and even +of a poetical feeling for the supernatural. The next picture showed the +Phantom Ship, moored (to the horror and astonishment of the helmsman) +behind the earthly vessel in the harbor. The Jew had stepped on shore. +His boat was on the beach. His crew--little men with stony, white faces, +dressed in funeral black--sat in silent rows on the seats of the boat, +with their oars in their lean, long hands. The Jew, also a black, stood +with his eyes and hands raised imploringly to the thunderous heaven. +The wild creatures of land and sea--the tiger, the rhinoceros, the +crocodile, the sea-serpent, the shark, and the devil-fish--surrounded +the accursed Wanderer in a mystic circle, daunted and fascinated at the +sight of him. The lightning was gone. The sky and sea had darkened to +a great black blank. A faint and lurid light lighted the scene, falling +downward from a torch, brandished by an avenging Spirit that hovered +over the Jew on outspread vulture wings. Wild as the picture might be +in its conception, there was a suggestive power in it which I confess +strongly impressed me. The mysterious silence in the house, and my +strange position at the moment, no doubt had their effect on my mind. +While I was still looking at the ghastly composition before me, the +shrill trilling sound of the whistle upstairs burst on the stillness. +For the moment my nerves were so completely upset that I started with a +cry of alarm. I felt a momentary impulse to open the door and run out. +The idea of trusting myself alone with the man who had painted those +frightful pictures actually terrified me; I was obliged to sit down on +one of the hall chairs. Some minutes passed before my mind recovered +its balance, and I began to feel like my own ordinary self again. The +whistle sounded impatiently for the second time. I rose and ascended the +broad flight of stairs which led to the first story. To draw back at the +point which I had now reached would have utterly degraded me in my own +estimation. Still, my heart did certainly beat faster than usual as I +approached the door of the circular anteroom; and I honestly acknowledge +that I saw my own imprudence, just then, in a singularly vivid light. + +There was a glass over the mantel-piece in the anteroom. I lingered for +a moment (nervous as I was) to see how I looked in the glass. + +The hanging tapestry over the inner door had been left partially drawn +aside. Softly as I moved, the dog's ears of Miserrimus Dexter caught the +sound of my dress on the floor. The fine tenor voice, which I had last +heard singing, called to me softly. + +"Is that Mrs. Valeria? Please don't wait there. Come in!" + +I entered the inner room. + +The wheeled chair advanced to meet me, so slowly and so softly that I +hardly knew it again. Miserrimus Dexter languidly held out his hand. His +head inclined pensively to one side; his large blue eyes looked at +me piteously. Not a vestige seemed to be left of the raging, shouting +creature of my first visit, who was Napoleon at one moment, and +Shakespeare at another. Mr. Dexter of the morning was a mild, +thoughtful, melancholy man, who only recalled Mr. Dexter of the night by +the inveterate oddity of his dress. His jacket, on this occasion, was +of pink quilted silk. The coverlet which hid his deformity matched the +jacket in pale sea-green satin; and, to complete these strange vagaries +of costume, his wrists were actually adorned with massive bracelets of +gold, formed on the severely simple models which have descended to us +from ancient times. + +"How good of you to cheer and charm me by coming here!" he said, in his +most mournful and most musical tones. "I have dressed, expressly to +receive you, in the prettiest clothes I have. Don't be surprised. Except +in this ignoble and material nineteenth century, men have always worn +precious stuffs and beautiful colors as well as women. A hundred years +ago a gentleman in pink silk was a gentleman properly dressed. Fifteen +hundred years ago the patricians of the classic times wore bracelets +exactly like mine. I despise the brutish contempt for beauty and the +mean dread of expense which degrade a gentleman's costume to black +cloth, and limit a gentleman's ornaments to a finger-ring, in the age I +live in. I like to be bright and I beautiful, especially when brightness +and beauty come to see me. You don't know how precious your society +is to me. This is one of my melancholy days. Tears rise unbidden to my +eyes. I sigh and sorrow over myself; I languish for pity. Just think of +what I am! A poor solitary creature, cursed with a frightful deformity. +How pitiable! how dreadful! My affectionate heart--wasted. My +extraordinary talents--useless or misapplied. Sad! sad! sad! Please pity +me." + +His eyes were positively filled with tears--tears of compassion for +himself! He looked at me and spoke to me with the wailing, querulous +entreaty of a sick child wanting to be nursed. I was utterly at a +loss what to do. It was perfectly ridiculous--but I was never more +embarrassed in my life. + +"Please pity me!" he repeated. "Don't be cruel. I only ask a little +thing. Pretty Mrs. Valeria, say you pity me!" + +I said I pitied him--and I felt that I blushed as I did it. + +"Thank you," said Miserrimus Dexter, humbly. "It does me good. Go a +little further. Pat my hand." + +I tried to restrain myself; but the sense of the absurdity of this last +petition (quite gravely addressed to me, remember!) was too strong to be +controlled. I burst out laughing. + +Miserrimus Dexter looked at me with a blank astonishment which only +increased my merriment. Had I offended him? Apparently not. Recovering +from his astonishment, he laid his head luxuriously on the back of his +chair, with the expression of a man who was listening critically to a +performance of some sort. When I had quite exhausted myself, he raised +his head and clapped his shapely white hands, and honored me with an +"encore." + +"Do it again," he said, still in the same childish way. "Merry Mrs. +Valeria, _you_ have a musical laugh--_I_ have a musical ear. Do it +again." + +I was serious enough by this time. "I am ashamed of myself, Mr. Dexter," +I said. "Pray forgive me." + +He made no answer to this; I doubt if he heard me. His variable temper +appeared to be in course of undergoing some new change. He sat looking +at my dress (as I supposed) with a steady and anxious attention, gravely +forming his own conclusions, steadfastly pursuing his own train of +thought. + +"Mrs. Valeria," he burst out suddenly, "you are not comfortable in that +chair." + +"Pardon me," I replied; "I am quite comfortable." + +"Pardon _me,_" he rejoined. "There is a chair of Indian basket-work at +that end of the room which is much better suited to you. Will you accept +my apologies if I am rude enough to allow you to fetch it for yourself? +I have a reason." + +He had a reason! What new piece of eccentricity was he about to exhibit? +I rose and fetched the chair. It was light enough to be quite easily +carried. As I returned to him, I noticed that his eyes were strangely +employed in what seemed to be the closest scrutiny of my dress. And, +stranger still, the result of this appeared to be partly to interest and +partly to distress him. + +I placed the chair near him, and was about to take my seat in it, when +he sent me back again, on another errand, to the end of the room. + +"Oblige me indescribably," he said. "There is a hand-screen hanging on +the wall, which matches the chair. We are rather near the fire here. You +may find the screen useful. Once more forgive me for letting you fetch +it for yourself. Once more let me assure you that I have a reason." + +Here was his "reason," reiterated, emphatically reiterated, for the +second time! Curiosity made me as completely the obedient servant of his +caprices as Ariel herself. I fetched the hand-screen. Returning with it, +I met his eyes still fixed with the same incomprehensible attention on +my perfectly plain and unpretending dress, and still expressing the same +curious mixture of interest and regret. + +"Thank you a thousand times," he said. "You have (quite innocently) +wrung my heart. But you have not the less done me an inestimable +kindness. Will you promise not to be offended with me if I confess the +truth?" + +He was approaching his explanation I never gave a promise more readily +in my life. + +"I have rudely allowed you to fetch your chair and your screen for +yourself," he went on. "My motive will seem a very strange one, I +am afraid. Did you observe that I noticed you very attentively--too +attentively, perhaps?" + +"Yes," I said. "I thought you were noticing my dress." + +He shook his head, and sighed bitterly. + +"Not your dress," he said; "and not your face. Your dress is dark. Your +face is still strange to me. Dear Mrs. Valeria, I wanted to see you +walk." + +To see me walk! What did he mean? Where was that erratic mind of his +wandering to now? + +"You have a rare accomplishment for an Englishwoman," he resumed--"you +walk well. _She_ walked well. I couldn't resist the temptation of seeing +her again, in seeing you. It was _her_ movement, _her_ sweet, simple, +unsought grace (not yours), when you walked to the end of the room and +returned to me. You raised her from the dead when you fetched the chair +and the screen. Pardon me for making use of you: the idea was innocent, +the motive was sacred. You have distressed--and delighted me. My heart +bleeds--and thanks you." + +He paused for a moment; he let his head droop on his breast, then +suddenly raised it again. + +"Surely we were talking about her last night?" he said. "What did I say? +what did you say? My memory is confused; I half remember, half forget. +Please remind me. You're not offended with me--are you?" + +I might have been offended with another man. Not with him. I was far too +anxious to find my way into his confidence--now that he had touched of +his own accord on the subject of Eustace's first wife--to be offended +with Miserrimus Dexter. + +"We were speaking," I answered, "of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death, and +we were saying to one another--" + +He interrupted me, leaning forward eagerly in his chair. + +"Yes! yes!" he exclaimed. "And I was wondering what interest _you_ could +have in penetrating the mystery of her death. Tell me! Confide in me! I +am dying to know!" + +"Not even you have a stronger interest in that subject than the interest +that I feel," I said. "The happiness of my whole life to come depends on +my clearing up the mystery." + +"Good God--why?" he cried. "Stop! I am exciting myself. I mustn't do +that. I must have all my wits about me; I mustn't wander. The thing is +too serious. Wait a minute!" + +An elegant little basket was hooked on to one of the arms of his chair. +He opened it, and drew out a strip of embroidery partially finished, +with the necessary materials for working, a complete. We looked at each +other across the embroidery. He noticed my surprise. + +"Women," he said, "wisely compose their minds, and help themselves to +think quietly, by doing needle-work. Why are men such fools as to +deny themselves the same admirable resource--the simple and soothing +occupation which keeps the nerves steady and leaves the mind calm and +free? As a man, I follow the woman's wise example. Mrs. Valeria, permit +me to compose myself." + +Gravely arranging his embroidery, this extraordinary being began to work +with the patient and nimble dexterity of an accomplished needle-woman. + +"Now," said Miserrimus Dexter, "if you are ready, I am. You talk--I +work. Please begin." + +I obeyed him, and began. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE DARK. + +WITH such a man as Miserrimus Dexter, and with such a purpose as I had +in view, no half-confidences were possible. I must either risk the most +unreserved acknowledgment of the interests that I really had at stake, +or I must make the best excuse that occurred to me for abandoning my +contemplated experiment at the last moment. In my present critical +situation, no such refuge as a middle course lay before me--even if I +had been inclined to take it. As things were, I ran risks, and plunged +headlong into my own affairs at starting. + +"Thus far, you know little or nothing about me, Mr. Dexter," I said. +"You are, as I believe, quite unaware that my husband and I are not +living together at the present time." + +"Is it necessary to mention your husband?" he asked, coldly, without +looking up from his embroidery, and without pausing in his work. + +"It is absolutely necessary," I answered. "I can explain myself to you +in no other way." + +He bent his head, and sighed resignedly. + +"You and your husband are not living together at the present time," he +resumed. "Does that mean that Eustace has left you?" + +"He has left me, and has gone abroad." + +"Without any necessity for it?" + +"Without the least necessity." + +"Has he appointed no time for his return to you?" + +"If he persevere in his present resolution, Mr. Dexter, Eustace will +never return to me." + +For the first time he raised his head from his embroidery--with a sudden +appearance of interest. + +"Is the quarrel so serious as that?" he asked. "Are you free of each +other, pretty Mrs. Valeria, by common consent of both parties?" + +The tone in which he put the question was not at all to my liking. The +look he fixed on me was a look which unpleasantly suggested that I had +trusted myself alone with him, and that he might end in taking advantage +of it. I reminded him quietly, by my manner more than by my words, of +the respect which he owed to me. + +"You are entirely mistaken," I said. "There is no anger--there is not +even a misunderstanding between us. Our parting has cost bitter sorrow, +Mr. Dexter, to him and to me." + +He submitted to be set right with ironical resignation. "I am all +attention," he said, threading his needle. "Pray go on; I won't +interrupt you again." Acting on this invitation, I told him the truth +about my husband and myself quite unreservedly, taking care, however, +at the same time, to put Eustace's motives in the best light that they +would bear. Miserrimus Dexter dropped his embroidery on his lap, and +laughed softly to himself, with an impish enjoyment of my poor little +narrative, which set every nerve in me on edge as I looked at him. + +"I see nothing to laugh at," I said, sharply. + +His beautiful blue eyes rested on me with a look of innocent surprise. + +"Nothing to laugh at," he repeated, "in such an exhibition of human +folly as you have just described?" His expression suddenly changed his +face darkened and hardened very strangely. "Stop!" he cried, before I +could answer him. "There can be only one reason for you're taking it as +seriously as you do. Mrs. Valeria! you are fond of your husband." + +"Fond of him isn't strong enough to express it," I retorted. "I love him +with my whole heart." + +Miserrimus Dexter stroked his magnificent beard, and contemplatively +repeated my words. "You love him with your whole heart? Do you know +why?" + +"Because I can't help it," I answered, doggedly. + +He smiled satirically, and went on with his embroidery. "Curious!" he +said to himself; "Eustace's first wife loved him too. There are some men +whom the women all like, and there are other men whom the women never +care for. Without the least reason for it in either case. The one man is +just as good as the other; just as handsome, as agreeable, as honorable, +and as high in rank as the other. And yet for Number One they will go +through fire and water, and for Number Two they won't so much as turn +their heads to look at him. Why? They don't know themselves--as Mrs. +Valeria has just said! Is there a physical reason for it? Is there +some potent magnetic emanation from Number One which Number Two doesn't +possess? I must investigate this when I have the time, and when I find +myself in the humor." Having so far settled the question to his own +entire satisfaction, he looked up at me again. "I am still in the dark +about you and your motives," he said. "I am still as far as ever from +understanding what your interest is in investigating that hideous +tragedy at Gleninch. Clever Mrs. Valeria, please take me by the hand, +and lead me into the light. You're not offended with me are you? Make it +up; and I will give you this pretty piece of embroidery when I have done +it. I am only a poor, solitary, deformed wretch, with a quaint turn of +mind; I mean no harm. Forgive me! indulge me! enlighten me!" + +He resumed his childish ways; he recover, his innocent smile, with the +odd little puckers and wrinkles accompanying it at the corners of his +eyes. I began to doubt whether I might not have been unreasonably +hard on him. I penitently resolved to be more considerate toward his +infirmities of mind and body during the remainder of my visit. + +"Let me go back for a moment, Mr. Dexter, to past times at Gleninch," I +said. "You agree with me in believing Eustace to be absolutely innocent +of the crime for which he was tried. Your evidence at the Trial tells me +that." + +He paused over his work, and looked at me with a grave and stern +attention which presented his face in quite a new light. + +"That is _our_ opinion," I resumed. "But it was not the opinion of the +Jury. Their verdict, you remember, was Not Proven. In plain English, the +Jury who tried my husband declined to express their opinion, positively +and publicly, that he was innocent. Am I right?" + +Instead of answering, he suddenly put his embroidery back in the basket, +and moved the machinery of his chair, so as to bring it close by mine. + +"Who told you this?" he asked. + +"I found it for myself in a book." + +Thus far his face had expressed steady attention--and no more. Now, for +the first time, I thought I saw something darkly passing over him which +betrayed itself to my mind as rising distrust. + +"Ladies are not generally in the habit of troubling their heads about +dry questions of law," he said. "Mrs. Eustace Macallan the Second, you +must have some very powerful motive for turning your studies that way." + +"I have a very powerful motive, Mr. Dexter My husband is resigned to the +Scotch Verdict His mother is resigned to it. His friends (so far as I +know) are resigned to it--" + +"Well?" + +"Well! I don't agree with my husband, or his mother, or his friends. I +refuse to submit to the Scotch Verdict." + +The instant I said those words, the madness in him which I had hitherto +denied, seemed to break out. He suddenly stretched himself over his +chair: he pounced on me, with a hand on each of my shoulders; his wild +eyes questioned me fiercely, frantically, within a few inches of my +face. + +"What do you mean?" he shouted, at the utmost pitch of his ringing and +resonant voice. + +A deadly fear of him shook me. I did my best to hide the outward +betrayal of it. By look and word, I showed him, as firmly as I could, +that I resented the liberty he had taken with me. + +"Remove your hands, sir," I said, "and retire to your proper place." + +He obeyed me mechanically. He apologized to me mechanically. His whole +mind was evidently still filled with the words that I had spoken to him, +and still bent on discovering what those words meant. + +"I beg your pardon," he said; "I humbly beg your pardon. The subject +excites me, frightens me, maddens me. You don't know what a difficulty +I have in controlling myself. Never mind. Don't take me seriously. Don't +be frightened at me. I am so ashamed of myself--I feel so small and so +miserable at having offended you. Make me suffer for it. Take a stick +and beat me. Tie me down in my chair. Call up Ariel, who is as strong +as a horse, and tell her to hold me. Dear Mrs. Valeria! Injured Mrs. +Valeria! I'll endure anything in the way of punishment, if you will +only tell me what you mean by not submitting to the Scotch Verdict." He +backed his chair penitently as he made that entreaty. "Am I far enough +away yet?" he asked, with a rueful look. "Do I still frighten you? I'll +drop out of sight, if you prefer it, in the bottom of the chair." + +He lifted the sea-green coverlet. In another moment he would have +disappeared like a puppet in a show if I had not stopped him. + +"Say nothing more, and do nothing more; I accept your apologies," I +said. "When I tell you that I refuse to submit to the opinion of the +Scotch Jury, I mean exactly what my words express. That verdict has +left a stain on my husband's character. He feels the stain bitterly. How +bitterly no one knows so well as I do. His sense of his degradation is +the sense that has parted him from me. It is not enough for _him_ that +I am persuaded of his innocence. Nothing will bring him back to +me--nothing will persuade Eustace that I think him worthy to be the +guide and companion of my life--but the proof of his innocence, set +before the Jury which doubts it, and the public which doubts it, to this +day. He and his friends and his lawyers all despair of ever finding that +proof now. But I am his wife; and none of you love him as I love him. +I alone refuse to despair; I alone refuse to listen to reason. If +God spare me, Mr. Dexter, I dedicate my life to the vindication of my +husband's innocence. You are his old friend--I am here to ask you to +help me." + +It appeared to be now my turn to frighten _him._ The color left his +face. He passed his hand restlessly over his forehead, as if he were +trying to brush some delusion out of his brain. + +"Is this one of my dreams?" he asked, faintly. "Are you a Vision of the +night?" + +"I am only a friendless woman," I said, "who has lost all that she loved +and prized, and who is trying to win it back again." + +He began to move his chair nearer to me once more. I lifted my hand. +He stopped the chair directly. There was a moment of silence. We sat +watching one another. I saw his hands tremble as he laid them on the +coverlet; I saw his face grow paler and paler, and his under lip drop. +What dead and buried remembrances had I brought to life in him, in all +their olden horror? + +He was the first to speak again. + +"So this is your interest," he said, "in clearing up the mystery of Mrs. +Eustace Macallan's death?" + +"Yes." + +"And you believe that I can help you?" + +"I do." + +He slowly lifted one of his hands, and pointed at me with his long +forefinger. + +"You suspect somebody," he said. + +The tone in which he spoke was low and threatening; it warned me to be +careful. At the same time, if I now shut him out of my confidence, I +should lose the reward that might yet be to come, for all that I had +suffered and risked at that perilous interview. + +"You suspect somebody," he repeated. + +"Perhaps!" was all that I said in return. + +"Is the person within your reach?" + +"Not yet." + +"Do you know where the person is?" + +"No." + +He laid his head languidly on the back of his chair, with a trembling +long-drawn sigh. Was he disappointed? Or was he relieved? Or was he +simply exhausted in mind and body alike? Who could fathom him? Who could +say? + +"Will you give me five minutes?" he asked, feebly and wearily, without +raising his head. "You know already how any reference to events at +Gleninch excites and shakes me. I shall be fit for it again, if you +will kindly give me a few minutes to myself. There are books in the next +room. Please excuse me." + +I at once retired to the circular antechamber. He followed me in his +chair, and closed the door between us. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE LIGHT. + +A LITTLE interval of solitude was a relief to me, as well as to +Miserrimus Dexter. + +Startling doubts beset me as I walked restlessly backward and forward, +now in the anteroom, and now in the corridor outside. It was plain that +I had (quite innocently) disturbed the repose of some formidable secrets +in Miserrimus Dexter's mind. I confused and wearied my poor brains +in trying to guess what the secrets might be. All my ingenuity--as +after-events showed me--was wasted on speculations not one of which +even approached the truth. I was on surer ground when I arrived at the +conclusion that Dexter had really kept every mortal creature out of +his confidence. He could never have betrayed such serious signs of +disturbance as I had noticed in him, if he had publicly acknowledged at +the Trial, or if he had privately communicated to any chosen friend, all +that he knew of the tragic and terrible drama acted in the bedchamber at +Gleninch. What powerful influence had induced him to close his lips? +Had he been silent in mercy to others? or in dread of consequences to +himself? Impossible to tell! Could I hope that he would confide to Me +what he had kept secret from Justice and Friendship alike? When he knew +what I really wanted of him, would he arm me, out of his own stores of +knowledge, with the weapon that would win me victory in the struggle to +come? The chances were against it--there was no denying that. Still the +end was worth trying for. The caprice of the moment might yet stand my +friend, with such a wayward being as Miserrimus Dexter. My plans and +projects were sufficiently strange, sufficiently wide of the ordinary +limits of a woman's thoughts and actions, to attract his sympathies. +"Who knows," I thought to myself, "if I may not take his confidence by +surprise, by simply telling him the truth?" + +The interval expired; the door was thrown open; the voice of my host +summoned me again to the inner room. + +"Welcome back!" said Miserrimus Dexter. + +"Dear Mrs. Valeria, I am quite myself again. How are you?" + +He looked and spoke with the easy cordiality of an old friend. During +the period of my absence, short as it was, another change had passed +over this most multiform of living beings. His eyes sparkled with +good-humor; his cheeks were flushing under a new excitement of some +sort. Even his dress had undergone alteration since I had seen it last. +He now wore an extemporized cap of white paper; his ruffles were tucked +up; a clean apron was thrown over the sea-green coverlet. He hacked his +chair before me, bowing and smiling, and waved me to a seat with +the grace of a dancing master, chastened by the dignity of a lord in +waiting. + +"I am going to cook," he announced, with the most engaging simplicity. +"We both stand in need of refreshment before we return to the serious +business of our interview. You see me in my cook's dress; forgive it. +There is a form in these things. I am a great stickler for forms. I have +been taking some wine. Please sanction that proceeding by taking some +wine too." + +He filled a goblet of ancient Venetian glass with a purple-red liquor, +beautiful to see. + +"Burgundy!" he said--"the king of wine: And this is the king of +Burgundies--Clos Vougeot. I drink to your health and happiness!" + +He filled a second goblet for himself, and honored the toast by draining +it to the bottom. I now understood the sparkle in his eyes and the flush +in his cheeks. It was my interest not to offend him. I drank a little of +his wine, and I quite agreed with him. I thought it delicious. + +"What shall we eat?" he asked. "It must be something worthy of our Clos +Vougeot. Ariel is good at roasting and boiling joints, poor wretch! +but I don't insult your taste by offering you Ariel's cookery. Plain +joints!" he exclaimed, with an expression of refined disgust. "Bah! +A man who eats a plain joint is only one remove from a cannibal or a +butcher. Will you leave it to me to discover something more worthy of +us? Let us go to the kitchen." + +He wheeled his chair around, and invited me to accompany him with a +courteous wave of his hand. + +I followed the chair to some closed curtains at one end of the room, +which I had not hitherto noticed. Drawing aside the curtains, he +revealed to view an alcove, in which stood a neat little gas-stove for +cooking. Drawers and cupboards, plates, dishes, and saucepans, were +ranged around the alcove--all on a miniature scale, all scrupulously +bright and clean. "Welcome to the kitchen!" said Miserrimus Dexter. He +drew out of a recess in the wall a marble slab, which served as a table, +and reflected profoundly, with his hand to his head. "I have it!" he +cried, and opening one of the cupboards next, took from it a black +bottle of a form that was new to me. Sounding this bottle with a spike, +he pierced and produced to view some little irregularly formed black +objects, which might have been familiar enough to a woman accustomed to +the luxurious tables of the rich, but which were a new revelation to a +person like myself, who had led a simple country life in the house of a +clergyman with small means. When I saw my host carefully lay out these +occult substances of uninviting appearance on a clean napkin, and then +plunge once more into profound reflection at the sight of them, my +curiosity could be no longer restrained. I ventured to say, "What are +those things, Mr. Dexter, and are we really going to eat them?" + +He started at the rash question, and looked at me with hands outspread +in irrepressible astonishment. + +"Where is our boasted progress?" he cried. "What is education but a name? +Here is a cultivated person who doesn't know Truffles when she sees +them!" + +"I have heard of truffles," I answered, humbly, "but I never saw them +before. We had no such foreign luxuries as those, Mr. Dexter, at home in +the North." + +Miserrimus Dexter lifted one of the truffles tenderly on his spike, and +held it up to me in a favorable light. + +"Make the most of one of the few first sensations in this life which +has no ingredient of disappointment lurking under the surface," he said. +"Look at it; meditate over it. You shall eat it, Mrs. Valeria, stewed in +Burgundy!" + +He lighted the gas for cooking with the air of a man who was about to +offer me an inestimable proof of his good-will. + +"Forgive me if I observe the most absolute silence," he said, "dating +from the moment when I take this in my hand." He produced a bright +little stew-pan from his collection of culinary utensils as he spoke. +"Properly pursued, the Art of Cookery allows of no divided attention," +he continued, gravely. "In that observation you will find the reason why +no woman ever has reached, or ever will reach, the highest distinction +as a cook. As a rule, women are incapable of absolutely concentrating +their attention on any one occupation for any given time. Their +minds will run on something else--say; typically, for the sake of +illustration, their sweetheart or their new bonnet. The one obstacle, +Mrs. Valeria, to your rising equal to the men in the various industrial +processes of life is not raised, as the women vainly suppose, by the +defective institutions of the age they live in. No! the obstacle is in +themselves. No institutions that can be devised to encourage them will +ever be strong enough to contend successfully with the sweetheart and +the new bonnet. A little while ago, for instance, I was instrumental in +getting women employed in our local post-office here. The other day I +took the trouble--a serious business to me--of getting downstairs, and +wheeling myself away to the office to see how they were getting on. I +took a letter with me to register. It had an unusually long address. The +registering woman began copying the address on the receipt form, in a +business-like manner cheering and delightful to see. Half way through, a +little child-sister of one of the other women employed trotted into the +office, and popped under the counter to go and speak to her relative. +The registering woman's mind instantly gave way. Her pencil stopped; her +eyes wandered off to the child with a charming expression of interest. +'Well, Lucy,' she said, 'how d'ye do?' Then she remembered business +again, and returned to her receipt. When I took it across the counter, +an important line in the address of my letter was left out in the copy. +Thanks to Lucy. Now a man in the same position would not have seen +Lucy--he would have been too closely occupied with what he was about +at the moment. There is the whole difference between the mental +constitution of the sexes, which no legislation will ever alter as long +as the world lasts! What does it matter? Women are infinitely superior +to men in the moral qualities which are the true adornments of humanity. +Be content--oh, my mistaken sisters, be content with that!" + +He twisted his chair around toward the stove. It was useless to dispute +the question with him, even if I had felt inclined to do so. He absorbed +himself in his stew-pan. + +I looked about me in the room. + +The same insatiable relish for horrors exhibited downstairs by the +pictures in the hall was displayed again here. The photographs hanging +on the wall represented the various forms of madness taken from the +life. The plaster casts ranged on the shelf opposite were casts (after +death) of the heads of famous murderers. A frightful little skeleton +of a woman hung in a cupboard, behind a glazed door, with this cynical +inscription placed above the skull: "Behold the scaffolding on which +beauty is built!" In a corresponding cupboard, with the door wide +open, there hung in loose folds a shirt (as I took it to be) of chamois +leather. Touching it (and finding it to be far softer than any chamois +leather that my fingers had ever felt before), I disarranged the folds, +and disclosed a ticket pinned among them, describing the thing in these +horrid lines: "Skin of a French Marquis, tanned in the Revolution of +Ninety-three. Who says the nobility are not good for something? They +make good leather." + +After this last specimen of my host's taste in curiosities, I pursued +my investigation no further. I returned to my chair, and waited for the +truffles. + +After a brief interval, the voice of the poet-painter-composer-and-cook +summoned me back to the alcove. + +The gas was out. The stew-pan and its accompaniments had vanished. On +the marble slab were two plates, two napkins, two rolls of bread, and +a dish, with another napkin in it, on which reposed two quaint little +black balls. Miserrimus Dexter, regarding me with a smile of benevolent +interest, put one of the balls on my plate, and took the other himself. +"Compose yourself, Mrs. Valeria," he said. "This is an epoch in your +life. Your first Truffle! Don't touch it with the knife. Use the fork +alone. And--pardon me; this is most important--eat slowly." + +I followed my instructions, and assumed an enthusiasm which I honestly +confess I did not feel. I privately thought the new vegetable a great +deal too rich, and in other respects quite unworthy of the fuss that had +been made about it. Miserrimus Dexter lingered and languished over his +truffles, and sipped his wonderful Burgundy, and sang his own praises +as a cook until I was really almost mad with impatience to return to +the real object of my visit. In the reckless state of mind which this +feeling produced, I abruptly reminded my host that he was wasting our +time, by the most dangerous question that I could possibly put to him. + +"Mr. Dexter," I said, "have you seen anything lately of Mrs. Beauly?" + +The easy sense of enjoyment expressed in his face left it at those rash +words, and went out like a suddenly extinguished light. That furtive +distrust of me which I had already noticed instantly made itself felt +again in his manner and in his voice. + +"Do you know Mrs. Beauly?" he asked. + +"I only know her," I answered, "by what I have read of her in the +Trial." + +He was not satisfied with that reply. + +"You must have an interest of some sort in Mrs. Beauly," he said, "or +you would not have asked me about her. Is it the interest of a friend, +or the interest of an enemy?" + +Rash as I might be, I was not quite reckless enough yet to meet that +plain question by an equally plain reply. I saw enough in his face to +warn me to be careful with him before it was too late. + +"I can only answer you in one way," I rejoined. "I must return to a +subject which is very painful to you--the subject of the Trial." + +"Go on," he said, with one of his grim outbursts of humor. "Here I am at +your mercy--a martyr at the stake. Poke the fire! poke the fire!" + +"I am only an ignorant woman," I resumed, "and I dare say I am quite +wrong; but there is one part of my husband's trial which doesn't at +all satisfy me. The defense set up for him seems to me to have been a +complete mistake." + +"A complete mistake?" he repeated. "Strange language, Mrs. Valeria, to +say the least of it!" He tried to speak lightly; he took up his goblet +of wine; but I could see that I had produced an effect on him. His hand +trembled as it carried the wine to his lips. + +"I don't doubt that Eustace's first wife really asked him to buy the +arsenic," I continued. "I don't doubt that she used it secretly to +improve her complexion. But w hat I do _not_ believe is that she died of +an overdose of the poison, taken by mistake." + +He put back the goblet of wine on the table near him so unsteadily that +he spilled the greater part of it. For a moment his eyes met mine, then +looked down again. + +"How do you believe she died?" he inquired, in tones so low that I could +barely hear them. + +"By the hand of a poisoner," I answered. + +He made a movement as if he were about to start up in the chair, and +sank back again, seized, apparently, with a sudden faintness. + +"Not my husband!" I hastened to add. "You know that I am satisfied of +_his_ innocence." + +I saw him shudder. I saw his hands fasten their hold convulsively on the +arms of his chair. + +"Who poisoned her?" he asked, still lying helplessly back in the chair. + +At the critical moment my courage failed me. I was afraid to tell him in +what direction my suspicions pointed. + +"Can't you guess?" I said. + +There was a pause. I supposed him to be secretly following his own +train of thought. It was not for long. On a sudden he started up in his +chair. The prostration which had possessed him appeared to vanish in +an instant. His eyes recovered their wild light; his hands were steady +again; his color was brighter than ever. Had he been pondering over the +secret of my interest in Mrs. Beauly? and had he guessed? He had! + +"Answer on your word of honor!" he cried. "Don't attempt to deceive me! +Is it a woman?" + +"It is." + +"What is the first letter of her name? Is it one of the first three +letters of the alphabet?" + +"Yes." + +"B?" + +"Yes." + +"Beauly?" + +"Beauly." + +He threw his hands up above his head, and burst into a frantic fit of +laughter. + +"I have lived long enough!" he broke out, wildly. "At last I have +discovered one other person in the world who sees it as plainly as I +do. Cruel Mrs. Valeria! why did you torture me? Why didn't you own it +before?" + +"What!" I exclaimed, catching the infection of his excitement. "Are +_your_ ideas _my_ ideas? Is it possible that _you_ suspect Mrs. Beauly +too?" + +He made this remarkable reply: + +"Suspect?" he repeated, contemptuously. "There isn't the shadow of a +doubt about it. Mrs. Beauly poisoned her." + + + +CHAPTER XXX. THE INDICTMENT OF MRS. BEAULY. + +I STARTED to my feet, and looked at Miserrimus Dexter. I was too much +agitated to be able to speak to him. + +My utmost expectations had not prepared me for the tone of absolute +conviction in which he had spoken. At the best, I had anticipated that +he might, by the barest chance, agree with me in suspecting Mrs. Beauly. +And now his own lips had said it, without hesitation or reserve! "There +isn't the shadow of a doubt: Mrs. Beauly poisoned her." + +"Sit down," he said, quietly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Nobody +can hear us in this room." + +I sat down again, and recovered myself a little. + +"Have you never told any one else what you have just told me?" was the +first question that I put to him. + +"Never. No one else suspected her." + +"Not even the lawyers?" + +"Not even the lawyers. There is no legal evidence against Mrs. Beauly. +There is nothing but moral certainty." + +"Surely you might have found the evidence if you had tried?" + +He laughed at the idea. + +"Look at me!" he said. "How is a man to hunt up evidence who is tied to +this chair? Besides, there were other difficulties in my way. I am not +generally in the habit of needlessly betraying myself--I am a cautious +man, though you may not have noticed it. But my immeasurable hatred of +Mrs. Beauly was not to be concealed. If eyes can tell secrets, she must +have discovered, in my eyes, that I hungered and thirsted to see her in +the hangman's hands. From first to last, I tell you, Mrs. Borgia-Beauly +was on her guard against me. Can I describe her cunning? All my +resources of language are not equal to the task. Take the degrees of +comparison to give you a faint idea of it: I am positively cunning; the +devil is comparatively cunning; Mrs. Beauly is superlatively cunning. +No! no! If she is ever discovered, at this distance of time, it will not +be done by a man--it will be done by a woman: a woman whom she doesn't +suspect; a woman who can watch her with the patience of a tigress in a +state of starvation--" + +"Say a woman like Me!" I broke out. "I am ready to try." + +His eyes glittered; his teeth showed themselves viciously under his +mustache; he drummed fiercely with both hands on the arms of his chair. + +"Do you really mean it?" he asked. + +"Put me in your position," I answered. "Enlighten me with your moral +certainty (as you call it)--and you shall see!" + +"I'll do it!" he said. "Tell me one thing first. How did an outside +stranger, like you, come to suspect her?" + +I set before him, to the best of my ability, the various elements of +suspicion which I had collected from the evidence at the Trial; and +I laid especial stress on the fact (sworn to by the nurse) that Mrs. +Beauly was missing exactly at he time when Christina Ormsay had left +Mrs. Eustace Macallan alone in her room. + +"You have hit it!" cried Miserrimus Dexter. "You are a wonderful woman! +What was she doing on the morning of the day when Mrs. Eustace Macallan +died poisoned? And where was she during the dark hours of the night? I +can tell you where she was _not_--she was not in her own room." + +"Not in her own room?" I repeated. "Are you really sure of that?" + +"I am sure of everything that I say, when I am speaking of Mrs. Beauly. +Mind that: and now listen! This is a drama; and I excel in dramatic +narrative. You shall judge for yourself. Date, the twentieth of October. +Scene the Corridor, called the Guests' Corridor, at Gleninch. On one +side, a row of windows looking out into the garden. On the other, a row +of four bedrooms, with dressing-rooms attached. First bedroom (beginning +from the staircase), occupied by Mrs. Beauly. Second bedroom, empty. +Third bedroom, occupied by Miserrimus Dexter. Fourth bedroom, empty. So +much for the Scene! The time comes next--the time is eleven at night. +Dexter discovered in his bedroom, reading. Enter to him Eustace +Macallan. Eustace speaks: 'My dear fellow, be particularly careful +not to make any noise; don't bowl your chair up and down the corridor +to-night.' Dexter inquires, 'Why?' Eustace answers: 'Mrs. Beauly has +been dining with some friends in Edinburgh, and has come back terribly +fatigued: she has gone up to her room to rest.' Dexter makes another +inquiry (satirical inquiry, this time): 'How does she look when she is +terribly fatigued? As beautiful as ever?' Answer: 'I don t know; I have +not seen her; she slipped upstairs, without speaking to anybody.' Third +inquiry by Dexter (logical inquiry, on this occasion): 'If she spoke to +nobody, how do you know she is fatigued?' Eustace hands Dexter a morsel +of paper, and answers: 'Don t be a fool! I found this on the hall table. +Remember what I have told you about keeping quiet; good-night!' Eustace +retires. Dexter looks at the paper, and reads these lines in pencil: +'Just returned. Please forgive me for going to bed without saying +good-night. I have overexerted myself; I am dreadfully fatigued. +(Signed) Helena.' Dexter is by nature suspicious. Dexter suspects Mrs. +Beauly. Never mind his reasons; there is no time to enter into his +reasons now. He puts the ease to himself thus: 'A weary woman would +never have given herself the trouble to write this. She would have found +it much less fatiguing to knock at the drawing-room door as she passed, +and to make her apologies by word of mouth. I see something here out +of the ordinary way; I shall make a night of it in my chair. Very good. +Dexter proceeds to make a night of it. He opens his door; wheels himself +softly into the corridor; locks the doors of the two empty bedrooms, and +returns (with the keys in his pocket) to his own room. 'Now,' says D. +to himself, 'if I hear a door softly opened in this part of the house, +I shall know for certain it is Mrs. Beauly's door!' Upon that he closes +his own door, leaving the tiniest little chink to look through; puts out +his light; and waits and watches at his tiny little chink, like a cat at +a mouse-hole. The corridor is the only place he wants to see; and a lamp +burns there all night. Twelve o'clock strikes; he hears the doors below +bolted and locked, and nothing happens. Half-past twelve--and +nothing still. The house is as silent as the grave. One o'clock; two +o'clock--same silence. Half-past two--and something happens at last. +Dexter hears a sound close by, in the corridor. It is the sound of +a handle turning very softly in a door--in the only door that can be +opened, the door of Mrs. Beauly's room. Dexter drops noiselessly from +his chair onto his hands; lies flat on the floor at his chink, and +listens. He hears the handle closed again; he sees a dark object flit +by him; he pops his head out of his door, down on the floor where nobody +would think of looking for him. And what does he see? Mrs. Beauly! There +she goes, with the long brown cloak over her shoulders, which she +wears when she is driving, floating behind her. In a moment more she +disappears, past the fourth bedroom, and turns at a right angle, into a +second corridor, called the South Corridor. What rooms are in the South +Corridor? There are three rooms. First room, the little study, +mentioned in the nurse's evidence. Second room, Mrs. Eustace Macallan's +bedchamber. Third room, her husband's bedchamber. What does Mrs. Beauly +(supposed to be worn out by fatigue) want in that part of the house +at half-past two in the morning? Dexter decides on running the risk of +being seen--and sets off on a voyage of discovery. Do you know how +he gets from place to place without his chair? Have you seen the poor +deformed creature hop on his hands? Shall he show you how he does it, +before he goes on with his story?" + +I hastened to stop the proposed exhibition. + +"I saw you hop last night," I said. "Go on!--pray go on with your story! + +"Do you like my dramatic style of narrative?" he asked. "Am I +interesting?" + +"Indescribably interesting, Mr. Dexter. I am eager to hear more." + +He smiled in high approval of his own abilities. + +"I am equally good at the autobiographical style," he said. "Shall we +try that next, by way of variety?" + +"Anything you like," I cried, losing all patience with him, "if you will +only go on!" + +"Part Two; Autobiographical Style," he announced, with a wave of his +hand. "I hopped along the Guests' Corridor, and turned into the South +Corridor. I stopped at the little study. Door open; nobody there. I +crossed the study to the second door, communicating with Mrs. Macallan's +bedchamber. Locked! I looked through the keyhole Was there something +hanging over it, on the other side? I can't say--I only know there was +nothing to be seen but blank darkness. I listened. Nothing to be heard. +Same blank darkness, same absolute silence, inside the locked second +door of Mrs. Eustace's room, opening on the corridor. I went on to her +husband's bedchamber. I had the worst possible opinion of Mrs. Beauly--I +should not have been in the least surprised if I had caught her in +Eustace's room. I looked through the keyhole. In this case, the key +was out of it--or was turned the right way for me--I don't know which. +Eustace's bed was opposite the door. No discovery. I could see him, all +by himself, innocently asleep. I reflected a little. The back staircase +was at the end of the corridor, beyond me. I slid down the stairs, and +looked about me on the lower floor, by the light of the night-lamp. +Doors all fast locked and keys outside, so that I could try them myself. +House door barred and bolted. Door leading into the servants' offices +barred and bolted. I got back to my own room, and thought it out +quietly. Where could she be? Certainly _in_ the house, somewhere. Where? +I had made sure of the other rooms; the field of search was exhausted. +She could only be in Mrs. Macallan's room--the _one_ room which had +baffled my investigations; the _only_ room which had not lent itself +to examination. Add to this that the key of the door in the study, +communicating with Mrs. Macallan's room, was stated in the nurse's +evidence to be missing; and don't forget that the dearest object of Mrs. +Beauly's life (on the showing of her own letter, read at the Trial) was +to be Eustace Macallan's happy wife. Put these things together in your +own mind, and you will know what my thoughts were, as I sat waiting for +events in my chair, without my telling you. Toward four o'clock, strong +as I am, fatigue got the better of me. I fell asleep. Not for long. +I awoke with a start and looked at my watch. Twenty-five minutes past +four. Had she got back to her room while I was asleep? I hopped to her +door and listened. Not a sound. I softly opened the door. The room was +empty. I went back again to my own room to wait and watch. It was hard +work to keep my eyes open. I drew up the window to let the cool air +refresh me; I fought hard with exhausted nature, and exhausted nature +won. I fell asleep again. This time it was eight in the morning when +I awoke. I have goodish ears, as you may have noticed. I heard women's +voices talking under my open window. I peeped out. Mrs. Beauly and her +maid in close confabulation! Mrs. Beauly and her maid looking guiltily +about them to make sure that they were neither seen nor heard! 'Take +care, ma'am,' I heard the maid say; 'that horrid deformed monster is as +sly as a fox. Mind he doesn't discover you.' Mrs. Beauly answered, 'You +go first, and look out in front; I will follow you, and make sure there +is nobody behind us.' With that they disappeared around the corner of +the house. In five minutes more I heard the door of Mrs. Beauly's room +softly opened and closed again. Three hours later the nurse met her in +the corridor, innocently on her way to make inquiries at Mrs. Eustace +Macallan's door. What do you think of these circumstances? What do you +think of Mrs. Beauly and her maid having something to say to each other, +which they didn't dare say in the house--for fear of my being behind +some door listening to them? What do you think of these discoveries of +mine being made on the very morning when Mrs. Eustace was taken ill--on +the very day when she died by a poisoner's hand? Do you see your way to +the guilty person? And has mad Miserrimus Dexter been of some assistance +to you, so far?" + +I was too violently excited to answer him. The way to the vindication of +my husband's innocence was opened to me at last! + +"Where is she?" I cried. "And where is that servant who is in her +confidence?" + +"I can't tell you," he said. "I don't know." + +"Where can I inquire? Can you tell me that?" + +He considered a little. "There is one man who must know where she is--or +who could find it out for you," he said. + +"Who is he? What is his name?" + +"He is a friend of Eustace's. Major Fitz-David." + +"I know him! I am going to dine with him next week. He has asked you to +dine too." + +Miserrimus Dexter laughed contemptuously. + +"Major Fitz-David may do very well for the ladies," he said. "The ladies +can treat him as a species of elderly human lap-dog. I don t dine with +lap-dogs; I have said, No. You go. He or some of his ladies may be of +use to you. Who are the guests? Did he tell you?" + +"There was a French lady whose name I forget," I said, "and Lady +Clarinda--" + +"That will do! She is a friend of Mrs. Beauly's. She is sure to +know where Mrs. Beauly is. Come to me the moment you have got your +information. Find out if the maid is with her: she is the easiest to +deal with of the two. Only make the maid open her lips, and we have +got Mrs. Beauly. We crush her," he cried, bringing his hand down like +lightning on the last languid fly of the season, crawling over the arm +of his chair--"we crush her as I crush this fly. Stop! A question--a +most important question in dealing with the maid. Have you got any +money?" + +"Plenty of money." + +He snapped his fingers joyously. + +"The maid is ours!" he cried. "It's a matter of pounds, shillings, and +pence with the maid. Wait! Another question. About your name? If you +approach Mrs. Beauly in your own character as Eustace's wife, you +approach her as the woman who has taken her place--you make a mortal +enemy of her at starting. Beware of that!" + +My jealousy of Mrs. Beauly, smoldering in me all through the interview, +burst into flames at those words. I could resist it no longer--I was +obliged to ask him if my husband had ever loved her. + +"Tell me the truth," I said. "Did Eustace really--?" + +He burst out laughing maliciously, he penetrated my jealousy, and +guessed my question almost before it had passed my lips. + +"Yes," he said, "Eustace did really love her--and no mistake about it. +She had every reason to believe (before the Trial) that the wife's death +would put her in the wife's place. But the Trial made another man of +Eustace. Mrs. Beauly had been a witness of the public degradation of +him. That was enough to prevent his marrying Mrs. Beauly. He broke off +with her at once and forever--for the same reason precisely which has +led him to separate himself from you. Existence with a woman who knew +that he had been tried for his life as a murderer was an existence that +he was not hero enough to face. You wanted the truth. There it is! You +have need to be cautious of Mrs. Beauly--you have no need to be jealous +of her. Take the safe course. Arrange with the Major, when you meet Lady +Clarinda at his dinner, that you meet her under an assumed name." + +"I can go to the dinner," I said, "under the name in which Eustace +married me. I can go as 'Mrs. Woodville.'" + +"The very thing!" he exclaimed. "What would I not give to be present +when Lady Clarinda introduces you to Mrs. Beauly! Think of the +situation. A woman with a hideous secret hidden in her inmost soul: and +another woman who knows of it--another woman who is bent, by fair means +or foul, on dragging that secret into the light of day. What a struggle! +What a plot for a novel! I am in a fever when I think of it. I am beside +myself when I look into the future, and see Mrs. Borgia-Beauly brought +to her knees at last. Don't be alarmed!" he cried, with the wild light +flashing once more in his eyes. "My brains are beginning to boil again +in my head. I must take refuge in physical exercise. I must blow off the +steam, or I shall explode in my pink jacket on the spot!" + +The old madness seized on him again. I made for the door, to secure my +retreat in case of necessity--and then ventured to look around at him. + +He was off on his furious wheels--half man, half chair--flying like +a whirlwind to the other end of the room. Even this exercise was not +violent enough for him in his present mood. In an instant he was down +on the floor, poised on his hands, and looking in the distance like a +monstrous frog. Hopping down the room, he overthrew, one after another, +all the smaller and lighter chairs as he passed them; arrived at the +end, he turned, surveyed the prostrate chairs, encouraged himself with +a scream of triumph, and leaped rapidly over chair after chair on his +hands--his limbless body now thrown back from the shoulders, and now +thrown forward to keep the balance--in a manner at once wonderful and +horrible to behold. "Dexter's Leap-frog!" he cried, cheerfully, perching +himself with his birdlike lightness on the last of the prostrate chairs +when he had reached the further end of the room. "I'm pretty active, +Mrs. Valeria, considering I'm a cripple. Let us drink to the hanging of +Mrs. Beauly in another bottle of Burgundy!" + +I seized desperately on the first excuse that occurred to me for getting +away from him. + +"You forget," I said--"I must go at once to the Major. If I don't warn +him in time, he may speak of me to Lady Clarinda by the wrong name." + +Ideas of hurry and movement were just the ideas to take his fancy in his +present state. He blew furiously on the whistle that summoned Ariel from +the kitchen regions, and danced up and down on his hands in the full +frenzy of his delight. + +"Ariel shall get you a cab!" he cried. "Drive at a gallop to the +Major's. Set the trap for her without losing a moment. Oh, what a day of +days this has been! Oh, what a relief to get rid of my dreadful secret, +and share it with You! I am suffocating with happiness--I am like +the Spirit of the Earth in Shelley's poem." He broke out with the +magnificent lines in "Prometheus Unbound," in which the Earth feels +the Spirit of Love, and bursts into speech. "'The joy, the triumph, the +delight, the madness! the boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness! +the vaporous exultation not to be confined! Ha! ha! the animation of +delight, which wraps me like an atmosphere of light, and bears me as a +cloud is borne by its own wind.' That's how I feel, Valeria!--that's how +I feel!" + +I crossed the threshold while he was still speaking. The last I saw of +him he was pouring out that glorious flood of words--his deformed body, +poised on the overthrown chair, his face lifted in rapture to some +fantastic heaven of his own making. I slipped out softly into the +antechamber. Even as I crossed the room, he changed once more. I heard +his ringing cry; I heard the soft thump-thump of his hands on the floor. +He was going down the room again, in "Dexter's Leap-frog," flying over +the prostrate chairs. + +In the hall, Ariel was on the watch for me. + +As I approached her, I happened to be putting on my gloves. She stopped +me; and, taking my right arm, lifted my hand toward her face. Was she +going to kiss it? or to bite it? Neither. She smelt it like a dog--and +dropped it again with a hoarse chuckling laugh. + +"You don't smell of his perfumes," she said. "You _haven't_ touched his +beard. _Now_ I believe you. Want a cab?" + +"Thank you. I'll walk till I meet a cab." + +She was bent on being polite to me--now I had _not_ touched his beard. + +"I say!" she burst out, in her deepest notes. + +"Yes?" + +"I'm glad I didn't upset you in the canal. There now!" + +She gave me a friendly smack on the shoulder which nearly knocked me +down--relapsed, the instant after, into her leaden stolidity of look +and manner---and led the way out by the front door. I heard her hoarse +chuckling laugh as she locked the gate behind me. My star was at last +in the ascendant! In one and the same day I had found my way into the +confidence of Ariel and Ariel's master. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE DEFENSE OF MRS. BEAULY. + +THE days that elapsed before Major Fitz-David's dinner-party were +precious days to me. + +My long interview with Miserrimus Dexter had disturbed me far more +seriously than I suspected at the time. It was not until some hours +after I had left him that I really began to feel how my nerves had been +tried by all that I had seen and heard during my visit at his house. +I started at the slightest noises; I dreamed of dreadful things; I was +ready to cry without reason at one moment, and to fly into a passion +without reason at another. Absolute rest was what I wanted, and (thanks +to my good Benjamin) was what I got. The dear old man controlled his +anxieties on my account, and spared me the questions which his fatherly +interest in my welfare made him eager to ask. It was tacitly understood +between us that all conversation on the subject of my visit to +Miserrimus Dexter (of which, it is needless to say, he strongly +disapproved) should be deferred until repose had restored my energies of +body and mind. I saw no visitors. Mrs. Macallan came to the cottage, +and Major Fitz-David came to the cottage--one of them to hear what had +passed between Miserrimus Dexter and myself, the other to amuse me with +the latest gossip about the guests at the forthcoming dinner. Benjamin +took it on himself to make my apologies, and to spare me the exertion +of receiving my visitors. We hired a little open carriage, and took long +drives in the pretty country lanes still left flourishing within a +few miles of the northern suburb of London. At home we sat and talked +quietly of old times, or played at backgammon and dominoes--and so, for +a few happy days, led the peaceful unadventurous life which was good for +me. When the day of the dinner arrived, I felt restored to my customary +health. I was ready again, and eager again, for the introduction to Lady +Clarinda and the discovery of Mrs. Beauly. + +Benjamin looked a little sadly at my flushed face as we drove to Major +Fitz-David's house. + +"Ah, my dear," he said, in his simple way, "I see you are well again! +You have had enough of our quiet life already." + +My recollection of events and persons, in general, at the dinner-party, +is singularly indistinct. + +I remember that we were very merry, and as easy and familiar with one +another as if we had been old friends. I remember that Madame Mirliflore +was unapproachably superior to the other women present, in the perfect +beauty of her dress, and in the ample justice which she did to the +luxurious dinner set before us. I remember the Major's young prima +donna, more round-eyed, more overdressed, more shrill and strident as +the coming "Queen of Song," than ever. I remember the Major himself, +always kissing our hands, always luring us to indulge in dainty dishes +and drinks, always making love, always detecting resemblances between +us, always "under the charm," and never once out of his character +as elderly Don Juan from the beginning of the evening to the end. +I remember dear old Benjamin, completely bewildered, shrinking into +corners, blushing when he was personally drawn into the conversation, +frightened at Madame Mirliflore, bashful with Lady Clarinda, submissive +to the Major, suffering under the music, and from the bottom of his +honest old heart wishing himself home again. And there, as to the +members of that cheerful little gathering, my memory finds its +limits--with one exception. The appearance of Lady Clarinda is as +present to me as if I had met her yesterday; and of the memorable +conversation which we two held together privately, toward the close of +the evening, it is no exaggeration to say that I can still call to mind +almost every word. + +I see her dress, I hear her voice again, while I write. + +She was attired, I remember, with that extreme assumption of simplicity +which always defeats its own end by irresistibly suggesting art. She +wore plain white muslin, over white silk, without trimming or ornament +of any kind. Her rich brown hair, dressed in defiance of the prevailing +fashion, was thrown back from her forehead, and gathered into a simple +knot behind--without adornment of any sort. A little white ribbon +encircled her neck, fastened by the only article of jewelry that she +wore--a tiny diamond brooch. She was unquestionably handsome; but her +beauty was of the somewhat hard and angular type which is so often seen +in English women of her race: the nose and chin too prominent and too +firmly shaped; the well-opened gray eyes full of spirit and dignity, but +wanting in tenderness and mobility of expression. Her manner had all +the charm which fine breeding can confer--exquisitely polite, easily +cordial; showing that perfect yet unobtrusive confidence in herself +which (in England) seems to be the natural outgrowth of pre-eminent +social rank. If you had accepted her for what she was, on the surface, +you would have said, Here is the model of a noble woman who is perfectly +free from pride. And if you had taken a liberty with her, on the +strength of that conviction, she would have made you remember it to the +end of your life. + +We got on together admirably. I was introduced as "Mrs. Woodville," by +previous arrangement with the Major--effected through Benjamin. Before +the dinner was over we had promised to exchange visits. Nothing but the +opportunity was wanting to lead Lady Clarinda into talking, as I wanted +her to talk, of Mrs. Beauly. + +Late in the evening the opportunity came. + +I had taken refuge from the terrible bravura singing of the Major's +strident prima donna in the back drawing-room. As I had hoped and +anticipated, after a while Lady Clarinda (missing me from the group +around the piano) came in search of me. She seated herself by my side, +out of sight and out of hearing of our friends in the front room; and, +to my infinite relief and delight, touched on the subject of Miserrimus +Dexter of her own accord. Something I had said of him, when his name had +been accidentally mentioned at dinner, remained in her memory, and led +us, by perfectly natural gradations, into speaking of Mrs. Beauly. "At +last," I thought to myself, "the Major's little dinner will bring me my +reward!" + +And what a reward it was, when it came! My heart sinks in me again--as +it sank on that never-to-be-forgotten evening--while I sit at my desk +thinking of it. + +"So Dexter really spoke to you of Mrs. Beauly!" exclaimed Lady Clarinda. +"You have no idea how you surprise me." + +"May I ask why?" + +"He hates her! The last time I saw him he wouldn't allow me to mention +her name. It is one of his innumerable oddities. If any such feeling as +sympathy is a possible feeling in such a nature as his, he ought to like +Helena Beauly. She is the most completely unconventional person I know. +When she does break out, poor dear, she says things and does things +which are almost reckless enough to be worthy of Dexter himself. I +wonder whether you would like her?" + +"You have kindly asked me to visit you, Lady Clarinda. Perhaps I may +meet her at your house?" + +"I hope you will not wait until that is likely to happen," she said. +"Helena's last whim is to fancy that she has got--the gout, of all the +maladies in the world! She is away at some wonderful baths in Hungary +or Bohemia (I don't remember which)--and where she will go, or what she +will do next, it is perfectly impossible to say.--Dear Mrs. Woodville! +is the heat of the fire too much for you? You are looking quite pale." + +I _felt_ that I was looking pale. The discovery of Mrs. Beauly's absence +from England was a shock for which I was quite unprepared. For a moment +it unnerved me. + +"Shall we go into the other room?" asked Lady Clarinda. + +To go into the other room would be to drop the conversation. I was +determined not to let that catastrophe happen. It was just possible that +Mrs. Beauly's maid might have quitted her service, or might have been +left behind in England. My information would not be complete until I +knew what had become of the maid. I pushed my chair back a little from +the fire-place, and took a hand-screen from a table near me; it might be +made useful in hiding my face, if any more disappointments were in store +for me. + +"Thank you, Lady Clarinda; I was only a little too near the fire. I +shall do admirably here. You surprise me about Mrs. Beauly. From what +Mr. Dexter said to me, I had imagined--" + +"Oh, you must not believe anything Dexter tells you!" interposed Lady +Clarinda. "He delights in mystifying people; and he purposely misled +you, I have no doubt. If all that I hear is true, _he_ ought to know +more of Helena Beauly's strange freaks and fancies than most people. +He all but discovered her in one of her adventures (down in Scotland), +which reminds me of the story in Auber's charming opera--what is it +called? I shall forget my own name next! I mean the opera in which the +two nuns slip out of the convent, and go to the ball. Listen! How very +odd! That vulgar girl is singing the castanet song in the second act at +this moment. Major! what opera is the young lady singing from?" + +The Major was scandalized at this interruption. He bustled into the +back room--whispered, "Hush! hush! my dear lady; the 'Domino Noir'"--and +bustled back again to the piano. + +"Of course!" said Lady Clarinda. "How stupid of me! The 'Domino Noir.' +And how strange that you should forget it too!" + +I had remembered it perfectly; but I could not trust myself to speak. +If, as I believed, the "adventure" mentioned by Lady Clarinda was +connected, in some way, with Mrs. Beauly's mysterious proceedings on the +morning of the twenty-first of October, I was on the brink of the very +discovery which it was the one interest of my life to make! I held the +screen so as to hide my face; and I said, in the steadiest voice that I +could command at the moment, + +"Pray go on!--pray tell me what the adventure was!" + +Lady Clarinda was quite flattered by my eager desire to hear the coming +narrative. + +"I hope my story will be worthy of the interest which you are so good as +to feel in it," she said. "If you only knew Helena--it is _so_ like +her! I have it, you must know, from her maid. She has taken a woman who +speaks foreign languages with her to Hungary and she has left the maid +with me. A perfect treasure! I should be only too glad if I could keep +her in my service: she has but one defect, a name I hate--Phoebe. Well! +Phoebe and her mistress were staying at a place near Edinburgh, called +(I think) Gleninch. The house belonged to that Mr. Macallan who was +afterward tried--you remember it, of course?--for poisoning his wife. A +dreadful case; but don't be alarmed--my story has nothing to do with +it; my story has to do with Helena Beauly. One evening (while she was +staying at Gleninch) she was engaged to dine with some English friends +visiting Edinburgh. The same night--also in Edinburgh--there was a +masked ball, given by somebody whose name I forget. The ball (almost +an unparalleled event in Scotland!) was reported to be not at all a +reputable affair. All sorts of amusing people were to be there. Ladies +of doubtful virtue, you know, and gentlemen on the outlying limits of +society, and so on. Helena's friends had contrived to get cards, and +were going, in spite of the objections--in the strictest incognito, of +course, trusting to their masks. And Helena herself was bent on going +with them, if she could only manage it without being discovered +at Gleninch. Mr. Macallan was one of the strait-laced people who +disapproved of the ball. No lady, he said, could show herself at such +an entertainment without compromising her reputation. What stuff! Well, +Helena, in one of her wildest moments, hit on a way of going to the ball +without discovery which was really as ingenious as a plot in a French +play. She went to the dinner in the carriage from Gleninch, having sent +Phoebe to Edinburgh before her. It was not a grand dinner--a little +friendly gathering: no evening dress. When the time came for going back +to Gleninch, what do you think Helena did? She sent her maid back in the +carriage, instead of herself! Phoebe was dressed in her mistress's cloak +and bonnet and veil. She was instructed to run upstairs the moment she +got to the house, leaving on the hall table a little note of apology +(written by Helena, of course!), pleading fatigue as an excuse for not +saying good-night to her host. The mistress and the maid were about +the same height; and the servants naturally never discovered the +trick. Phoebe got up to her mistress's room safely enough. There, her +instructions were to wait until the house was quiet for the night, and +then to steal up to her own room. While she was waiting, the girl fell +asleep. She only awoke at two in the morning, or later. It didn't much +matter, as she thought. She stole out on tiptoe, and closed the door +behind her. Before she was at the end of the corridor, she fancied she +heard something. She waited until she was safe on the upper story, +and then she looked over the banisters. There was Dexter--so like +him!--hopping about on his hands (did you ever see it? the most +grotesquely horrible exhibition you can imagine!)--there was Dexter, +hopping about, and looking through keyholes, evidently in search of the +person who had left her room at two in the morning; and no doubt taking +Phoebe for her mistress, seeing that she had forgotten to take her +mistress's cloak off her shoulders. The next morning, early, Helena came +back in a hired carriage from Edinburgh, with a hat and mantle borrowed +from her English friends. She left the carriage in the road, and got +into the house by way of the garden--without being discovered, this +time, by Dexter or by anybody. Clever and daring, wasn't it? And, as +I said just now, quite a new version of the 'Domino Noir.' You will +wonder, as I did, how it was that Dexter didn't make mischief in the +morning? He would have done it no doubt. But even he was silenced (as +Phoebe told me) by the dreadful event that happened in the house on the +same day. My dear Mrs. Woodville! the heat of this room is certainly too +much for you, take my smelling-bottle. Let me open the window." + +I was just able to answer, "Pray say nothing! Let me slip out into the +open air!" + +I made my way unobserved to the landing, and sat down on the stairs to +compose myself where nobody could see me. In a moment more I felt a hand +laid gently on my shoulder, and discovered good Benjamin looking at +me in dismay. Lady Clarinda had considerately spoken to him, and had +assisted him in quietly making his retreat from the room, while his +host's attention was still absorbed by the music. + +"My dear child!" he whispered, "what is the matter?" + +"Take me home, and I will tell you," was all that I could say. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. A SPECIMEN OF MY WISDOM. + +THE scene must follow my erratic movements--the scene must close on +London for a while, and open in Edinburgh. Two days had passed since +Major Fitz-David's dinner-party. I was able to breathe again freely, +after the utter destruction of all my plans for the future, and of all +the hopes that I had founded on them. I could now see that I had been +trebly in the wrong--wrong in hastily and cruelly suspecting an innocent +woman; wrong in communicating my suspicions (without an attempt to +verify them previously) to another person; wrong in accepting the +flighty inferences and conclusions of Miserrimus Dexter as if they had +been solid truths. I was so ashamed of my folly, when I thought of the +past--so completely discouraged, so rudely shaken in my confidence +in myself, when I thought of the future, that, for once in a way, I +accepted sensible advice when it was offered to me. "My dear," said good +old Benjamin, after we had thoroughly talked over my discomfiture on +our return from the dinner-party, "judging by what you tell me of him, +I don't fancy Mr. Dexter. Promise me that you will not go back to him +until you have first consulted some person who is fitter to guide you +through this dangerous business than I am." + +I gave him my promise, on one condition. "If I fail to find the person," +I said, "will you undertake to help me?" + +Benjamin pledged himself to help me, cheerfully. + +The next morning, when I was brushing my hair, and thinking over my +affairs, I called to mind a forgotten resolution of mine at the time I +first read the Report of my husband's Trial. I mean the resolution--if +Miserrimus Dexter failed me--to apply to one of the two agents +(or solicitors, as we should term them) who had prepared Eustace's +defense--namely, Mr. Playmore. This gentleman, it may be remembered, +had especially recommended himself to my confidence by his friendly +interference when the sheriff's officers were in search of my husband's +papers. Referring back to the evidence Of "Isaiah Schoolcraft," I found +that Mr. Playmore had been called in to assist and advise Eustace by +Miserrimus Dexter. He was therefore not only a friend on whom I might +rely, but a friend who was personally acquainted with Dexter as well. +Could there be a fitter man to apply to for enlightenment in the +darkness that had now gathered around me? Benjamin, when I put the +question to him, acknowledged that I had made a sensible choice on this +occasion, and at once exerted himself to help me. He discovered (through +his own lawyer) the address of Mr. Playmore's London agents; and from +these gentlemen he obtained for me a letter of introduction to Mr. +Playmore himself. I had nothing to conceal from my new adviser; and I +was properly described in the letter as Eustace Macallan's second wife. + +The same evening we two set forth (Benjamin refused to let me travel +alone) by the night mail for Edinburgh. + +I had previously written to Miserrimus Dexter (by my old friend's +advice), merely saying that I had been unexpectedly called away from +London for a few days, and that I would report to him the result of my +interview with Lady Clarinda on my return. A characteristic answer was +brought back to the cottage by Ariel: "Mrs. Valeria, I happen to be a +man of quick perceptions; and I can read the _unwritten_ part of your +letter. Lady Clarinda has shaken your confidence in me. Very good. I +pledge myself to shake your confidence in Lady Clarinda. In the meantime +I am not offended. In serene composure I await the honor and the +happiness of your visit. Send me word by telegraph whether you would +like Truffles again, or whether you would prefer something simpler and +lighter--say that incomparable French dish, Pig's Eyelids and Tamarinds. +Believe me always your ally and admirer, your poet and cook--DEXTER." + +Arrived in Edinburgh, Benjamin and I had a little discussion. The +question in dispute between us was whether I should go with him, or go +alone, to Mr. Playmore. I was all for going alone. + +"My experience of the world is not a very large one," I said. "But +I have observed that, in nine cases out of ten, a man will make +concessions to a woman, if she approaches him by her self, which he +would hesitate even to consider if another man was within hearing. I +don't know how it is--I only know that it is so; If I find that I get on +badly with Mr. Playmore, I will ask him for a second appointment, and, +in that case, you shall accompany me. Don't think me self-willed. Let me +try my luck alone, and let us see what comes of it." + +Benjamin yielded, with his customary consideration for me. I sent my +letter of introduction to Mr. Playmore's office--his private house being +in the neighborhood of Gleninch. My messenger brought back a polite +answer, inviting me to visit him at an early hour in the afternoon. At +the appointed time, to the moment, I rang the bell at the office door. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. A SPECIMEN OF MY FOLLY. + +THE incomprehensible submission of Scotchmen to the ecclesiastical +tyranny of their Established Church has produced--not unnaturally, as +I think--a very mistaken impression of the national character in the +popular mind. + +Public opinion looks at the institution of "The Sabbath" in Scotland; +finds it unparalleled in Christendom for its senseless and savage +austerity; sees a nation content to be deprived by its priesthood of +every social privilege on one day in every week--forbidden to travel; +forbidden to telegraph; forbidden to eat a hot dinner; forbidden to +read a newspaper; in short, allowed the use of two liberties only, +the liberty of exhibiting one's self at the Church and the liberty of +secluding one's self over the bottle--public opinion sees this, and +arrives at the not unreasonable conclusion that the people who submit to +such social laws as these are the most stolid, stern and joyless people +on the face of the earth. Such are Scotchmen supposed to be, when viewed +at a distance. But how do Scotchmen appear when they are seen under a +closer light, and judged by the test of personal experience? There +are no people more cheerful, more companionable, more hospitable, more +liberal in their ideas, to be found on the face of the civilized globe +than the very people who submit to the Scotch Sunday! On the six days +of the week there is an atmosphere of quiet humor, a radiation of genial +common-sense, about Scotchmen in general, which is simply delightful +to feel. But on the seventh day these same men will hear one of their +ministers seriously tell them that he views taking a walk on the Sabbath +in the light of an act of profanity, and will be the only people in +existence who can let a man talk downright nonsense without laughing at +him. + +I am not clever enough to be able to account for this anomaly in the +national character; I can only notice it by way of necessary preparation +for the appearance in my little narrative of a personage not frequently +seen in writing--a cheerful Scotchman. + +In all other respects I found Mr. Playmore only negatively remarkable. +He was neither old nor young, neither handsome nor ugly; he was +personally not in the least like the popular idea of a lawyer; and he +spoke perfectly good English, touched with only the slightest possible +flavor of a Scotch accent. + +"I have the honor to be an old friend of Mr. Macallan," he said, +cordially shaking hands with me; "and I am honestly happy to become +acquainted with Mr. Macallan's wife. Where will you sit? Near the light? +You are young enough not to be afraid of the daylight just yet. Is this +your first visit to Edinburgh? Pray let me make it as pleasant to you +as I can. I shall be delighted to present Mrs. Playmore to you. We are +staying in Edinburgh for a little while. The Italian opera is here, and +we have a box for to-night. Will you kindly waive all ceremony and dine +with us and go to the music afterward?" + +"You are very kind," I answered. "But I have some anxieties just now +which will make me a very poor companion for Mrs. Playmore at the opera. +My letter to you mentions, I think, that I have to ask your advice on +matters which are of very serious importance to me." + +"Does it?" he rejoined. "To tell you the truth, I have not read the +letter through. I saw your name in it, and I gathered from your message +that you wished to see me here. I sent my note to your hotel--and then +went on with something else. Pray pardon me. Is this a professional +consultation? For your own sake, I sincerely hope not!" + +"It is hardly a professional consultation, Mr. Playmore. I find myself +in a very painful position; and I come to you to advise me, under very +unusual circumstances. I shall surprise you very much when you hear what +I have to say; and I am afraid I shall occupy more than my fair share of +your time." + +"I and my time are entirely at your disposal," he said. "Tell me what I +can do for you--and tell it in your own way." + +The kindness of this language was more than matched by the kindness of +his manner. I spoke to him freely and fully--I told him my strange story +without the slightest reserve. + +He showed the varying impressions that I produced on his mind without +the slightest concealment. My separation from Eustace distressed him. +My resolution to dispute the Scotch Verdict, and my unjust suspicions +of Mrs. Beauly, first amused, then surprised him. It was not, however, +until I had described my extraordinary interview with Miserrimus Dexter, +and my hardly less remarkable conversation with Lady Clarinda, that I +produced my greatest effect on the lawyer's mind. I saw him change color +for the first time. He started, and muttered to himself, as if he +had completely forgotten me. "Good God!" I heard him say--"can it be +possible? Does the truth lie _that_ way after all?" + +I took the liberty of interrupting him. I had no idea of allowing him to +keep his thoughts to himself. + +"I seem to have surprised you?" I said. + +He started at the sound of my voice. + +"I beg ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed. "You have not only +surprised me--you have opened an entirely new view to my mind. I see +a possibility, a really startling possibility, in connection with the +poisoning at Gleninch, which never occurred to me until the present +moment. This is a nice state of things," he added, falling back again +into his ordinary humor. "Here is the client leading the lawyer. My dear +Mrs. Eustace, which is it--do you want my advice? or do I want yours?" + +"May I hear the new idea?" I asked. + +"Not just yet, if you will excuse me," he answered. "Make allowances for +my professional caution. I don't want to be professional with you--my +great anxiety is to avoid it. But the lawyer gets the better of the +man, and refuses to be suppressed. I really hesitate to realize what +is passing in my own mind without some further inquiry. Do me a great +favor. Let us go over a part of the ground again, and let me ask you +some questions as we proceed. Do you feel any objection to obliging me +in this matter?" + +"Certainly not, Mr. Playmore. How far shall we go back?" + +"To your visit to Dexter with your mother-in-law. When you first asked +him if he had any ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs. Eustace +Macallan's death, did I understand you to say that he looked at you +suspiciously?" + +"Very suspiciously." + +"And his face cleared up again when you told him that your question was +only suggested by what you had read in the Report of the Trial?" + +"Yes." + +He drew a slip of paper out of the drawer in his desk, dipped his pen +in the ink, considered a little, and placed a chair for me close at his +side. + +"The lawyer disappears," he said, "and the man resumes his proper place. +There shall be no professional mysteries between you and me. As your +husband's old friend, Mrs. Eustace, I feel no common interest in you. I +see a serious necessity for warning you before it is too late; and I can +only do so to any good purpose by running a risk on which few men in my +place would venture. Personally and professionally, I am going to trust +you--though I _am_ a Scotchman and a lawyer. Sit here, and look over my +shoulder while I make my notes. You will see what is passing in my mind +if you see what I write." + +I sat down by him, and looked over his shoulder, without the smallest +pretense of hesitation. + +He began to write as follows: + +"The poisoning at Gleninch. Queries: In what position does Miserrimus +Dexter stand toward the poisoning? And what does he (presumably) know +about that matter? + +"He has ideas which are secrets. He suspects that he has betrayed them, +or that they have been discovered in some way inconceivable to himself. +He is palpably relieved when he finds that this is not the case." + +The pen stopped; and the questions went on. + +"Let us advance to your second visit," said Mr. Playmore, "when you +saw Dexter alone. Tell me again what he did, and how he looked when you +informed him that you were not satisfied with the Scotch Verdict." + +I repeated what I have already written in these pages. The pen went back +to the paper again, and added these lines: + +"He hears nothing more remarkable than that a person visiting him, who +is interested in the case, refuses to accept the verdict at the Macallan +Trial as a final verdict, and proposes to reopen the inquiry. What does +he do upon that? + +"He exhibits all the symptoms of a panic of terror; he sees himself in +some incomprehensible danger; he is frantic at one moment and servile +at the next; he must and will know what this disturbing person really +means. And when he is informed on that point, he first turns pale and +doubts the evidence of his own senses; and next, with nothing said to +justify it, gratuitously accuses his visitor of suspecting somebody. +Query here: When a small sum of money is missing in a household, and +the servants in general are called together to be informed of the +circumstance, what do we think of the one servant in particular who +speaks first, and who says, 'Do you suspect _me?_'" + +He laid down the pen again. "Is that right?" he asked. + +I began to see the end to which the notes were drifting. Instead of +answering his question, I entreated him to enter into the explanations +that were still wanting to convince my own mind. He held up a warning +forefinger, and stopped me. + +"Not yet," he said. "Once again, am I right--so far?" + +"Quite right." + +"Very well. Now tell me what happened next. Don't mind repeating +yourself. Give me all the details, one after another, to the end." + +I mentioned all the details exactly as I remembered them. Mr. Playmore +returned to his writing for the third and last time. Thus the notes +ended: + +"He is indirectly assured that he at least is not the person suspected. +He sinks back in his chair; he draws a long breath; he asks to be left a +while by himself, under the pretense that the subject excites him. +When the visitor returns, Dexter has been drinking in the interval. The +visitor resumes the subject--not Dexter. The visitor is convinced that +Mrs. Eustace Macallan died by the hand of a poisoner, and openly says +so. Dexter sinks back in his chair like a man fainting. What is the +horror that has got possession of him? It is easy to understand if we +call it guilty horror; it is beyond all understanding if we call it +anything else. And how does it leave him? He flies from one extreme, +to another; he is indescribably delighted when he discovers that the +visitor's suspicions are all fixed on an absent person. And then, and +then only, he takes refuge in the declaration that he has been of one +mind with his visitor, in the matter of suspicion, from the first. These +are facts. To what plain conclusion do they point?" + +He shut up his notes, and, steadily watching my face, waited for me to +speak first. + +"I understand you, Mr. Playmore," I beg impetuously. "You believe that +Mr. Dexter--" + +His warning forefinger stopped me there. + +"Tell me," he interposed, "what Dexter said to you when he was so good as +to confirm your opinion of poor Mrs. Beauly." + +"He said, 'There isn't a doubt about it. Mrs. Beauly poisoned her.'" + +"I can't do better than follow so good an example--with one trifling +difference. I say too, There isn't a doubt about it. Dexter poisoned +her. + +"Are you joking, Mr. Playmore?" + +"I never was more in earnest in my life. Your rash visit to Dexter, and +your extraordinary imprudence in taking him into your confidence have +led to astonishing results. The light which the whole machinery of +the Law was unable to throw on the poisoning case at Gleninch has been +accidentally let in on it by a Lady who refuses to listen to reason and +who insists on having her own way. Quite incredible, and nevertheless +quite true." + +"Impossible!" I exclaimed. + +"What is impossible?" he asked, coolly + +"That Dexter poisoned my husband's first wife." + +"And why is that impossible, if you please?" I began to be almost +enraged with Mr. Playmore. + +"Can you ask the question?" I replied, indignantly. "I have told you +that I heard him speak of her in terms of respect and affection of +which any woman might be proud. He lives in the memory of her. I owe his +friendly reception of me to some resemblance which he fancies he sees +between my figure and hers. I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heard +his voice falter and fail him, when he spoke of her. He may be the +falsest of men in all besides, but he is true to _her_--he has not +misled me in that one thing. There are signs that never deceive a woman +when a man is talking to her of what is really near his heart: I saw +those signs. It is as true that I poisoned her as that he did. I am +ashamed to set my opinion against yours, Mr. Playmore; but I really +cannot help it. I declare I am almost angry with you." + +He seemed to be pleased, instead of offended by the bold manner in which +I expressed myself. + +"My dear Mrs. Eustace, you have no reason to be angry with me. In one +respect, I entirely share your view--with this difference, that I go a +little further than you do." + +"I don't understand you." + +"You will understand me directly. You describe Dexter's feeling for the +late Mrs. Eustace as a happy mixture of respect and affection. I can +tell you it was a much warmer feeling toward her than that. I have +my information from the poor lady herself--who honored me with her +confidence and friendship for the best part of her life. Before she +married Mr. Macallan--she kept it a secret from him, and you had better +keep it a secret too--Miserrimus Dexter was in love with her. Miserrimus +Dexter asked her--deformed as he was, seriously asked her--to be his +wife." + +"And in the face of that," I cried, "you say that he poisoned her!" + +"I do. I see no other conclusion possible, after what happened during +your visit to him. You all but frightened him into a fainting fit. What +was he afraid of?" + +I tried hard to find an answer to that. I even embarked on an answer +without quite knowing where my own words might lead me. + +Mr. Dexter is an old and true friend of my husband, I began. "When he +heard me say I was not satisfied with the Verdict, he might have felt +alarmed--" + +"He might have felt alarmed at the possible consequences to your husband +of reopening the inquiry," said Mr. Playmore, ironically finishing +the sentence for me. "Rather far-fetched, Mrs. Eustace; and not very +consistent with your faith in your husband's innocence. Clear your mind +of one mistake," he continued, seriously, "which may fatally mislead you +if you persist in pursuing your present course. Miserrimus Dexter, you +may take my word for it, ceased to be your husband's friend on the +day when your husband married his first wife. Dexter has kept up +appearances, I grant you, both in public and in private. His evidence +in his friend's favor at the Trial was given with the deep feeling which +everybody expected from him. Nevertheless, I firmly believe, looking +under the surface, that Mr. Macallan has no bitterer enemy living than +Miserrimus Dexter." + +He turned me cold. I felt that here, at least, he was right. My husband +had wooed and won the woman who had refused Dexter's offer of marriage. +Was Dexter the man to forgive that? My own experience answered me, and +said, No. "Bear in mind what I have told you," Mr. Playmore proceeded. +"And now let us get on to your own position in this matter, and to the +interests that you have at stake. Try to adopt my point of view for the +moment; and let us inquire what chance we have of making any further +advance toward a discovery of the truth. It is one thing to be morally +convinced (as I am) that Miserrimus Dexter is the man who ought to have +been tried for the murder at Gleninch; and it is another thing, at this +distance of time, to lay our hands on the plain evidence which can alone +justify anything like a public assertion of his guilt. There, as I see +it, is the insuperable difficulty in the case. Unless I am completely +mistaken, the question is now narrowed to this plain issue: The public +assertion of your husband's innocence depends entirely on the public +assertion of Dexter's guilt. How are you to arrive at that result? There +is not a particle of evidence against him. You can only convict Dexter +on Dexter's own confession. Are you listening to me?" + +I was listening, most unwillingly. If he were right, things had indeed +come to that terrible pass. But I could not--with all my respect for his +superior knowledge and experience--I could not persuade myself that he +_was_ right. And I owned it, with the humility which I really felt. + +He smiled good-humoredly. + +"At any rate," he said, "you will admit that Dexter has not freely +opened his mind to you thus far? He is still keeping something from your +knowledge which you are interested in discovering?" + +"Yes. I admit that." + +"Very good. What applies to your view of the case applies to mine. I +say, he is keeping from you the confession of his guilt. You say, he is +keeping from you information which may fasten the guilt on some other +person. Let us start from that point. Confession, or information, how +are you to get at what he is now withholding from you? What influence +can you bring to bear on him when you see him again?" + +"Surely I might persuade him?" + +"Certainly. And if persuasion fail--what then? Do you think you can +entrap him into speaking out? or terrify him into speaking out?" + +"If you will look at your notes, Mr. Playmore, you will see that I have +already succeeded in terrifying him--though I am only a woman and though +I didn't mean to do it." + +"Very well answered. You mark the trick. What you have done once +you think you can do again. Well, as you are determined to try the +experiment, it can do you no harm to know a little more of Dexter's +character and temperament than you know now. Suppose we apply for +information to somebody who can help us?" + +I started, and looked round the room. He made me do it--he spoke as if +the person who was to help us was close at our elbows. + +"Don't be alarmed," he said. "The oracle is silent; and the oracle is +here." + +He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk; produced a bundle of +letters, and picked out one. + +"When we were arranging your husband's defense," he said, "we felt some +difficulty about including Miserrimus Dexter among our witnesses. We had +not the slightest suspicion of him, I need hardly tell you. But we were +all afraid of his eccentricity; and some among us even feared that the +excitement of appearing at the Trial might drive him completely out of +his mind. In this emergency we applied to a doctor to help us. Under +some pretext, which I forget now, we introduced him to Dexter. And in +due course of time we received his report. Here it is." + +He opened the letter, and marking a certain passage in it with a pencil, +handed it to me. + +"Read the lines which I have marked," he said; "they will be quite +sufficient for our purpose." + +I read these words: + +"Summing up the results of my observation, I may give it as my opinion +that there is undoubtedly latent insanity in this case, but that no +active symptoms of madness have presented themselves as yet. You may, +I think, produce him at the Trial, without fear of consequences. He +may say and do all sorts of odd things; but he has his mind under the +control of his will, and you may trust his self-esteem to exhibit him in +the character of a substantially intelligent witness. + +"As to the future, I am, of course, not able to speak positively. I can +only state my views. + +"That he will end in madness (if he live), I entertain little or no +doubt. The question of _when_ the madness will show itself depends +entirely on the state of his health. His nervous system is highly +sensitive, and there are signs that his way of life has already damaged +it. If he conquer the bad habits to which I have alluded in an earlier +part of my report, and if he pass many hours of every day quietly in the +open air, he may last as a sane man for years to come. If he persist in +his present way of life--or, in other words, if further mischief +occur to that sensitive nervous system--his lapse into insanity must +infallibly take place when the mischief has reached its culminating +point. Without warning to himself or to others, the whole mental +structure will give way; and, at a moment's notice, while he is acting +as quietly or speaking as intelligently as at his best time, the man +will drop (if I may use the expression) into madness or idiocy. In +either case, when the catastrophe has happened, it is only due to his +friends to add that they can (as I believe) entertain no hope of his +cure. The balance once lost, will be lost for life." + +There it ended. Mr. Playmore put the letter back in his drawer. + +"You have just read the opinion of one of our highest living +authorities," he said. "Does Dexter strike you as a likely man to give +his nervous system a chance of recovery? Do you see no obstacles and no +perils in your way?" + +My silence answered him. + +"Suppose you go back to Dexter," he proceeded. "And suppose that the +doctor's opinion exaggerates the peril in his case. What are you to do? +The last time you saw him, you had the immense advantage of taking him +by surprise. Those sensitive nerves of his gave way, and he betrayed the +fear that you aroused in him. Can you take him by surprise again? Not +you! He is prepared for you now; and he will be on his guard. If you +encounter nothing worse, you will have his cunning to deal with +next. Are you his match at that? But for Lady Clarinda he would have +hopelessly misled you on the subject of Mrs. Beauly." + +There was no answering this, either. I was foolish enough to try to +answer it, for all that. + +"He told me the truth so far as he knew it," I rejoined. "He really saw +what he said he saw in the corridor at Gleninch." + +"He told you the truth," returned Mr. Playmore, "because he was +cunning enough to see that the truth would help him in irritating your +suspicions. You don't really believe that he shared your suspicions?" + +"Why not?" I said. "He was as ignorant of what Mrs. Beauly was really +doing on that night as I was--until I met Lady Clarinda. It remains to +be seen whether he will not be as much astonished as I was when I tell +him what Lady Clarinda told me." + +This smart reply produced an effect which I had not anticipated. + +To my surprise, Mr. Playmore abruptly dropped all further discussion +on his side. He appeared to despair of convincing me, and he owned it +indirectly in his next words. + +"Will nothing that I can say to you," he asked, "induce you to think as +I think in this matter?" + +"I have not your ability or your experience," I answered. "I am sorry to +say I can't think as you think." + +"And you are really determined to see Miserrimus Dexter again?" + +"I have engaged myself to see him again." + +He waited a little, and thought over it. + +"You have honored me by asking for my advice," he said. "I earnestly +advise you, Mrs. Eustace, to break your engagement. I go even further +than that--I _entreat_ you not to see Dexter again." + +Just what my mother-in-law had said! just what Benjamin and Major +Fitz-David had said! They were all against me. And still I held out. + +I wonder, when I look back at it, at my own obstinacy. I am almost +ashamed to relate that I made Mr. Playmore no reply. He waited, still +looking at me. I felt irritated by that fixed look. I arose, and stood +before him with my eyes on the floor. + +He arose in his turn. He understood that the conference was over. + +"Well, well," he said, with a kind of sad good-humor, "I suppose it is +unreasonable of me to expect that a young woman like you should share +any opinion with an old lawyer like me. Let me only remind you that our +conversation must remain strictly confidential for the present; and then +let us change the subject. Is there anything that I can do for you? Are +you alone in Edinburgh?" + +"No. I am traveling with an old friend of mine, who has known me from +childhood." + +"And do you stay here to-morrow?" + +"I think so." + +"Will you do me one favor? Will you think over what has passed between +us, and will you come back to me in the morning?" + +"Willingly, Mr. Playmore, if it is only to thank you again for your +kindness." + +On that understanding we parted. He sighed--the cheerful man sighed, as +he opened the door for me. Women are contradictory creatures. That sigh +affected me more than all his arguments. I felt myself blush for my own +head-strong resistance to him as I took my leave and turned away into +the street. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. GLENINCH. + +"AHA!" said Benjamin, complacently. "So the lawyer thinks, as I do, +that you will be highly imprudent if you go back to Mr. Dexter? A +hard-headed, sensible man the lawyer, no doubt. You will listen to Mr. +Playmore, won't you, though you wouldn't listen to me?" + +(I had of course respected Mr. Playmore's confidence in me when Benjamin +and I met on my return to the hotel. Not a word relating to the lawyer's +horrible suspicion of Miserrimus Dexter had passed my lips.) + +"You must forgive me, my old friend," I said, answering Benjamin. "I +am afraid it has come to this--try as I may, I can listen to nobody +who advises me. On our way here I honestly meant to be guided by Mr. +Playmore--we should never have taken this long journey if I had +not honestly meant it. I have tried, tried hard to be a teachable, +reasonable woman. But there is something in me that won't be taught. I +am afraid I shall go back to Dexter." + +Even Benjamin lost all patience with me this time. + +"What is bred in the bone," he said, quoting the old proverb, "will +never come out of the flesh. In years gone by, you were the most +obstinate child that ever made a mess in a nursery. Oh, dear me, we +might as well have stayed in London." + +"No," I replied, "now we have traveled to Edinburgh, we will see +something (interesting to _me_ at any rate) which we should never have +seen if we had not left London. My husband's country-house is within a +few miles of us here. To-morrow--we will go to Gleninch." + +"Where the poor lady was poisoned?" asked Benjamin, with a look of +dismay. "You mean that place?" + +"Yes. I want to see the room in which she died; I want to go all over +the house." + +Benjamin crossed his hands resignedly on his lap. "I try to understand +the new generation," said the old man, sadly; "but I can't manage it. +The new generation beats me." + +I sat down to write to Mr. Playmore about the visit to Gleninch. The +house in which the tragedy had occurred that had blighted my husband's +life was, to my mind, the most interesting house on the habitable globe. +The prospect of visiting Gleninch had, indeed (to tell the truth), +strongly influenced my resolution to consult the Edinburgh lawyer. I +sent my note to Mr. Playmore by a messenger, and received the kindest +reply in return. If I would wait until the afternoon, he would get the +day's business done, and would take us to Gleninch in his own carriage. + +Benjamin's obstinacy--in its own quiet way, and on certain occasions +only--was quite a match for mine. He had privately determined, as one of +the old generation, to have nothing to do with Gleninch. Not a word on +the subject escaped him until Mr. Playmore's carriage was at the hotel +door. At that appropriate moment Benjamin remembered an old friend of +his in Edinburgh. "Will you please to excuse me, Valeria? My friend's +name is Saunders; and he will take it unkindly of me if I don't dine +with him to-day." + +Apart from the associations that I connected with it, there was nothing +to interest a traveler at Gleninch. + +The country around was pretty and well cultivated, and nothing more. +The park was, to an English eye, wild and badly kept. The house had been +built within the last seventy or eighty years. Outside, it was as bare +of all ornament as a factory, and as gloomily heavy in effect as a +prison. Inside, the deadly dreariness, the close, oppressive solitude +of a deserted dwelling wearied the eye and weighed on the mind, from the +roof to the basement. The house had been shut up since the time of the +Trial. A lonely old couple, man and wife, had the keys and the charge +of it. The man shook his head in silent and sorrowful disapproval of our +intrusion when Mr. Playmore ordered him to open the doors and shutters, +and let the light in on the dark, deserted place. Fires were burning +in the library and the picture-gallery, to preserve the treasures which +they contained from the damp. It was not easy, at first, to look at the +cheerful blaze without fancying that the inhabitants of the house must +surely come in and warm themselves. Ascending to the upper floor, I saw +the rooms made familiar to me by the Report of the Trial. I entered +the little study, with the old books on the shelves, and the key still +missing from the locked door of communication with the bedchamber. +I looked into the room in which the unhappy mistress of Gleninch had +suffered and died. The bed was left in its place; the sofa on which the +nurse had snatched her intervals of repose was at its foot; the Indian +cabinet, in which the crumpled paper with the grains of arsenic had been +found, still held its little collection of curiosities. I moved on its +pivot the invalid-table on which she had taken her meals and written her +poems, poor soul. The place was dreary and dreadful; the heavy air +felt as if it were still burdened with its horrid load of misery and +distrust. I was glad to get out (after a passing glance at the room +which Eustace had occupied in those days) into the Guests' Corridor. +There was the bedroom, at the door of which Miserrimus Dexter had waited +and watched. There was the oaken floor along which he had hopped, in his +horrible way, following the footsteps of the servant disguised in her +mistress's clothes. Go where I might, the ghosts of the dead and the +absent were with me, step by step. Go where I might, the lonely horror +of the house had its still and awful voice for Me: "_I_ keep the secret +of the Poison! _I_ hide the mystery of the death!" + +The oppression of the place became unendurable. I longed for the pure +sky and the free air. My companion noticed and understood me. + +"Come," he said. "We have had enough of the house. Let us look at the +grounds." + +In the gray quiet of the evening we roamed about the lonely gardens, and +threaded our way through the rank, neglected shrubberies. Wandering here +and wandering there, we drifted into the kitchen garden--with one little +patch still sparely cultivated by the old man and his wife, and all the +rest a wilderness of weeds. Beyond the far end of the garden, divided +from it by a low paling of wood, there stretched a patch of waste +ground, sheltered on three sides by trees. In one lost corner of the +ground an object, common enough elsewhere, attracted my attention +here. The object was a dust-heap. The great size of it, and the curious +situation in which it was placed, aroused a moment's languid curiosity +in me. I stopped, and looked at the dust and ashes, at the broken +crockery and the old iron. Here there was a torn hat, and there some +fragments of rotten old boots, and scattered around a small attendant +litter of torn paper and frowzy rags. + +"What are you looking at?" asked Mr. Playmore. + +"At nothing more remarkable than the dust-heap," I answered. + +"In tidy England, I suppose, you would have all that carted away out +of sight," said the lawyer. "We don't mind in Scotland, as long as the +dust-heap is far enough away not to be smelt at the house. Besides, +some of it, sifted, comes in usefully as manure for the garden. Here +the place is deserted, and the rubbish in consequence has not been +disturbed. Everything at Gleninch, Mrs. Eustace (the big dust-heap +included), is waiting for the new mistress to set it to rights. One of +these days you may be queen here--who knows?" + +"I shall never see this place again," I said. + +"Never is a long day," returned my companion. "And time has its +surprises in store for all of us." + +We turned away, and walked back in silence to the park gate, at which +the carriage was waiting. + +On the return to Edinburgh, Mr. Playmore directed the conversation to +topics entirely unconnected with my visit to Gleninch. He saw that +my mind stood in need of relief; and he most good-naturedly, and +successfully, exerted himself to amuse me. It was not until we were +close to the city that he touched on the subject of my return to London. + +"Have you decided yet on the day when you leave Edinburgh?" he asked. + +"We leave Edinburgh," I replied, "by the train of to-morrow morning." + +"Do you still see no reason to alter the opinions which you expressed +yesterday? Does your speedy departure mean that?" + +"I am afraid it does, Mr. Playmore. When I am an older woman, I may be +a wiser woman. In the meantime, I can only trust to your indulgence if I +still blindly blunder on in my own way." + +He smiled pleasantly, and patted my hand--then changed on a sudden, and +looked at me gravely and attentively before he opened his lips again. + +"This is my last opportunity of speaking to you before you go," he said. +"May I speak freely?" + +"As freely as you please, Mr. Playmore. Whatever you may say to me will +only add to my grateful sense of your kindness." + +"I have very little to say, Mrs. Eustace--and that little begins with +a word of caution. You told me yesterday that, when you paid your last +visit to Miserrimus Dexter, you went to him alone. Don't do that again. +Take somebody with you." + +"Do you think I am in any danger, then?" + +"Not in the ordinary sense of the word. I only think that a friend may +be useful in keeping Dexter's audacity (he is one of the most impudent +men living) within proper limits. Then, again, in case anything worth +remembering and acting on _should_ fall from him in his talk, a friend +may be valuable as witness. In your place, I should have a witness with +me who could take notes--but then I am a lawyer, and my business is to +make a fuss about trifles. Let me only say--go with a companion when you +next visit Dexter; and be on your guard against yourself when your talk +turns on Mrs. Beauly." + +"On my guard against myself? What do you mean?" + +"Practice, my dear Mrs. Eustace, has given me an eye for the little +weaknesses of human nature. You are (quite naturally) disposed to +be jealous of Mrs. Beauly; and you are, in consequence, not in full +possession of your excellent common-sense when Dexter uses that lady as +a means of blindfolding you. Am I speaking too freely?" + +"Certainly not. It is very degrading to me to be jealous of Mrs. Beauly. +My vanity suffers dreadfully when I think of it. But my common-sense +yields to conviction. I dare say you are right." + +"I am delighted to find that we agree on one point," he rejoined, dryly. +"I don't despair yet of convincing you in that far more serious matter +which is still in dispute between us. And, what is more, if you will +throw no obstacles in the way, I look to Dexter himself to help me." + +This aroused my curiosity. How Miserrimus Dexter could help him, in that +or in any other way, was a riddle beyond my reading. + +"You propose to repeat to Dexter all that Lady Clarinda told you about +Mrs. Beauly," he went on. "And you think it is likely that Dexter will +be overwhelmed, as you were overwhelmed, when he hears the story. I am +going to venture on a prophecy. I say that Dexter will disappoint you. +Far from showing any astonishment, he will boldly tell you that you have +been duped by a deliberately false statement of facts, invented and set +afloat, in her own guilty interests, by Mrs. Beauly. Now tell me--if +he really try, in that way, to renew your unfounded suspicion of an +innocent woman, will _that_ shake your confidence in your own opinion?" + +"It will entirely destroy my confidence in my own opinion, Mr. +Playmore." + +"Very good. I shall expect you to write to me, in any case; and I +believe we shall be of one mind before the week is out. Keep strictly +secret all that I said to you yesterday about Dexter. Don't even mention +my name when you see him. Thinking of him as I think now, I would as +soon touch the hand of the hangman as the hand of that monster! God +bless you! Good-by." + +So he said his farewell words, at the door of the hotel. Kind, genial, +clever--but oh, how easily prejudiced, how shockingly obstinate in +holding to his own opinion! And _what_ an opinion! I shuddered as I +thought of it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. MR. PLAYMORE'S PROPHECY. + +WE reached London between eight and nine in the evening. Strictly +methodical in all his habits, Benjamin had telegraphed to his +housekeeper, from Edinburgh, to have supper ready or us by ten o'clock, +and to send the cabman whom he always employed to meet us at the +station. + +Arriving at the villa, we were obliged to wait for a moment to let a +pony-chaise get by us before we could draw up at Benjamin's door. The +chaise passed very slowly, driven by a rough-looking man, with a pipe +in his mouth. But for the man, I might have doubted whether the pony was +quite a stranger to me. As things were, I thought no more of the matter. + +Benjamin's respectable old housekeeper opened the garden gate, and +startled me by bursting into a devout ejaculation of gratitude at the +sight of her master. "The Lord be praised, sir!" she cried; "I thought +you would never come back!" + +"Anything wrong?" asked Benjamin, in his own impenetrably quiet way. + +The housekeeper trembled at the question, and answered in these +enigmatical words: + +"My mind's upset, sir; and whether things are wrong or whether things +are right is more than I can say. Hours ago, a strange man came in and +asked"--she stopped, as if she were completely bewildered--looked for +a moment vacantly at her master--and suddenly addressed herself to me. +"And asked," she proceeded, "when _you_ was expected back, ma'am. I told +him what my master had telegraphed, and the man says upon that, 'Wait a +bit,' he says; 'I'm coming back.' He came back in a minute or less; and +he carried a Thing in his arms which curdled my blood--it did!--and set +me shaking from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot. I know I +ought to have stopped it; but I couldn't stand upon my legs, much less +put the man out of the house. In he went, without '_with_ your leave,' +or '_by_ your leave,' Mr. Benjamin, sir--in he went, with the Thing in +his arms, straight through to your library. And there It has been all +these hours. And there It is now. I've spoken to the police; but they +wouldn't interfere; and what to do next is more than my poor head can +tell. Don't you go in by yourself, ma'am! You'll be frightened out of +your wits--you will!" + +I persisted in entering the house, for all that. Aided by the pony, I +easily solved the mystery of the housekeeper's otherwise unintelligible +narrative. Passing through the dining-room (where the supper-table was +already laid for us), I looked through the half-opened library door. + +Yes, there was Miserrimus Dexter, arrayed in his pink jacket, fast +asleep in Benjamin's favorite arm-chair! No coverlet hid his horrible +deformity. Nothing was sacrificed to conventional ideas of propriety +in his extraordinary dress. I could hardly wonder that the poor old +housekeeper trembled from head to foot when she spoke of him. + +"Valeria," said Benjamin, pointing to the Portent in the chair. "Which +is it--an Indian idol, or a man?" + +I have already described Miserrimus Dexter as possessing the sensitive +ear of a dog: he now allowed that he also slept the light sleep of a +dog. Quietly as Benjamin had spoken, the strange voice aroused him on +the instant. He rubbed his eyes, and smiled as innocently as a waking +child. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Valeria?" he said. "I have had a nice little sleep. +You don't know how happy I am to see you again. Who is this?" + +He rubbed his eyes once more! and looked at Benjamin. Not knowing what +else to do in this extraordinary emergency, I presented my visitor to +the master of the house. + +"Excuse my getting up, sir," said Miserrimus Dexter. "I can't get up--I +have no legs. You look as if you thought I was occupying your chair? If +I am committing an intrusion, be so good as to put your umbrella under +me, and give me a jerk. I shall fall on my hands, and I shan't be +offended with you. I will submit to a tumble and a scolding--but please +don't break my heart by sending me away. That beautiful woman there can +be very cruel sometimes, sir, when the fit takes her. She went away when +I stood in the sorest need of a little talk with her--she went away, and +left me to my loneliness and my suspense. I am a poor deformed wretch, +with a warm heart, and, perhaps, an insatiable curiosity as well. +Insatiable curiosity (have you ever felt it?) is a curse. I bore +it until my brains began to boil in my head; and then I sent for my +gardener, and made him drive me here. I like being here. The air of +your library soothes me; the sight of Mrs. Valeria is balm to my wounded +heart. She has something to tell me--something that I am dying to hear. +If she is not too tired after her journey, and if you will let her tell +it, I promise to have myself taken away when she has done. Dear Mr. +Benjamin, you look like the refuge of the afflicted. I am afflicted. +Shake hands like a good Christian, and take me in." + +He held out his hand. His soft blue eyes melted into an expression of +piteous entreaty. Completely stupefied by the amazing harangue of which +he had been made the object, Benjamin took the offered hand, with +the air of a man in a dream. "I hope I see you well, sir," he said, +mechanically--and then looked around at me, to know what he was to do +next. + +"I understand Mr. Dexter," I whispered. "Leave him to me." + +Benjamin stole a last bewildered look at the object in the chair; bowed +to it, with the instinct of politeness which never failed him; and +(still with the air of a man in a dream) withdrew into the next room. + +Left together, we looked at each other, for the first moment, in +silence. + +Whether I unconsciously drew on that inexhaustible store of indulgence +which a woman always keeps in reserve for a man who owns that he has +need of her, or whether, resenting as I did Mr. Playmore's horrible +suspicion of him, my heart was especially accessible to feelings of +compassion in his unhappy case, I cannot tell. I only know that I pitied +Miserrimus Dexter at that moment as I had never pitied him yet; and that +I spared him the reproof which I should certainly have administered +to any other man who had taken the liberty of establishing himself, +uninvited, in Benjamin's house. + +He was the first to speak. + +"Lady Clarinda has destroyed your confidence in me!" he began, wildly. + +"Lady Clarinda has done nothing of the sort," I replied. "She has not +attempted to influence my opinion. I was really obliged to leave London, +as I told you." + +He sighed, and closed his eyes contentedly, as if I had relieved him of +a heavy weight of anxiety. + +"Be merciful to me," he said, "and tell me something more. I have been +so miserable in your absence." He suddenly opened his eyes again, and +looked at me with an appearance of the greatest interest. "Are you very +much fatigued by traveling?" he proceeded. "I am hungry for news of what +happened at the Major's dinner party. Is it cruel of me to tell you so, +when you have not rested after your journey? Only one question to-night, +and I will leave the rest till to-morrow. What did Lady Clarinda say +about Mrs. Beauly? All that you wanted to hear?" + +"All, and more," I answered. + +"What? what? what?" he cried wild with impatience in a moment. + +Mr. Playmore's last prophetic words were vividly present to my mind. He +had declared, in the most positive manner, that Dexter would persist in +misleading me, and would show no signs of astonishment when I repeated +what Lady Clarinda had told me of Mrs. Beauly. I resolved to put +the lawyer's prophecy--so far as the question of astonishment was +concerned--to the sharpest attainable test. I said not a word to +Miserrimus Dexter in the way of preface or preparation: I burst on him +with my news as abruptly as possible. + +"The person you saw in the corridor was not Mrs. Beauly," I said. "It +was the maid, dressed in her mistress's cloak and hat. Mrs. Beauly +herself was not in the house at all. Mrs. Beauly herself was dancing at +a masked ball in Edinburgh. There is what the maid told Lady Clarinda; +and there is what Lady Clarinda told _me._" + +In the absorbing interest of the moment, I poured out those words one +after another as fast as they would pass my lips. Miserrimus Dexter +completely falsified the lawyer's prediction. He shuddered under the +shock. His eyes opened wide with amazement. "Say it again!" he cried. "I +can't take it all in at once. You stun me." + +I was more than contented with this result--I triumphed in my victory. +For once, I had really some reason to feel satisfied with myself. I +had taken the Christian and merciful side in my discussion with Mr. +Playmore; and I had won my reward. I could sit in the same room with +Miserrimus Dexter, and feel the blessed conviction that I was not +breathing the same air with a poisoner. Was it not worth the visit to +Edinburgh to have made sure of that? + +In repeating, at his own desire, what I had already said to him, I took +care to add the details which made Lady Clarinda's narrative coherent +and credible. He listened throughout with breathless attention--here and +there repeating the words after me, to impress them the more surely and +the more deeply on his mind. + +"What is to be said? what is to be done?" he asked, with a look of blank +despair. "I can't disbelieve it. From first to last, strange as it is, +it sounds true." + +(How would Mr. Playmore have felt if he had heard those words? I did +him the justice to believe that he would have felt heartily ashamed of +himself.) + +"There is nothing to be said," I rejoined, "except that Mrs. Beauly is +innocent, and that you and I have done her a grievous wrong. Don't you +agree with me?" + +"I entirely agree with you," he answered, without an instant's +hesitation. "Mrs. Beauly is an innocent woman. The defense at the Trial +was the right defense after all." + +He folded his arms complacently; he looked perfectly satisfied to leave +the matter there. + +I was not of his mind. To my own amazement, I now found myself the least +reasonable person of the two! + +Miserrimus Dexter (to use the popular phrase) had given me more than I +had bargained for. He had not only done all that I had anticipated +in the way of falsifying Mr. Playmore's prediction--he had actually +advanced beyond my limits. I could go the length of recognizing Mrs. +Beauly's innocence; but at that point I stopped. If the Defense at +the Trial were the right defense, farewell to all hope of asserting my +husband's innocence. I held to that hope as I held to my love and my +life. + +"Speak for yourself," I said. "My opinion of the Defense remains +unchanged." + +He started, and knit his brows as if I had disappointed and displeased +him. + +"Does that mean that you are determined to go on?" + +"It does." + +He was downright angry with me. He cast his customary politeness to the +winds. + +"Absurd! impossible!" he cried, contemptuously. "You have yourself +declared that we wronged an innocent woman when we suspected Mrs. +Beauly. Is there any one else whom we can suspect? It is ridiculous to +ask the question. There is no alternative left but to accept the facts +as they are, and to stir no further in the matter of the poisoning at +Gleninch. It is childish to dispute plain conclusions. You must give +up." + +"You may be angry with me if you will, Mr. Dexter. Neither your anger +nor your arguments will make me give up." + +He controlled himself by an effort--he was quiet and polite again when +he next spoke to me. + +"Very well. Pardon me for a moment if I absorb myself in my own +thoughts. I want to do something which I have not done yet." + +"What may that be, Mr. Dexter?" + +"I am going to put myself into Mrs. Beauly's skin, and to think with +Mrs. Beauly's mind. Give me a minute. Thank you." + +What did he mean? what new transformation of him was passing before my +eyes? Was there ever such a puzzle of a man as this? Who that saw him +now, intently pursuing his new train of thought, would have recognized +him as the childish creature who had awoke so innocently, and had +astonished Benjamin by the infantine nonsense which he talked? It +is said, and said truly, that there are many sides to every human +character. Dexter's many sides were developing themselves at such a +rapid rate of progress that they were already beyond my counting. + +He lifted his head, and fixed a look of keen inquiry on me. + +"I have come out of Mrs. Beauly's skin," he announced. "And I have +arrived at this result: We are two impetuous people; and we have been a +little hasty in rushing at a conclusion." + +He stopped. I said nothing. Was the shadow of a doubt of him beginning +to rise in my mind? I waited, and listened. + +"I am as fully satisfied as ever of the truth of what Lady Clarinda told +you," he proceeded. "But I see, on consideration, what I failed to see at +the time. The story admits of two interpretations--one on the surface, +and another under the surface. I look under the surface, in your +interests; and I say, it is just possible that Mrs. Beauly may have been +cunning enough to forestall suspicion, and to set up an Alibi." + +I am ashamed to own that I did not understand what he meant by the last +word--Alibi. He saw that I was not following him, and spoke out more +plainly. + +"Was the maid something more than her mistress's passive accomplice?" +he said. "Was she the Hand that her mistress used? Was she on her way to +give the first dose of poison when she passed me in this corridor? Did +Mrs. Beauly spend the night in Edinburgh--so as to have her defense +ready, if suspicion fell upon her?" + +My shadowy doubt of him became substantial doubt when I heard that. Had +I absolved him a little too readily? Was he really trying to renew my +suspicions of Mrs. Beauly, as Mr. Playmore had foretold? This time I was +obliged to answer him. In doing so, I unconsciously employed one of the +phrases which the lawyer had used to me during my first interview with +him. + +"That sounds rather far-fetched, Mr. Dexter," I said. + +To my relief, he made no attempt to defend the new view that he had +advanced. + +"It is far-fetched," he admitted. "When I said it was just +possible--though I didn't claim much for my idea--I said more for it +perhaps than it deserved. Dismiss my view as ridiculous; what are you to +do next? If Mrs. Beauly is not the poisoner (either by herself or by her +maid), who is? She is innocent, and Eustace is innocent. Where is the +other person whom you can suspect? Have _I_ poisoned her?" he cried, +with his eyes flashing, and his voice rising to its highest notes. "Do +you, does anybody, suspect Me? I loved her; I adored her; I have never +been the same man since her death. Hush! I will trust you with a +secret. (Don't tell your husband; it might be the destruction of our +friendship.) I would have married her, before she met with Eustace, +if she would have taken me. When the doctors told me she had died +poisoned--ask Doctor Jerome what I suffered; _he_ can tell you! All +through that horrible night I was awake; watching my opportunity until I +found my way to her. I got into the room, and took my last leave of the +cold remains of the angel whom I loved. I cried over her. I kissed her. +for the first and last time. I stole one little lock of her hair. I have +worn it ever since; I have kissed it night and day. Oh, God! the room +comes back to me! the dead face comes back to me! Look! look!" + +He tore from its place of concealment in his bosom a little locket, +fastened by a ribbon around his neck. He threw it to me where I sat, and +burst into a passion of tears. + +A man in my place might have known what to do. Being only a woman, I +yielded to the compassionate impulse of the moment. + +I got up and crossed the room to him. I gave him back his locket, and +put my hand, without knowing what I was about, on the poor wretch's +shoulder. "I am incapable of suspecting you, Mr. Dexter," I said, +gently. "No such idea ever entered my head. I pity you from the bottom +of my heart." + +He caught my hand in his, and devoured it with kisses. His lips burned +me like fire. He twisted himself suddenly in the chair, and wound his +arm around my waist. In the terror and indignation of the moment, vainly +struggling with him, I cried out for help. + +The door opened, and Benjamin appeared on the threshold. + +Dexter let go his hold of me. + +I ran to Benjamin, and prevented him from advancing into the room. In +all my long experience of my fatherly old friend I had never seen +him really angry yet. I saw him more than angry now. He was pale--the +patient, gentle old man was pale with rage! I held him at the door with +all my strength. + +"You can't lay your hand on a cripple," I said. Send for the man outside +to take him a way. + +I drew Benjamin out of the room, and closed and locked the library +door. The housekeeper was in the dining-room. I sent her out to call the +driver of the pony-chaise into the house. + +The man came in--the rough man whom I had noticed when we were +approaching the garden gate. Benjamin opened the library door in stern +silence. It was perhaps unworthy of me, but I could _not_ resist the +temptation to look in. + +Miserrimus Dexter had sunk down in the chair. The rough man lifted his +master with a gentleness that surprised me. "Hide my face," I heard +Dexter say to him, in broken tones. He opened his coarse pilot-jacket, +and hid his master's head under it, and so went silently out--with the +deformed creature held to his bosom, like a woman sheltering her child. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. ARIEL. + +I PASSED a sleepless night. + +The outrage that had been offered to me was bad enough in itself. +But consequences were associated with it which might affect me more +seriously still. In so far as the attainment of the one object of my +life might yet depend on my personal association with Miserrimus Dexter, +an insurmountable obstacle appeared to be now placed in my way. Even in +my husband's interests, ought I to permit a man who had grossly insulted +me to approach me again? Although I was no prude, I recoiled from the +thought of it. + +I arose late, and sat down at my desk, trying to summon energy enough to +write to Mr. Playmore--and trying in vain. + +Toward noon (while Benjamin happened to be out for a little while) the +housekeeper announced the arrival of another strange visitor at the gate +of the villa. + +"It's a woman this time, ma'am--or something like one," said this worthy +person, confidentially. "A great, stout, awkward, stupid creature, with +a man's hat on and a man's stick in her hand. She says she has got a +note for you, and she won't give it to anybody _but_ you. I'd better not +let her in--had I?" + +Recognizing the original of the picture, I astonished the housekeeper by +consenting to receive the messenger immediately. + +Ariel entered the room--in stolid silence, as usual. But I noticed a +change in her which puzzled me. Her dull eyes were red and bloodshot. +Traces of tears (as I fancied) were visible on her fat, shapeless +cheeks. She crossed the room, on her way to my chair, with a less +determined tread than was customary with her. Could Ariel (I asked +myself) be woman enough to cry? Was it within the limits of possibility +that Ariel should approach me in sorrow and in fear? + +"I hear you have brought something for me?" I said. "Won't you sit +down?" + +She handed me a letter--without answering and without taking a chair. I +opened the envelope. The letter inside was written by Miserrimus Dexter. +It contained these lines: + + +"Try to pity me, if you have any pity left for a miserable man; I have +bitterly expiated the madness of a moment. If you could see me--even +you would own that my punishment has been heavy enough. For God's sake, +don't abandon me! I was beside myself when I let the feeling that you +have awakened in me get the better of my control. It shall never show +itself again; it shall be a secret that dies with me. Can I expect you +to believe this? No. I won't ask you to believe me; I won't ask you to +trust me in the future. If you ever consent to see me again, let it be +in the presence of any third person whom you may appoint to protect you. +I deserve that--I will submit to it; I will wait till time has composed +your angry feeling against me. All I ask now is leave to hope. Say to +Ariel, 'I forgive him; and one day I will let him see me again.' +She will remember it, for love of me. If you send her back without a +message, you send me to the mad-house. Ask her, if you don't believe me. + + "MISERRIMUS DEXTER." + +I finished the strange letter, and looked at Ariel. + +She stood with her eyes on the floor, and held out to me the thick +walking-stick which she carried in her hand. + +"Take the stick" were the first words she said to me. + +"Why am I to take it?" I asked. + +She struggled a little with her sluggishly working mind, and slowly put +her thoughts into words. + +"You're angry with the Master," she said. "Take it out on Me. Here's the +stick. Beat me." + +"Beat you!" I exclaimed. + +"My back's broad," said the poor creature. "I won't make a row. I'll +bear it. Drat you, take the stick! Don't vex _him._ Whack it out on my +back. Beat _me._" + +She roughly forced the stick into my hand; she turned her poor shapeless +shoulders to me; waiting for the blow. It was at once dreadful and +touching to see her. The tears rose in my eyes. I tried, gently and +patiently, to reason with her. Quite useless! The idea of taking the +Master's punishment on herself was the one idea in her mind. "Don't vex +_him,_" she repeated. "Beat _me._" + +"What do you mean by 'vexing him'?" I asked. + +She tried to explain, and failed to find the words. She showed me by +imitation, as a savage might have shown me, what she meant. Striding to +the fire-place, she crouched on the rug, and looked into the fire with a +horrible vacant stare. Then she clasped her hands over her forehead, and +rocked slowly to and fro, still staring into the fire. "There's how he +sits!" she said, with a sudden burst of speech. "Hours on hours, there's +how he sits! Notices nobody. Cries about _you._" + +The picture she presented recalled to my memory the Report of Dexter's +health, and the doctor's plain warning of peril waiting for him in the +future. + +Even if I could have resisted Ariel, I must have yielded to the vague +dread of consequences which now shook me in secret. + +"Don't do that!" I cried. She was still rocking herself in imitation +of the "Master," and still staring into the fire with her hands to her +head. "Get up, pray! I am not angry with him now. I forgive him." + +She rose on her hands and knees, and waited, looking up intently into my +face. In that attitude--more like a dog than a human being--she repeated +her customary petition when she wanted to fix words that interested her +in her mind. + +"Say it again!" + +I did as she bade me. She was not satisfied. + +"Say it as it is in the letter," she went on. "Say it as the Master said +it to Me." + +I looked back at the letter, and repeated the form of message contained +in the latter part of it, word for word: + +"I forgive him; and one day I will let him see me again." + +She sprang to her feet at a bound. For the first time since she had +entered the room her dull face began to break slowly into light and +life. + +"That's it!" she cried. "Hear if I can say it, too; hear if I've got it +by heart." + +Teaching her exactly as I should have taught a child, I slowly fastened +the message, word by word, on her mind. + +"Now rest yourself," I said; "and let me give you something to eat and +drink after your long walk." + +I might as well have spoken to one of the chairs. She snatched up her +stick from the floor, and burst out with a hoarse shout of joy. "I've +got it by heart!" she cried. "This will cool the Master's head! Hooray!" +She dashed out into the passage like a wild animal escaping from its +cage. I was just in time to see her tear open the garden gate, and set +forth on her walk back at a pace which made it hopeless to attempt to +follow and stop her. + +I returned to the sitting-room, pondering on a question which has +perplexed wiser heads than mine. Could a man who was hopelessly and +entirely wicked have inspired such devoted attachment to him as Dexter +had inspired in the faithful woman who had just left me? in the rough +gardener who had carried him out so gently on the previous night? Who +can decide? The greatest scoundrel living always has a friend--in a +woman or a dog. + +I sat down again at my desk, and made another attempt to write to Mr. +Playmore. + +Recalling, for the purpose of my letter, all that Miserrimus Dexter +had said to me, my memory dwelt with special interest on the strange +outbreak of feeling which had led him to betray the secret of his +infatuation for Eustace's first wife. I saw again the ghastly scene in +the death-chamber--the deformed creature crying over the corpse in the +stillness of the first dark hours of the new day. The horrible picture +took a strange hold on my mind. I arose, and walked up and down, and +tried to turn my thoughts some other way. It was not to be done: the +scene was too familiar to me to be easily dismissed. I had myself +visited the room and looked at the bed. I had myself walked in the +corridor which Dexter had crossed on his way to take his last leave of +her. + +The corridor? I stopped. My thoughts suddenly took a new direction, +uninfluenced by any effort of my will. + +What other association besides the association with Dexter did I connect +with the corridor? Was it something I had seen during my visit to +Gleninch? No. Was it something I had read? I snatched up the Report +of the Trial to see. It opened at a page which contained the nurse's +evidence. I read the evidence through again, without recovering the lost +remembrance until I came to these lines close at the end: + +"Before bed-time I went upstairs to prepare the remains of the deceased +lady for the coffin. The room in which she lay was locked; the door +leading into Mr. Macallan's room being secured, as well as the door +leading into the corridor. The keys had been taken away by Mr. Gale. Two +of the men-servants were posted outside the bedroom to keep watch. They +were to be relieved at four in the morning--that was all they could tell +me." + +There was my lost association with the corridor! There was what I ought +to have remembered when Miserrimus Dexter was telling me of his visit to +the dead! + +How had he got into the bedroom--the doors being locked, and the keys +being taken away by Mr. Gale? There was but one of the locked doors of +which Mr. Gale had not got the key--the door of communication between +the study and the bedroom. The key was missing from this. Had it been +stolen? And was Dexter the thief? He might have passed by the men on the +watch while they were asleep, or he might have crossed the corridor in +an unguarded interval while the men were being relieved. But how could +he have got into the bedchamber except by way of the locked study door? +He _must_ have had the key! And he _must_ have secreted it weeks before +Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death! When the nurse first arrived at Gleninch, +on the seventh of the month, her evidence declared the key of the door +of communication to be then missing. + +To what conclusion did these considerations and discoveries point? Had +Miserrimus Dexter, in a moment of ungovernable agitation, unconsciously +placed the clew in my hands? Was the pivot on which turned the whole +mystery of the poisoning at Gleninch the missing key? + +I went back for the third time to my desk. The one person who might be +trusted to find the answer to those questions was Mr. Playmore. I wrote +him a full and careful account of all that had happened; I begged him to +forgive and forget my ungracious reception of the advice which he had +so kindly offered to me; and I promised beforehand to do nothing without +first consulting his opinion in the new emergency which now confronted +me. + +The day was fine for the time of year; and by way of getting a little +wholesome exercise after the surprises and occupations of the morning, I +took my letter to Mr. Playmore to the post. + +Returning to the villa, I was informed that another visitor was waiting +to see me: a civilized visitor this time, who had given her name. My +mother-in-law--Mrs. Macallan. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. AT THE BEDSIDE. + +BEFORE she had uttered a word, I saw in my mother-in-law's face that she +brought bad news. + +"Eustace?" I said. + +She answered me by a look. + +"Let me he ar it at once!" I cried. "I can bear anything but suspense." + +Mrs. Macallan lifted her hand, and showed me a telegraphic dispatch +which she had hitherto kept concealed in the folds of her dress. + +"I can trust your courage," she said. "There is no need, my child, to +prevaricate with you. Read that." + +I read the telegram. It was sent by the chief surgeon of a +field-hospital; and it was dated from a village in the north of Spain. + +"Mr. Eustace severely wounded in a skirmish by a stray shot. Not in +danger, so far. Every care taken of him. Wait for another telegram." + +I turned away my face, and bore as best I might the pang that wrung me +when I read those words. I thought I knew how dearly I loved him: I had +never known it till that moment. + +My mother-in-law put her arm round me, and held me to her tenderly. She +knew me well enough not to speak to me at that moment. + +I rallied my courage, and pointed to the last sentence in the telegram. + +"Do you mean to wait?" I asked. + +"Not a day!" she answered. "I am going to the Foreign Office about my +passport--I have some interest there: they can give me letters; they can +advise and assist me. I leave to-night by the mail train to Calais." + +"_You_ leave?" I said. "Do you suppose I will let you go without me? Get +my passport when you get yours. At seven this evening I will be at your +house." + +She attempted to remonstrate; she spoke of the perils of the journey. +At the first words I stopped her. "Don't you know yet, mother, how +obstinate I am? They may keep you waiting at the Foreign Office. Why do +you waste the precious hours here?" + +She yielded with a gentleness that was not in her everyday character. +"Will my poor Eustace ever know what a wife he has got?" That was all +she said. She kissed me, and went away in her carriage. + +My remembrances of our journey are strangely vague and imperfect. + +As I try to recall them, the memory of those more recent and more +interesting events which occurred after my return to England gets +between me and my adventures in Spain, and seems to force these last +into a shadowy background, until they look like adventures that happened +many years since. I confusedly recollect delays and alarms that tried +our patience and our courage. I remember our finding friends (thanks to +our letters of recommendation) in a Secretary to the Embassy and in a +Queen's Messenger, who assisted and protected us at a critical point in +the journey. I recall to mind a long succession of men in our employment +as travelers, all equally remarkable for their dirty cloaks and their +clean linen, for their highly civilized courtesy to women and their +utterly barbarous cruelty to horses. Last, and most important of all, I +see again, more clearly than I can see anything else, the one wretched +bedroom of a squalid village inn in which we found our poor darling, +prostrate between life and death, insensible to everything that passed +in the narrow little world that lay around his bedside. + +There was nothing romantic or interesting in the accident which had put +my husband's life in peril. + +He had ventured too near the scene of the conflict (a miserable affair) +to rescue a poor lad who lay wounded on the field--mortally wounded, +as the event proved. A rifle-bullet had struck him in the body. His +brethren of the field-hospital had carried him back to their quarters +at the risk of their lives. He was a great favorite with all of them; +patient and gentle and brave; only wanting a little more judgment to be +the most valuable recruit who had joined the brotherhood. + +In telling me this, the surgeon kindly and delicately added a word of +warning as well. + +The fever caused by the wound had brought with it delirium, as usual. +My poor husband's mind, in so far as his wandering words might interpret +it, was filled by the one image of his wife. The medical attendant +had heard enough in the course of his ministrations at the bedside, +to satisfy him that any sudden recognition of me by Eustace (if he +recovered) might be attended by the most lamentable results. As things +were at that sad time, I might take my turn at nursing him, without the +slightest chance of his discovering me, perhaps for weeks and weeks to +come. But on the day when he was declared out of danger--if that happy +day ever arrived--I must resign my place at his bedside, and must wait +to show myself until the surgeon gave me leave. + +My mother-in-law and I relieved each other regularly, day and night, in +the sick-room. + +In the hours of his delirium--hours that recurred with a pitiless +regularity--my name was always on my poor darling's fevered lips. +The ruling idea in him was the fine dreadful idea which I had vainly +combated at our last interview. In the face of the verdict pronounced +at the Trial, it was impossible even for his wife to be really and truly +persuaded that he was an innocent man. All the wild pictures which his +distempered imagination drew were equally inspired by that one obstinate +conviction. He fancied himself to be still living with me under those +dreaded conditions. Do what he might, I was always recalling to him the +terrible ordeal through which he had passed. He acted his part, and he +acted mine. He gave me a cup of tea; and I said to him, "We quarreled +yesterday, Eustace. Is it poisoned?" He kissed me, in token of our +reconciliation; and I laughed, and said, "It's morning now, my dear. +Shall I die by nine o'clock to-night?" I was ill in bed, and he gave me +my medicine. I looked at him with a doubting eye. I said to him, "You +are in love with another woman. Is there anything in the medicine that +the doctor doesn't know of?" Such was the horrible drama which now +perpetually acted itself in his mind. Hundreds and hundreds of times I +heard him repeat it, almost always in the same words. On other occasions +his thoughts wandered away to my desperate project of proving him to be +an innocent man. Sometimes he laughed at it. Sometimes he mourned +over it. Sometimes he devised cunning schemes for placing unsuspected +obstacles in my way. He was especially hard on me when he was inventing +his preventive stratagems--he cheerfully instructed the visionary people +who assisted him not to hesitate at offending or distressing me. "Never +mind if you make her angry; never mind if you make her cry. It's all for +her good; it's all to save the poor fool from dangers she doesn't dream +of. You mustn't pity her when she says she does it for my sake. See! she +is going to be insulted; she is going to be deceived; she is going to +disgrace herself without knowing it. Stop her! stop her!" It was weak of +me, I know; I ought to have kept the plain fact that he was out of his +senses always present to my mind: still it is true that my hours passed +at my husband's pillow were many of them hours of mortification and +misery of which he, poor dear, was the innocent and only cause. + +The weeks passed; and he still hovered between life and death. + +I kept no record of the time, and I cannot now recall the exact date on +which the first favorable change took place. I only remember that it was +toward sunrise on a fine winter morning when we were relieved at last of +our heavy burden of suspense. The surgeon happened to be by the bedside +when his patient awoke. The first thing he did, after looking at +Eustace, was to caution me by a sign to be silent and to keep out of +sight. My mother-in-law and I both knew what this meant. With full +hearts we thanked God together for giving us back the husband and the +son. + +The same evening, being alone, we ventured to speak of the future--for +the first time since we had left home. + +"The surgeon tells me," said Mrs. Macallan, "that Eustace is too weak to +be capable of bearing anything in the nature of a surprise for some days +to come. We have time to consider whether he is or is not to be told +that he owes his life as much to your care as to mine. Can you find it +in your heart to leave him, Valeria, now that God's mercy has restored +him to you and to me?" + +"If I only consulted my own heart," I answered, "I should never leave +him again." + +Mrs. Macallan looked at me in grave surprise. + +"What else have you to consult?" she asked. + +"If we both live," I replied, "I have to think of the happiness of his +life and the happiness of mine in the years that are to come. I can bear +a great deal, mother, but I cannot endure the misery of his leaving me +for the second time." + +"You wrong him, Valeria--I firmly believe you wrong him--in thinking it +possible that he can leave you again." + +"Dear Mrs. Macallan, have you forgotten already what we have both heard +him say of me while we have been sitting by his bedside?" + +"We have heard the ravings of a man in delirium. It is surely hard +to hold Eustace responsible for what he said when he was out of his +senses." + +"It is harder still," I said, "to resist his mother when she is pleading +for him. Dearest and best of friends! I don't hold Eustace responsible +for what he said in the fever--but I _do_ take warning by it. The +wildest words that fell from him were, one and all, the faithful echo of +what he said to me in the best days of his health and his strength. What +hope have I that he will recover with an altered mind toward me? Absence +has not changed it; suffering has not changed it. In the delirium +of fever, and in the full possession of his reason, he has the same +dreadful doubt of me. I see but one way of winning him back: I must +destroy at its root his motive for leaving me. It is hopeless to +persuade him that I believe in his innocence: I must show him that +belief is no longer necessary; I must prove to him that his position +toward me has become the position of an innocent man!" + +"Valeria! Valeria! you are wasting time and words. You have tried the +experiment; and you know as well as I do that the thing is not to be +done." + +I had no answer to that. I could say no more than I had said already. + +"Suppose you go back to Dexter, out of sheer compassion for a mad +and miserable wretch who has already insulted you," proceeded my +mother-in-law. "You can only go back accompanied by me, or by some +other trustworthy person. You can only stay long enough to humor the +creature's wayward fancy, and to keep his crazy brain quiet for a time. +That done, all is done--you leave him. Even supposing Dexter to be still +capable of helping you, how can you make use of him but by admitting him +to terms of confidence and familiarity--by treating him, in short, on +the footing of an intimate friend? Answer me honestly: can you bring +yourself to do that, after what happened at Mr. Benjamin's house?" + +I had told her of my last interview with Miserrimus Dexter, in +the natural confidence that she inspired in me as relative and +fellow-traveler; and this was the use to which she turned her +information! I suppose I had no right to blame her; I suppose the motive +sanctioned everything. At any rate, I had no choice but to give offense +or to give an answer. I gave it. I acknowledged that I could never +again permit Miserrimus Dexter to treat me on terms of familiarity as a +trusted and intimate friend. + +Mrs. Macallan pitilessly pressed the advantage that she had won. + +"Very well," she said, "that resource being no longer open to you, what +hope is left? Which way are you to turn next?" + +There was no meeting those questions, in my present situation, by any +adequate reply. I felt strangely unlike myself--I submitted in silence. +Mrs. Macallan struck the last blow that completed her victory. + +"My poor Eustace is weak and wayward," she said; "but he is not an +ungrateful man. My child, you have returned him good for evil--you have +proved how faithfully and how devotedly you love him, by suffering all +hardships and risking all dangers for his sake. Trust me, and trust +him! He cannot resist you. Let him see the dear face that he has been +dreaming of looking at him again with all the old love in it, and he is +yours once more, my daughter--yours for life." She rose and touched my +forehead with her lips; her voice sank to tones of tenderness which I +had never heard from her yet. "Say yes, Valeria," she whispered; "and be +dearer to me and dearer to him than ever!" + +My heart sided with her. My energies were worn out. No letter had +arrived from Mr. Playmore to guide and to encourage me. I had resisted +so long and so vainly; I had tried and suffered so much; I had met with +such cruel disasters and such reiterated disappointments--and he was in +the room beneath me, feebly finding his way back to consciousness and +to life--how could I resist? It was all over. In saying Yes (if Eustace +confirmed his mother's confidence in him), I was saying adieu to the +one cherished ambition, the one dear and noble hope of my life. I knew +it--and I said Yes. + +And so good-by to the grand struggle! And so welcome to the new +resignation which owned that I had failed. + +My mother-in-law and I slept together under the only shelter that the +inn could offer to us--a sort of loft at the top of the house. The night +that followed our conversation was bitterly cold. We felt the chilly +temperature, in spite of the protection of our dressing-gowns and our +traveling-wrappers. My mother-in-law slept, but no rest came to me. I +was too anxious and too wretched, thinking over my changed position, and +doubting how my husband would receive me, to be able to sleep. + +Some hours, as I suppose, must have passed, and I was still absorbed in +my own melancholy thoughts, when I suddenly became conscious of a new +and strange sensation which astonished and alarmed me. I started up in +the bed, breathless and bewildered. The movement awakened Mrs. Macallan. +"Are you ill?" she asked. "What is the matter with you?" I tried to tell +her, as well as I could. She seemed to understand me before I had done; +she took me tenderly in her arms, and pressed me to her bosom. "My poor +innocent child," she said, "is it possible you don't know? Must I really +tell you?" She whispered her next words. Shall I ever forget the tumult +of feelings which the whisper aroused in me--the strange medley of joy +and fear, and wonder and relief, and pride and humility, which filled my +whole being, and made a new woman of me from that moment? Now, for the +first time, I knew it! If God spared me for a few months more, the most +enduring and the most sacred of all human joys might be mine--the joy of +being a mother. + +I don't know how the rest of the night passed. I only find my memory +again when the morning came, and when I went out by myself to breathe +the crisp wintry air on the open moor behind the inn. + +I have said that I felt like a new woman. The morning found me with a +new resolution and a new courage. When I thought of the future, I had +not only my husband to consider now. His good name was no longer his +own and mine--it might soon become the most precious inheritance that +he could leave to his child. What had I done while I was in ignorance of +this? I had resigned the hope of cleansing his name from the stain that +rested on it--a stain still, no matter how little it might look in the +eye of the Law. Our child might live to hear malicious tongues say, +"Your father was tried for the vilest of all murders, and was never +absolutely acquitted of the charge." Could I face the glorious perils of +childbirth with that possibility present to my mind? No! not until I had +made one more effort to lay the conscience of Miserrimus Dexter bare to +my view! not until I had once again renewed the struggle, and brought +the truth that vindicated the husband and the father to the light of +day! + +I went back to the house, with my new courage to sustain me. I opened my +heart to my friend and mother, and told her frankly of the change that +had come over me since we had last spoken of Eustace. + +She was more than disappointed--she was almost offended with me. The one +thing needful had happened, she said. The happiness that might soon +come to us would form a new tie between my husband and me. Every other +consideration but this she treated as purely fanciful. If I left Eustace +now, I did a heartless thing and a foolish thing. I should regret, to +the end of my days, having thrown away the one golden opportunity of my +married life. + +It cost me a hard struggle, it oppressed me with many a painful doubt; +but I held firm this time. The honor of the father, the inheritance of +the child--I kept these thoughts as constant ly as possible before my +mind. Sometimes they failed me, and left me nothing better than a poor +fool who had some fitful bursts of crying, and was always ashamed of +herself afterward. But my native obstinacy (as Mrs. Macallan said) +carried me through. Now and then I had a peep at Eustace, while he was +asleep; and that helped me too. Though they made my heart ache and shook +me sadly at the times those furtive visits to my husband fortified +me afterward. I cannot explain how this happened (it seems so +contradictory); I can only repeat it as one of my experiences at that +troubled time. + +I made one concession to Mrs. Macallan--I consented to wait for two days +before I took any steps for returning to England, on the chance that my +mind might change in the interval. + +It was well for me that I yielded so far. On the second day the director +of the field-hospital sent to the post-office at our nearest town for +letters addressed to him or to his care. The messenger brought back a +letter for me. I thought I recognized the handwriting, and I was right. +Mr. Playmore's answer had reached me at last! + +If I had been in any danger of changing my mind, the good lawyer would +have saved me in the nick of time. The extract that follows contains the +pith of his letter; and shows how he encouraged me when I stood in sore +need of a few cheering and friendly words. + +"Let me now tell you," he wrote, "what I have done toward verifying the +conclusion to which your letter points. + +"I have traced one of the servants who was appointed to keep watch in +the corridor on the night when the first Mrs. Eustace died at Gleninch. +The man perfectly remembers that Miserrimus Dexter suddenly appeared +before him and his fellow-servant long after the house was quiet for the +night. Dexter said to them, 'I suppose there is no harm in my going into +the study to read? I can't sleep after what has happened; I must relieve +my mind somehow.' The men had no orders to keep any one out of the +study. They knew that the door of communication with the bedchamber was +locked, and that the keys of the two other doors of communication were +in the possession of Mr. Gale. They accordingly permitted Dexter to +go into the study. He closed the door (the door that opened on the +corridor), and remained absent for some time--in the study as the men +supposed; in the bedchamber as we know from what he let out at his +interview with you. Now he could enter that room, as you rightly +imagine, in but one way--by being in possession of the missing key. +How long he remained there I cannot discover. The point is of little +consequence. The servant remembers that he came out of the study again +'as pale as death,' and that he passed on without a word on his way back +to his own room. + +"These are facts. The conclusion to which they lead is serious in the +last degree. It justifies everything that I confided to you in my office +at Edinburgh. You remember what passed between us. I say no more. + +"As to yourself next. You have innocently aroused in Miserrimus Dexter a +feeling toward you which I need not attempt to characterize. There is a +certain something--I saw it myself--in your figure, and in some of your +movements, which does recall the late Mrs. Eustace to those who knew her +well, and which has evidently had its effect on Dexter's morbid mind. +Without dwelling further on this subject, let me only remind you that +he has shown himself (as a consequence of your influence over him) to +be incapable, in his moments of agitation, of thinking before he speaks +while he is in your presence. It is not merely possible, it is highly +probable, that he may betray himself far more seriously than he has +betrayed himself yet if you give him the opportunity. I owe it to you +(knowing what your interests are) to express myself plainly on this +point. I have no sort of doubt that you have advanced one step nearer +to the end which you have in view in the brief interval since you left +Edinburgh. I see in your letter (and in my discoveries) irresistible +evidence that Dexter must have been in secret communication with the +deceased lady (innocent communication, I am certain, so far as _she_ +was concerned), not only at the time of her death, but perhaps for weeks +before it. I cannot disguise from myself or from you, my own strong +persuasion that if you succeed in discovering the nature of this +communication, in all human likelihood you prove your husband's +innocence by the discovery of the truth. As an honest man, I am bound +not to conceal this. And, as an honest man also, I am equally bound +to add that, not even with your reward in view, can I find it in +my conscience to advise you to risk what you must risk if you see +Miserrimus Dexter again. In this difficult and delicate matter I cannot +and will not take the responsibility: the final decision must rest with +yourself. One favor only I entreat you to grant--let me hear what you +resolve to do as soon as you know it yourself." + +The difficulties which my worthy correspondent felt were no difficulties +to me. I did not possess Mr. Playmore's judicial mind. My resolution was +settled before I had read his letter through. + +The mail to France crossed the frontier the next day. There was a place +for me, under the protection of the conductor, if I chose to take +it. Without consulting a living creature--rash as usual, headlong as +usual--I took it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. ON THE JOURNEY BACK. + +IF I had been traveling homeward in my own carriage, the remaining +chapters of this narrative would never have been written. Before we had +been an hour on the road I should have called to the driver, and should +have told him to turn back. + +Who can be always resolute? + +In asking that question, I speak of the women, not of the men. I +had been resolute in turning a deaf ear to Mr. Playmore's doubts and +cautions; resolute in holding out against my mother-in-law; resolute +in taking my place by the French mail. Until ten minutes after we had +driven away from the inn my courage held out--and then it failed me; +then I said to myself, "You wretch, you have deserted your husband!" For +hours afterward, if I could have stopped the mail, I would have done it. +I hated the conductor, the kindest of men. I hated the Spanish ponies +that drew us, the cheeriest animals that ever jingled a string of +bells. I hated the bright day that _would_ make things pleasant, and +the bracing air that forced me to feel the luxury of breathing whether +I liked it or not. Never was a journey more miserable than my safe and +easy journey to the frontier. But one little comfort helped me to bear +my heart-ache resignedly--a stolen morsel of Eustace's hair. We had +started at an hour of the morning when he was still sound asleep. I +could creep into his room, and kiss him, and cry over him softly, and +cut off a stray lock of his hair, without danger of discovery. How I +summoned resolution enough to leave him is, to this hour, not clear to +my mind. I think my mother-in-law must have helped me, without meaning +to do it. She came into the room with an erect head and a cold eye; she +said, with an unmerciful emphasis on the word, "If you _mean_ to go, +Valeria, the carriage is here." Any woman with a spark of spirit in her +would have "meant" it under those circumstances. I meant it--and did it. + +And then I was sorry for it. Poor humanity! Time has got all the credit +of being the great consoler of afflicted mortals. In my opinion, Time +has been overrated in this matter. Distance does the same beneficent +work far more speedily, and (when assisted by Change) far more +effectually as well. On the railroad to Paris, I became capable of +taking a sensible view of my position. I could now remind myself that +my husband's reception of me--after the first surprise and the first +happiness had passed away--might not have justified his mother's +confidence in him. Admitting that I ran a risk in going back to +Miserrimus Dexter, should I not have been equally rash, in another way, +if I had returned, uninvited, to a husband who had declared that our +conjugal happiness was impossible, and that our married life was at an +end? Besides, who could say that the events of the future might not y +et justify me--not only to myself, but to him? I might yet hear him +say, "She was inquisitive when she had no business to inquire; she +was obstinate when she ought; to have listened to reason; she left my +bedside when other women would have remained; but in the end she atoned +for it all--she turned out to be right!" + +I rested a day at Paris and wrote three letters. + +One to Benjamin, telling him to expect me the next evening. One to Mr. +Playmore, warning him, in good time, that I meant to make a last effort +to penetrate the mystery at Gleninch. One to Eustace (of a few lines +only), owning that I had helped to nurse him through the dangerous part +of his illness; confessing the one reason which had prevailed with me +to leave him; and entreating him to suspend his opinion of me until time +had proved that I loved him more dearly than ever. This last letter I +inclosed to my mother-in-law, leaving it to her discretion to choose the +right time for giving it to her son. I positively forbade Mrs. Macallan, +however, to tell Eustace of the new tie between us. Although he _had_ +separated himself from me, I was determined that he should not hear +it from other lips than mine. Never mind why. There are certain little +matters which I must keep to myself; and this is one of them. + +My letters being written, my duty was done. I was free to play my last +card in the game--the darkly doubtful game which was neither quite for +me nor quite against me as the chances now stood. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. ON THE WAY TO DEXTER. + +"I DECLARE to Heaven, Valeria, I believe that monster's madness is +infectious--and you have caught it!" + +This was Benjamin's opinion of me (on my safe arrival at the villa) +after I had announced my intention of returning Miserrimus Dexter's +visit, in his company. + +Being determined to carry my point, I could afford to try the influence +of mild persuasion. I begged my good friend to have a little patience +with me. "And do remember what I have already told you," I added. "It is +of serious importance to me to see Dexter again." + +I only heaped fuel on the fire. "See him again?" Benjamin repeated +indignantly. "See him, after he grossly insulted you, under my roof, in +this very room? I can't be awake; I must be asleep and dreaming!" + +It was wrong of me, I know. But Benjamin's virtuous indignation was so +very virtuous that it let the spirit of mischief loose in me. I really +could not resist the temptation to outrage his sense of propriety by +taking an audaciously liberal view of the whole matter. + +"Gently, my good friend, gently," I said. "We must make allowances for a +man who suffers under Dexter's infirmities, and lives Dexter's life. And +really we must not let our modesty lead us beyond reasonable limits. I +begin to think that I took rather a prudish view of the thing myself at +the time. A woman who respects herself, and whose whole heart is with +her husband, is not so very seriously injured when a wretched crippled +creature is rude enough to put his arm around her waist. Virtuous +indignation (if I may venture to say so) is sometimes very cheap +indignation. Besides, I have forgiven him--and you must forgive him too. +There is no fear of his forgetting himself again, while you are with me. +His house is quite a curiosity--it is sure to interest you; the pictures +alone are worth the journey. I will write to him to-day, and we will go +and see him together to-morrow. We owe it to ourselves (if we don't +owe it to Mr. Dexter) to pay this visit. If you will look about you, +Benjamin, you will see that benevolence toward everybody is the great +virtue of the time we live in. Poor Mr. Dexter must have the benefit of +the prevailing fashion. Come, come, march with the age! Open your mind +to the new ideas!" + +Instead of accepting this polite invitation, worthy old Benjamin flew at +the age we lived in like a bull at a red cloth. + +"Oh, the new ideas! the new ideas! By all manner of means, Valeria, let +us have the new ideas! The old morality's all wrong, the old ways are +all worn out. Let's march with the age we live in. Nothing comes amiss +to the age we live in. The wife in England and the husband in Spain, +married or not married living together or not living together--it's all +one to the new ideas. I'll go with you, Valeria; I'll be worthy of the +generation I live in. When we have done with Dexter, don't let's do +things by halves. Let's go and get crammed with ready made science at a +lecture--let's hear the last new professor, the man who has been behind +the scenes at Creation, and knows to a T how the world was made, and how +long it took to make it. There's the other fellow, too: mind we don't +forget the modern Solomon, who has left his proverbs behind him--the +brand-new philosopher who considers the consolations of religion in +the light of harmless playthings, and who is kind enough to say that +he might have been all the happier if he could only have been +childish enough to play with them himself. Oh, the new ideas! the new +ideas!--what consoling, elevating, beautiful discoveries have been made +by the new ideas! We were all monkeys before we were men, and molecules +before we were monkeys! and what does it matter? And what does anything +matter to anybody? I'm with you, Valeria, I'm ready. The sooner the +better. Come to Dexter! Come to Dexter!" + +"I am so glad you agree with me," I said. "But let us do nothing in a +hurry. Three o'clock to-morrow will be time enough for Mr. Dexter. I +will write at once and tell him to expect us. Where are you going?" + +"I am going to clear my mind of cant," said Benjamin, sternly. "I am +going into the library." + +"What are you going to read?" + +"I am going to read--Puss in Boots, and Jack and the Bean-stalk, and +anything else I can find that doesn't march with the age we live in." + +With that parting shot at the new ideas, my old friend left me for a +time. + +Having dispatched my note, I found myself beginning to revert, with +a certain feeling of anxiety, to the subject of Miserrimus Dexter's +health. How had he passed through the interval of my absence from +England? Could anybody, within my reach, tell me news of him? To inquire +of Benjamin would only be to provoke a new outbreak. While I was still +considering, the housekeeper entered the room on some domestic errand. +I asked, at a venture, if she had heard anything more, while I had been +away of the extraordinary person who had so seriously alarmed her on a +former occasion. + +The housekeeper shook her head, and looked as if she thought it in bad +taste to mention the subject at all. + +"About a week after you had gone away ma'am," she said, with extreme +severity of manner, and with excessive carefulness in her choice of +words, "the Person you mention had the impudence to send a letter to +you. The messenger was informed, by my master's orders, that you had +gone abroad, and he and his letter were both sent about their business +together. Not long afterward, ma'am, I happened, while drinking tea with +Mrs. Macallan's housekeeper, to hear of the Person again. He himself +called in his chaise, at Mrs. Macallan's, to inquire about you there. +How he can contrive to sit, without legs to balance him, is beyond my +understanding--but that is neither here nor there. Legs or no legs, the +housekeeper saw him, and she says, as I say, she will never forget him +to her dying day. She told him (as soon as she recovered herself) of Mr. +Eustace's illness, and of you and Mrs. Macallan being in foreign parts +nursing him. He went away, so the housekeeper told me, with tears in his +eyes, and oaths and curses on his lips--a sight shocking to see. That's +all I know about the Person, ma'am, and I hope to be excused if +I venture to say that the subject is (for good reasons) extremely +disagreeable to me." + +She made a formal courtesy, and quitted the room. + +Left by myself, I felt more anxious and more uncertain than ever when I +thought of the experiment that was to be tried on the next day. Making +due allowance for exaggeration, the description of Miserrimus Dexter +on his departure from Mrs. Macallan's house suggested that he had not +endured my long absence very patiently, and that he was still as far +as ever from giving his shattered nervous system its fair chance of +repose. + +The next morning brought me Mr. Playmore's reply to the letter which I +had addressed to him from Paris. + +He wrote very briefly, neither approving nor blaming my decision, but +strongly reiterating his opinion that I should do well to choose a +competent witness as my companion at my coming interview with Dexter. +The most interesting part of the letter was at the end. "You must be +prepared," Mr. Playmore wrote, "to see a change for the worse in Dexter. +A friend of mine was with him on a matter of business a few days since, +and was struck by the alteration in him. Your presence is sure to have +its effect, one way or another. I can give you no instructions for +managing him--you must be guided by the circumstances. Your own tact +will tell you whether it is wise or not to encourage him to speak of the +late Mrs. Eustace. The chances of his betraying himself all revolve (as +I think) round that one topic: keep him to it if you can." To this was +added, in a postscript: "Ask Mr. Benjamin if he were near enough to the +library door to hear Dexter tell you of his entering the bedchamber on +the night of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death." + +I put the question to Benjamin when we met at the luncheon-table before +setting forth for the distant suburb in which Miserrimus Dexter lived. +My old friend disapproved of the contemplated expedition as strongly as +ever. He was unusually grave and unusually sparing of his words when he +answered me. + +"I am no listener," he said. "But some people have voices which insist +on being heard. Mr. Dexter is one of them." + +"Does that mean that you heard him?" I asked. + +"The door couldn't muffle him, and the wall couldn't muffle him," +Benjamin rejoined. "I heard him--and I thought it infamous. There!" + +"I may want you to do more than hear him this time," I ventured to say. +"I may want you to make notes of our conversation while Mr. Dexter is +speaking to me. You used to write down what my father said, when he was +dictating his letters to you. Have you got one of your little note-books +to spare?" + +Benjamin looked up from his plate with an aspect of stern surprise. + +"It's one thing," he said, "to write under the dictation of a great +merchant, conducting a vast correspondence by which thousands of pounds +change hands in due course of post. And it's another thing to take down +the gibberish of a maundering mad monster who ought to be kept in a +cage. Your good father, Valeria, would never have asked me to do that." + +"Forgive me, Benjamin; I must really ask you to do it. You may be of +the greatest possible use to me. Come, give way this once, dear, for my +sake." + +Benjamin looked down again at his plate, with a rueful resignation which +told me that I had carried my point. + +"I have been tied to her apron-string all my life," I heard him grumble +to himself; "and it's too late in the day to get loose from her how." He +looked up again at me. "I thought I had retired from business," he said; +"but it seems I must turn clerk again. Well? What is the new stroke of +work that's expected from me this time?" + +The cab was announced to be waiting for us at the gate as he asked the +question. I rose and took his arm, and gave him a grateful kiss on his +rosy old cheek. + +"Only two things," I said. "Sit down behind Mr. Dexter's chair, so that +he can't see you. But take care to place yourself, at the same time, so +that you can see me." + +"The less I see of Mr. Dexter the better I shall be pleased," growled +Benjamin. "What am I to do after I have taken my place behind him?" + +"You are to wait until I make you a sign; and when you see it you are to +begin writing down in your note-book what Mr. Dexter is saying--and you +are to go on until I make another sign, which means, Leave off!" + +"Well?" said Benjamin, "what's the sign for Begin? and what's the sign +for Leave off?" + +I was not quite prepared with an answer to this. I asked him to help me +with a hint. No! Benjamin would take no active part in the matter. He +was resigned to be employed in the capacity of passive instrument--and +there all concession ended, so far as he was concerned. + +Left to my own resources, I found it no easy matter to invent a +telegraphic system which should sufficiently inform Benjamin, without +awakening Dexter's quick suspicion. I looked into the glass to see if I +could find the necessary suggestion in anything that I wore. My earrings +supplied me with the idea of which I was in search. + +"I shall take care to sit in an arm-chair," I said. "When you see me +rest my elbow on the chair, and lift my hand to my earring, as if I were +playing with it--write down what he says; and go on until--well, suppose +we say, until you hear me move my chair. At that sound, stop. You +understand me?" + +"I understand you." + +We started for Dexter's house. + + + +CHAPTER XL. NEMESIS AT LAST. + +THE gardener opened the gate to us on this occasion. He had evidently +received his orders in anticipation of my arrival. + +"Mrs. Valeria?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"And friend?" + +"And friend." + +"Please to step upstairs. You know the house." + +Crossing the hall, I stopped for a moment, and looked at a favorite +walking-cane which Benjamin still kept in his hand. + +"Your cane will only be in your way," I said. "Had you not better leave +it here?" + +"My cane may be useful upstairs," retorted Benjamin, gruffly. "_I_ +haven't forgotten what happened in the library." + +It was no time to contend with him. I led the way up the stairs. + +Arriving at the upper flight of steps, I was startled by hearing a +sudden cry from the room above. It was like the cry of a person in pain; +and it was twice repeated before we entered the circular antechamber. +I was the first to approach the inner room, and to see the many-sided +Miserrimus Dexter in another new aspect of his character. + +The unfortunate Ariel was standing before a table, with a dish of +little cakes placed in front of her. Round each of her wrists was tied a +string, the free ends of which (at a distance of a few yards) were held +in Miserrimus Dexter's hands. "Try again, my beauty!" I heard him say, +as I stopped on the threshold of the door. "Take a cake." At the word of +command, Ariel submissively stretched out one arm toward the dish. Just +as she touched a cake with the tips of her fingers her hand was jerked +away by a pull at the string, so savagely cruel in the nimble and +devilish violence of it that I felt inclined to snatch Benjamin's +cane out of his hand and break it over Miserrimus Dexter's back. Ariel +suffered the pain this time in Spartan silence. The position in which +she stood enabled her to be the first to see me at the door. She had +discovered me. Her teeth were set; her face was flushed under the +struggle to restrain herself. Not even a sigh escaped her in my +presence. + +"Drop the string!" I called out, indignantly "Release her, Mr. Dexter, +or I shall leave the house." + +At the sound of my voice he burst out with a shrill cry of welcome. His +eyes fastened on me with a fierce, devouring delight. + +"Come in! come in!" he cried. "See what I am reduced to in the maddening +suspense of waiting for you. See how I kill the time when the time parts +us. Come in! come in! I am in one of my malicious humors this morning, +caused entirely, Mrs. Valeria, by my anxiety to see you. When I am in +my malicious humors I must tease something. I am teasing Ariel. Look +at her! She has had nothing to eat all day, and she hasn't been quick +enough to snatch a morsel of cake yet. You needn't pity her. Ariel has +no nerves--I don't hurt her." + +"Ariel has no nerves," echoed the poor creature, frowning at me for +interfering between her master and herself. "He doesn't hurt me." + +I heard Benjamin beginning to swing his cane behind him. + +"Drop the string!" I reiterated, more vehemently than ever. "Drop it, or +I shall instantly leave you." + +Miserrimus Dexter's delicate nerves shuddered at my violence. "What a +glorious voice!" he exclaimed--and dropped the string. "Take the cakes," +he added, addressing Ariel in his most imperial manner. + +She passed me, with the strings hanging from her swollen wrists, and the +dish of cakes in her hand. She nodded her head at me defiantly. + +"Ariel has got no nerves," she repeated, proudly. "He doesn't hurt me." + +"You see," said Miserrimus Dexter, "there is no harm done--and I dropped +the strings when you told me. Don't _begin_ by being hard on me, Mrs. +Valeria, after your long absence." He paused. Benjamin, standing silent +in the doorway, attracted his attention for the first time. "Who is +this?" he asked, and wheeled his chair suspiciously nearer to the door. +"I know!" he cried, before I could answer. "This is the benevolent +gentleman who looked like the refuge of the afflicted when I saw him +last.--You have altered for the worse since then, sir. You have stepped +into quite a new character--you personify Retributive Justice now.--Your +new protector, Mrs. Valeria--I understand!" He bowed low to Benjamin, +with ferocious irony. "Your humble servant, Mr. Retributive Justice! I +have deserved you--and I submit to you. Walk in, sir! I will take care +that your new office shall be a sinecure. This lady is the Light of +my Life. Catch me failing in respect to her if you can!" He backed his +chair before Benjamin (who listened to him in contemptuous silence) +until he reached the part of the room in which I was standing. "Your +hand, Light of my Life!" he murmured in his gentlest tones. "Your +hand--only to show that you have forgiven me!" I gave him my hand. +"One?" he whispered, entreatingly. "Only one?" He kissed my hand once, +respectfully--and dropped it with a heavy sigh. "Ah, poor Dexter!" he +said, pitying himself with the whole sincerity of his egotism. "A warm +heart--wasted in solitude, mocked by deformity. Sad! sad! Ah, poor +Dexter!" He looked round again at Benjamin, with another flash of his +ferocious irony. "A beauteous day, sir," he said, with mock-conventional +courtesy. "Seasonable weather indeed after the late long-continued +rains. Can I offer you any refreshment? Won't you sit down? Retributive +Justice, when it is no taller than you are, looks best in a chair." + +"And a monkey looks best in a cage," rejoined Benjamin, enraged at the +satirical reference to his shortness of stature. "I was waiting, sir, to +see you get into your swing." + +The retort produced no effect on Miserrimus Dexter: it appeared to have +passed by him unheard. He had changed again; he was thoughtful, he was +subdued; his eyes were fixed on me with a sad and rapt attention. I +took the nearest arm-chair, first casting a glance at Benjamin, which +he immediately understood. He placed himself behind Dexter, at an angle +which commanded a view of my chair. Ariel, silently devouring her cakes, +crouched on a stool at "the Master's" feet, and looked up at him like a +faithful dog. There was an interval of quiet and repose. I was able to +observe Miserrimus Dexter uninterruptedly for the first time since I had +entered the room. + +I was not surprised--I was nothing less than alarmed by the change for +the worse in him since we had last met. Mr. Playmore's letter had not +prepared me for the serious deterioration in him which I could now +discern. + +His features were pinched and worn; the whole face seemed to have wasted +strangely in substance and size since I had last seen it. The softness +in his eyes was gone. Blood-red veins were intertwined all over them +now: they were set in a piteous and vacant stare. His once firm hands +looked withered; they trembled as they lay on the coverlet. The paleness +of his face (exaggerated, perhaps, by the black velvet jacket that +he wore) had a sodden and sickly look--the fine outline was gone. The +multitudinous little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened. +His head sank into his shoulders when he leaned forward in his chair. +Years appeared to have passed over him, instead of months, while I +had been absent from England. Remembering the medical report which +Mr. Playmore had given me to read--recalling the doctor's positively +declared opinion that the preservation of Dexter's sanity depended on +the healthy condition of his nerves--I could not but feel that I had +done wisely (if I might still hope for success) in hastening my return +from Spain. Knowing what I knew, fearing what I feared, I believed that +his time was near. I felt, when our eyes met by accident, that I was +looking at a doomed man. + +I pitied him. + +Yes, yes! I know that compassion for him was utterly inconsistent with +the motive which had taken me to his house--utterly inconsistent with +the doubt, still present to my mind, whether Mr. Playmore had really +wronged him in believing that his was the guilt which had compassed +the first Mrs. Eustace's death. I felt this: I knew him to be cruel; I +believed him to be false. And yet I pitied him! Is there a common fund +of wickedness in us all? Is the suppression or the development of that +wickedness a mere question of training and temptation? And is there +something in our deeper sympathies which mutely acknowledges this when +we feel for the wicked; when we crowd to a criminal trial; when we shake +hands at parting (if we happen to be present officially) with the vilest +monster that ever swung on a gallows? It is not for me to decide. I can +only say that I pitied Miserrimus Dexter--and that he found it out. + +"Thank you," he said, suddenly. "You see I am ill, and you feel for me. +Dear and good Valeria!" + +"This lady's name, sir, is Mrs. Eustace Macallan," interposed Benjamin, +speaking sternly behind him. "The next time you address her, remember, +if you please, that you have no business with her Christian name." + +Benjamin's rebuke passed, like Benjamin's retort, unheeded and unheard. +To all appearance, Miserrimus Dexter had completely forgotten that there +was such a person in the room. + +"You have delighted me with the sight of you," he went on. "Add to the +pleasure by letting me hear your voice. Talk to me of yourself. Tell me +what you have been doing since you left England." + +It was necessary to my object to set the conversation afloat; and this +was as good a way of doing it as any other. I told him plainly how I had +been employed during my absence. + +"So you are still fond of Eustace?" he said, bitterly. + +"I love him more dearly than ever." + +He lifted his hands, and hid his face. After waiting a while, he went +on, speaking in an odd, muffled manner, still under cover of his hands. + +"And you leave Eustace in Spain," he said; "and you return to England by +yourself! What made you do that?" + +"What made me first come here and ask you to help me, Mr. Dexter?" + +He dropped his hands, and looked at me. I saw in his eyes, not amazement +only, but alarm. + +"Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you won't let that miserable +matter rest even yet? Are you still determined to penetrate the mystery +at Gleninch?" + +"I am still determined, Mr. Dexter; and I still hope that you may be +able to help me." + +The old distrust that I remembered so well darkened again over his face +the moment I said those words. + +"How can I help you?" he asked. "Can I alter facts?" He stopped. His +face brightened again, as if some sudden sense of relief had come to +him. "I did try to help you," he went on. "I told you that Mrs. Beauly's +absence was a device to screen herself from suspicion; I told you that +the poison might have been given by Mrs. Beauly's maid. Has reflection +convinced you? Do you see something in the idea?" + +This return to Mrs. Beauly gave me my first chance of leading the talk +to the right topic. + +"I see nothing in the idea," I answered. "I see no motive. Had the maid +any reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace?" + +"Nobody had any reason to be an enemy to the late Mrs. Eustace!" he +broke out, loudly and vehemently. "She was all goodness, all kindness; +she never injured any human creature in thought or deed. She was a saint +upon earth. Respect her memory! Let the martyr rest in her grave!" He +covered his face again with his hands, and shook and shuddered under the +paroxysm of emotion that I had roused in him. + +Ariel suddenly and softly left her stool, and approached me. + +"Do you see my ten claws?" she whispered, holding out her hands. "Vex +the Master again, and you will feel my ten claws on your throat!" + +Benjamin rose from his seat: he had seen the action, without hearing the +words. I signed to him to keep his place. Ariel returned to her stool, +and looked up again at her master. + +"Don't cry," she said. "Come on. Here are the strings. Tease me again. +Make me screech with the smart of it." + +He never answered, and never moved. + +Ariel bent her slow mind to meet the difficulty of attracting his +attention. I saw it in her frowning brows, in her colorless eyes looking +at me vacantly. On a sudden, she joyfully struck the open palm of one of +her hands with the fist of the other. She had triumphed. She had got an +idea. + +"Master!" she cried. "Master! You haven't told me a story for ever so +long. Puzzle my thick head. Make my flesh creep. Come on. A good long +story. All blood and crimes." + +Had she accidentally hit on the right suggestion to strike his wayward +fancy? I knew his high opinion of his own skill in "dramatic narrative." +I knew that one of his favorite amusements was to puzzle Ariel by +telling her stories that she could not understand. Would he wander away +into the regions of wild romance? Or would he remember that my obstinacy +still threatened him with reopening the inquiry into the tragedy at +Gleninch? and would he set his cunning at work to mislead me by some new +stratagem? This latter course was the course which my past experience of +him suggested that he would take. But, to my surprise and alarm, I found +my past experience at fault. Ariel succeeded in diverting his mind from +the subject which had been in full possession of it the moment before +she spoke! He showed his face again. It was overspread by a broad smile +of gratified self-esteem. He was weak enough now to let even Ariel find +her way to his vanity. I saw it with a sense of misgiving, with a doubt +whether I had not delayed my visit until too late, which turned me cold +from head to foot. + +Miserrimus Dexter spoke--to Ariel, not to me. + +"Poor devil!" he said, patting her head complacently. "You don't +understand a word of my stories, do you? And yet I can make the flesh +creep on your great clumsy body--and yet I can hold your muddled mind, +and make you like it. Poor devil!" He leaned back serenely in his chair, +and looked my way again. Would the sight of me remind him of the +words that had passed between us not a minute since? No! There was the +pleasantly tickled self-conceit smiling at me exactly as it had smiled +at Ariel. "I excel in dramatic narrative, Mrs. Valeria," he said. "And +this creature here on the stool is a remarkable proof of it. She is +quite a psychological study when I tell her one of my stories. It is +really amusing to see the half-witted wretch's desperate efforts to +understand me. You shall have a specimen. I have been out of spirits +while you were away--I haven't told her a story for weeks past; I will +tell her one now. Don't suppose it's any effort to me! My invention is +inexhaustible. You are sure to be amused--you are naturally serious--but +you are sure to be amused. I am naturally serious too; and I always +laugh at her." + +Ariel clapped her great shapeless hands. "He always laughs at me!" she +said, with a proud look of superiority directed straight at me. + +I was at a loss, seriously at a loss, what to do. + +The outbreak which I had provoked in leading him to speak of the late +Mrs. Eustace warned me to be careful, and to wait for my opportunity +before I reverted to _that_ subject. How else could I turn the +conversation so as to lead him, little by little, toward the betrayal of +the secrets which he was keeping from me? In this uncertainty, one thing +only seemed to be plain. To let him tell his story would be simply to +let him waste the precious minutes. With a vivid remembrance of Ariel's +"ten claws," I decided, nevertheless on discouraging Dexter's new whim +at every possible opportunity and by every means in my power. + +"Now, Mrs. Valeria," he began, loudly and loftily, "listen. Now, Ariel, +bring your brains to a focus. I improvise poetry; I improvise fiction. +We will begin with the good old formula of the fairy stories. Once upon +a time--" + +I was waiting for my opportunity to interrupt him when he interrupted +himself. He stopped, with a bewildered look. He put his hand to his +head, and passed it backward and forward over his forehead. He laughed +feebly. + +"I seem to want rousing," he said + +Was his mind gone? There had been no signs of it until I had unhappily +stirred his memory of the dead mistress of Gleninch. Was the weakness +which I had already noticed, was the bewilderment which I now saw, +attributable to the influence of a passing disturbance only? In other +words, had I witnessed nothing more serious than a first warning to him +and to us? Would he soon recover himself, if we were patient, and gave +him time? Even Benjamin was interested at last; I saw him trying to look +at Dexter around the corner of the chair. Even Ariel was surprised and +uneasy. She had no dark glances to cast at me now. + +We all waited to see what he would do, to hear what he would say, next. + +"My harp!" he cried. "Music will rouse me." + +Ariel brought him his harp. + +"Master," she said, wonderingly, "what's come to you?" + +He waved his hand, commanding her to be silent. + +"Ode to Invention," he announced, loftily, addressing himself to me. +"Poetry and music improvised by Dexter. Silence! Attention!" + +His fingers wandered feebly over the harpstrings, awakening no melody, +suggesting no words. In a little while his hand dropped; his head sank +forward gently, and rested on the frame of the harp. I started to my +feet, and approached him. Was it a sleep? or was it a swoon? + +I touched his arm, and called to him by his name. + +Ariel instantly stepped between us, with a threatening look at me. At +the same moment Miserrimus Dexter raised his head. My voice had reached +him. He looked at me with a curious contemplative quietness in his eyes +which I had never seen in them before. + +"Take away the harp," he said to Ariel, speaking in languid tones, like +a man who was very weary. + +The mischievous, half-witted creature--in sheer stupidity or in +downright malice, I am not sure which--irritated him once more. + +"Why, Master?" she asked, staring at him with the harp hugged in her +arms. "What's come to you? where is the story?" + +"We don't want the story," I interposed. "I have many things to say to +Mr. Dexter which I have not said yet." + +Ariel lifted her heavy hand. "You will have it!" she said, and advanced +toward me. At the same moment the Master's voice stopped her. + +"Put away the harp, you fool!" he repeated, sternly. "And wait for the +story until I choose to tell it." + +She took the harp submissively back to its place at the end of the room. +Miserrimus Dexter moved his chair a little closer to mine. "I know what +will rouse me," he said, confidentially. "Exercise will do it. I have +had no exercise lately. Wait a little, and you will see." + +He put his hands on the machinery of the chair, and started on his +customary course down the room. Here again the ominous change in him +showed itself under a new form. The pace at which he traveled was not +the furious pace that I remembered; the chair no longer rushed under him +on rumbling and whistling wheels. It went, but it went slowly. Up the +room and down the room he painfully urged it--and then he stopped for +want of breath. + +We followed him. Ariel was first, and Benjamin was by my side. He +motioned impatiently to both of them to stand back, and to let me +approach him alone. + +"I'm out of practice," he said, faintly. "I hadn't the heart to make the +wheels roar and the floor tremble while you were away." + +Who would not have pitied him? Who would have remembered his misdeeds +at that moment? Even Ariel felt it. I heard her beginning to whine +and whimper behind me. The magician who alone could rouse the dormant +sensibilities in her nature had awakened them now by his neglect. Her +fatal cry was heard again, in mournful, moaning tones-- + +"What's come to you, Master? Where's the story?" + +"Never mind her," I whispered to him. "You want the fresh air. Send for +the gardener. Let us take a drive in your pony-chaise." + +It was useless. Ariel would be noticed. The mournful cry came once +more-- + +"Where's the story? where's the story?" + +The sinking spirit leaped up in Dexter again. + +"You wretch! you fiend!" he cried, whirling his chair around, and facing +her. "The story is coming. I _can_ tell it! I _will_ tell it! Wine! You +whimpering idiot, get me the wine. Why didn't I think of it before? The +kingly Burgundy! that's what I want, Valeria, to set my invention alight +and flaming in my head. Glasses for everybody! Honor to the King of the +Vintages--the Royal Clos Vougeot!" + +Ariel opened the cupboard in the alcove, and produced the wine and the +high Venetian glasses. Dexter drained his gobletful of Burgundy at a +draught; he forced us to drink (or at least to pretend to drink) with +him. Even Ariel had her share this time, and emptied her glass in +rivalry with her master. The powerful wine mounted almost instantly to +her weak head. She began to sing hoarsely a song of her own devising, +in imitation of Dexter. It was nothing but the repetition, the endless +mechanical repetition, of her demand for the story--"Tell us the story. +Master! master! tell us the story!" Absorbed over his wine, the Master +silently filled his goblet for the second time. Benjamin whispered to +me while his eye was off us, "Take my advice, Valeria, for once; let us +go." + +"One last effort," I whispered back. "Only one!" + +Ariel went drowsily on with her song-- + +"Tell us the story. Master! master! tell us the story." + +Miserrimus Dexter looked up from his glass. The generous stimulant was +beginning to do its work. I saw the color rising in his face. I saw +the bright intelligence flashing again in his eyes. The Burgundy _had_ +roused him! The good wine stood my friend, and offered me a last chance! + +"No story," I said. "I want to talk to you, Mr. Dexter. I am not in the +humor for a story." + +"Not in the humor?" he repeated, with a gleam of the old impish irony +showing itself again in his face. "That's an excuse. I see what it is! +You think my invention is gone--and you are not frank enough to confess +it. I'll show you you're wrong. I'll show you that Dexter is himself +again. Silence, you Ariel, or you shall leave the room! I have got it, +Mrs. Valeria, all laid out here, with scenes and characters complete." +He touched his forehead, and looked at me with a furtive and smiling +cunning before he added his next words. "It's the very thing to interest +you, my fair friend. It's the story of a Mistress and a Maid. Come back +to the fire and hear it." + +The Story of a Mistress and a Maid? If that meant anything, it meant the +story of Mrs. Beauly and her maid, told in disguise. + +The title, and the look which had escaped him when he announced it, +revived the hope that was well-nigh dead in me. He had rallied at last. +He was again in possession of his natural foresight and his natural +cunning. Under pretense of telling Ariel her story, he was evidently +about to make the attempt to mislead me for the second time. The +conclusion was irresistible. To use his own words--Dexter was himself +again. + +I took Benjamin's arm as we followed him back to the fire-place in the +middle of the room. + +"There is a chance for me yet," I whispered. "Don't forget the signals." + +We returned to the places which we had already occupied. Ariel cast +another threatening look at me. She had just sense enough left, after +emptying her goblet of wine, to be on the watch for a new interruption +on my part. I took care, of course, that nothing of the sort should +happen. I was now as eager as Ariel to hear the story. The subject was +full of snares for the narrator. At any moment, in the excitement of +speaking, Dexter's memory of the true events might show itself reflected +in the circumstances of the fiction. At any moment he might betray +himself. + +He looked around him, and began. + +"My public, are you seated? My public, are you ready?" he asked, +gayly. "Your face a little more this way," he added, in his softest +and tenderest tones, motioning to me to turn my full face toward him. +"Surely I am not asking too much? You look at the meanest creature that +crawls--look at Me. Let me find my inspiration in your eyes. Let me feed +my hungry admiration on your form. Come, have one little pitying smile +left for the man whose happiness you have wrecked. Thank you, Light of +my Life, thank you!" He kissed his hand to me, and threw himself back +luxuriously in his chair. "The story," he resumed. "The story at last! +In what form shall I cast it? In the dramatic form--the oldest way, the +truest way, the shortest way of telling a story! Title first. A +short title, a taking title: 'Mistress and Maid.' Scene, the land of +romance--Italy. Time, the age of romance--the fifteenth century. Ha! +look at Ariel. She knows no more about the fifteenth century than the +cat in the kitchen, and yet she is interested already. Happy Ariel!" + +Ariel looked at me again, in the double intoxication of the wine and the +triumph. + +"I know no more than the cat in the kitchen," she repeated, with a broad +grin of gratified vanity. "I am 'happy Ariel!' What are you?" + +Miserrimus Dexter laughed uproariously. + +"Didn't I tell you?" he said. "Isn't she fun?--Persons of the Drama." +he resumed: "three in number. Women only. Angelica, a noble lady; noble +alike in spirit and in birth. Cunegonda, a beautiful devil in woman's +form. Damoride, her unfortunate maid. First scene: a dark vaulted +chamber in a castle. Time, evening. The owls are hooting in the wood; +the frogs are croaking in the marsh.--Look at Ariel! Her flesh creeps; +she shudders audibly. Admirable Ariel!" + +My rival in the Master's favor eyed me defiantly. "Admirable Ariel!" +she repeated, in drowsy accents. Miserrimus Dexter paused to take up +his goblet of Burgundy--placed close at hand on a little sliding table +attached to his chair. I watched him narrowly as he sipped the wine. The +flush was still mounting in his face; the light was still brightening +in his eyes. He set down his glass again, with a jovial smack of his +lips--and went on: + +"Persons present in the vaulted chamber: Cunegonda and Damoride. +Cunegonda speaks. 'Damoride!' 'Madam?' 'Who lies ill in the chamber +above us?' 'Madam, the noble lady Angelica.' (A pause. Cunegonda speaks +again.) 'Damoride!' 'Madam?' 'How does Angelica like you?' 'Madam, the +noble lady, sweet and good to all who approach her, is sweet and good to +me.' 'Have you attended on her, Damoride?' 'Sometimes, madam, when the +nurse was weary.' 'Has she taken her healing medicine from your hand.' +'Once or twice, madam, when I happened to be by.' 'Damoride, take this +key and open the casket on the table there.' (Damoride obeys.) 'Do +you see a green vial in the casket?' 'I see it, madam.' 'Take it out.' +(Damoride obeys.) 'Do you see a liquid in the green vial? can you +guess what it is?' 'No, madam.' 'Shall I tell you?' (Damoride bows +respectfully ) 'Poison is in the vial.' (Damoride starts; she shrinks +from the poison; she would fain put it aside. Her mistress signs to her +to keep it in her hand; her mistress speaks.) 'Damoride, I have told you +one of my secrets; shall I tell you another?' (Damoride waits, fearing +what is to come. Her mistress speaks.) 'I hate the Lady Angelica. Her +life stands between me and the joy of my heart. You hold her life in +your hand.' (Damoride drops on her knees; she is a devout person; +she crosses herself, and then she speaks.) 'Mistress, you terrify me. +Mistress, what do I hear?' (Cunegonda advances, stands over her, looks +down on her with terrible eyes, whispers the next words.) 'Damoride! the +Lady Angelica must die--and I must not be suspected. The Lady Angelica +must die--and by your hand.'" + +He paused again. To sip the wine once more? No; to drink a deep draught +of it this time. + +Was the stimulant beginning to fail him already? + +I looked at him attentively as he laid himself back again in his chair +to consider for a moment before he went on. + +The flush on his face was as deep as ever; but the brightness in his +eyes was beginning to fade already. I had noticed that he spoke more and +more slowly as he advanced to the later dialogue of the scene. Was he +feeling the effort of invention already? Had the time come when the wine +had done all that the wine could do for him? + +We waited. Ariel sat watching him with vacantly staring eyes and +vacantly open mouth. Ben jamin, impenetrably expecting the signal, kept +his open note-book on his knee, covered by his hand. Miserrimus Dexter +went on: + +"Damoride hears those terrible words; Damoride clasps her hands in +entreaty. 'Oh, madam! madam! how can I kill the dear and noble lady? +What motive have I for harming her?' Cunegonda answers, 'You have the +motive of obeying Me.' (Damoride falls with her face on the floor at +her mistress's feet.) 'Madam, I cannot do it! Madam, I dare not do +it!' Cunegonda answers, 'You run no risk: I have my plan for diverting +discovery from myself, and my plan for diverting discovery from you.' +Damoride repeats, 'I cannot do it! I dare not do it!' Cunegonda's eyes +flash lightnings of rage. She takes from its place of concealment in her +bosom--" + +He stopped in the middle of the sentence, and put his hand to his +head--not like a man in pain, but like a man who had lost his idea. + +Would it be well if I tried to help him to recover his idea? or would it +be wiser (if I could only do it) to keep silence? + +I could see the drift of his story plainly enough. His object, under +the thin disguise of the Italian romance, was to meet my unanswerable +objection to suspecting Mrs. Beauly's maid--the objection that the woman +had no motive for committing herself to an act of murder. If he could +practically contradict this, by discovering a motive which I should be +obliged to admit, his end would be gained. Those inquiries which I had +pledged myself to pursue--those inquiries which might, at any moment, +take a turn that directly concerned him--would, in that case, be +successfully diverted from the right to the wrong person. The innocent +maid would set my strictest scrutiny at defiance; and Dexter would be +safely shielded behind her. + +I determined to give him time. Not a word passed my lips. + +The minutes followed each other. I waited in the deepest anxiety. It was +a trying and a critical moment. If he succeeded in inventing a probable +motive, and in shaping it neatly to suit the purpose of his story, he +would prove, by that act alone, that there were reserves of mental +power still left in him which the practiced eye of the Scotch doctor had +failed to see. But the question was--would he do it? + +He did it! Not in a new way; not in a convincing way; not without a +painfully evident effort. Still, well done or ill done, he found a +motive for the maid. + +"Cunegonda," he resumed, "takes from its place of concealment in +her bosom a written paper, and unfolds it. 'Look at this,' she says. +Damoride looks at the paper, and sinks again at her mistress's feet in a +paroxysm of horror and despair. Cunegonda is in possession of a shameful +secret in the maid's past life. Cunegonda can say to her, 'Choose +your alternative. Either submit to an exposure which disgraces you +and--disgraces your parents forever--or make up your mind to obey Me.' +Damoride might submit to the disgrace if it only affected herself. But +her parents are honest people; she cannot disgrace her parents. She is +driven to her last refuge--there is no hope of melting the hard heart of +Cunegonda. Her only resource is to raise difficulties; she tries to show +that there are obstacles between her and the crime. 'Madam! madam!' she +cries; 'how can I do it, when the nurse is there to see me?' Cunegonda +answers, 'Sometimes the nurse sleeps; sometimes the nurse is away.' +Damoride still persists. 'Madam! madam! the door is kept locked, and the +nurse has got the key.'" + +The key! I instantly thought of the missing key at Gleninch. Had he +thought of it too? He certainly checked himself as the word escaped him. +I resolved to make the signal. I rested my elbow on the arm of my chair, +and played with my earring. Benjamin took out his pencil and arranged +his note-book so that Ariel could not see what he was about if she +happened to look his way. + +We waited until it pleased Miserrimus Dexter to proceed. The interval +was a long one. His hand went up again to his forehead. A duller and +duller look was palpably stealing over his eyes. When he did speak, it +was not to go on with the narrative, but to put a question. + +"Where did I leave off?" he asked. + +My hopes sank again as rapidly as they had risen. I managed to answer +him, however, without showing any change in my manner. + +"You left off," I said, "where Damoride was speaking to Cunegonda--" + +"Yes, yes!" he interposed. "And what did she say?" + +"She said, 'The door is kept locked, and the nurse has got the key.'" + +He instantly leaned forward in his chair. + +"No!" he answered, vehemently. "You're wrong. 'Key?' Nonsense! I never +said 'Key.'" + +"I thought you did, Mr. Dexter." + +"I never did! I said something else, and you have forgotten it." + +I refrained from disputing with him, in fear of what might follow. We +waited again. Benjamin, sullenly submitting to my caprices, had taken +down the questions and answers that had passed between Dexter and +myself. He still mechanically kept his page open, and still held his +pencil in readiness to go on. Ariel, quietly submitting to the drowsy +influence of the wine while Dexter's voice was in her ears, felt +uneasily the change to silence. She glanced round her restlessly; she +lifted her eyes to "the Master." + +There he sat, silent, with his hand to his head, still struggling to +marshal his wandering thoughts, still trying to see light through the +darkness that was closing round him. + +"Master!" cried Ariel, piteously. "What's become of the story?" + +He started as if she had awakened him out of a sleep; he shook his +head impatiently, as though he wanted to throw off some oppression that +weighed upon it. + +"Patience, patience," he said. "The story is going on again." + +He dashed at it desperately; he picked up the first lost thread that +fell in his way, reckless whether it were the right thread or the wrong +one: + +"Damoride fell on her knees. She burst into tears. She said--" + +He stopped, and looked about him with vacant eyes. + +"What name did I give the other woman?" he asked, not putting the +question to me, or to either of my companions: asking it of himself, or +asking it of the empty air. + +"You called the other woman Cunegonda," I said. + +At the sound of my voice his eyes turned slowly--turned on me, and yet +failed to look at me. Dull and absent, still and changeless, they were +eyes that seemed to be fixed on something far away. Even his voice +was altered when he spoke next. It had dropped to a quiet, vacant, +monotonous tone. I had heard something like it while I was watching by +my husband's bedside, at the time of his delirium--when Eustace's mind +appeared to be too weary to follow his speech. Was the end so near as +this? + +"I called her Cunegonda," he repeated. "And I called the other--" + +He stopped once more. + +"And you called the other Damoride," I said. + +Ariel looked up at him with a broad stare of bewilderment. She pulled +impatiently at the sleeve of his jacket to attract his notice. + +"Is this the story, Master?" she asked. + +He answered without looking at her, his changeless eyes still fixed, as +it seemed, on something far away. + +"This is the story," he said, absently. "But why Cunegonda? why +Damoride? Why not Mistress and Maid? It's easier to remember Mistress +and Maid--" + +He hesitated; he shivered as he tried to raise himself in his chair. +Then he seemed to rally "What did the Maid say to the Mistress?" he +muttered. "What? what? what?" He hesitated again. Then something seemed +to dawn upon him unexpectedly. Was it some new thought that had struck +him? or some lost thought that he had recovered? Impossible to say. + +He went on, suddenly and rapidly went on, in these strange words: + +"'The letter,' the Maid said; 'the letter. Oh my heart. Every word +a dagger. A dagger in my heart. Oh, you letter. Horrible, horrible, +horrible letter.'" + +What, in God's name, was he talking about? What did those words mean? + +Was he unconsciously pursuing his faint and fragmentary recollections +of a past time at Gleninch, under the delusion that he was going on with +the story? In the wreck of the other faculties, was memory the last to +sink? Was the truth, the dreadful truth, glimmering on me dimly through +the awful shadow cast before it by the advancing, eclipse of the brain? +My breath failed me; a nameless horror crept through my whole being. + +Benjamin, with his pencil in his hand, cast one warning look at me. +Ariel was quiet and satisfied. "Go on, Master," was all she said. "I +like it! I like it! Go on with the story." + +He went on--like a man sleeping with his eyes open, and talking in his +sleep. + +"The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to the Maid. The +Mistress said, 'Show him the letter. Must, must, must do it.' The Maid +said, 'No. Mustn't do it. Shan't show it. Stuff. Nonsense. Let him +suffer. We can get him off. Show it? No. Let the worst come to the +worst. Show it, then.' The Mistress said--" He paused, and waved his +hand rapidly to and fro before his eyes, as if he were brushing away +some visionary confusion or entanglement. "Which was it last?" he +said--"Mistress or Maid? Mistress? No. Maid speaks, of course. Loud. +Positive. 'You scoundrels. Keep away from that table. The Diary's there. +Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You shan't have the Diary. A +secret in your ear. The Diary will hang, him. I won't have him hanged. +How dare you touch my chair? My chair is Me! How dare you touch Me?'" + +The last words burst on me like a gleam of light! I had read them in +the Report of the Trial--in the evidence of the sheriff's officer. +Miserrimus Dexter had spoken in those very terms when he had tried +vainly to prevent the men from seizing my husband's papers, and when the +men had pushed his chair out of the room. There was no doubt now of what +his memory was busy with. The mystery at Gleninch! His last backward +flight of thought circled feebly and more feebly nearer and nearer to +the mystery at Gleninch! + +Ariel aroused him again. She had no mercy on him; she insisted on +hearing the whole story. + +"Why do you stop, Master? Get along with it! get along with it! Tell us +quick--what did the Missus say to the Maid?" + +He laughed feebly, and tried to imitate her. + +"'What did the Missus say to the Maid?'" he repeated. His laugh died +away. He went on speaking, more and more vacantly, more and more +rapidly. "The Mistress said to the Maid. We've got him off. What about +the letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. No matches in the box. +House topsy-turvy. Servants all gone. Tear it up. Shake it up in the +basket. Along with the rest. Shake it up. Waste paper. Throw it away. +Gone forever. Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara! Gone forever.'" + +Ariel clapped her hands, and mimicked him in her turn. + +"'Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara!'" she repeated. "'Gone forever.' That's prime, +Master! Tell us--who was Sara?" + +His lips moved, but his voice sank so low that I could barely hear him. +He began again, with the old melancholy refrain: + +"The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to the Maid--" +He stopped abruptly, and raised himself erect in the chair; he threw +up both his hands above his head, and burst into a frightful screaming +laugh. "Aha-ha-ha-ha! How funny! Why don't you laugh? Funny, funny, +funny, funny. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha--" + +He fell back in the chair. The shrill and dreadful laugh died away into +a low sob. Then there was one long, deep, wearily drawn breath. Then +nothing but a mute, vacant face turned up to the ceiling, with eyes +that looked blindly, with lips parted in a senseless, changeless grin. +Nemesis at last! The foretold doom had fallen on him. The night had +come. + +But one feeling animated me when the first shock was over. Even the +horror of that fearful sight seemed only to increase the pity that I +felt for the stricken wretch. I started impulsively to my feet. Seeing +nothing, thinking of nothing but the helpless figure in the chair, I +sprang forward to raise him, to revive him, to recall him (if such a +thing might still be possible) to himself. At the first step that I +took, I felt hands on me--I was violently drawn back. "Are you blind?" +cried Benjamin, dragging me nearer and nearer to the door. "Look there!" + +He pointed; and I looked. + +Ariel had been beforehand with me. She had raised her master in the +chair; she had got one arm around him. In her free hand she brandished +an Indian club, torn from a "trophy" of Oriental weapons that ornamented +the wall over the fire-place. The creature was transfigured! Her dull +eyes glared like the eyes of a wild animal. She gnashed her teeth in +the frenzy that possessed her. "You have done this!" she shouted to me, +waving the club furiously around and around over her head. "Come near +him, and I'll dash your brains out! I'll mash you till there's not a +whole bone left in your skin!" Benjamin, still holding me with one hand +opened the door with the other. I let him do with me as he would; Ariel +fascinated me; I could look at nothing but Ariel. Her frenzy vanished as +she saw us retreating. She dropped the club; she threw both arms around +him, and nestled her head on his bosom, and sobbed and wept over him. +"Master! master! They shan't vex you any more. Look up again. Laugh +at me as you used to do. Say, 'Ariel, you're a fool.' Be like yourself +again!" I was forced into the next room. I heard a long, low, wailing +cry of misery from the poor creature who loved him with a dog's fidelity +and a woman's devotion. The heavy door was closed between us. I was in +the quiet antechamber, crying over that piteous sight; clinging to my +kind old friend as helpless and as useless as a child. + +Benjamin turned the key in the lock. + +"There's no use in crying about it," he said, quietly. "It would be more +to the purpose, Valeria, if you thanked God that you have got out of +that room safe and sound. Come with me." + +He took the key out of the lock, and led me downstairs into the hall. +After a little consideration, he opened the front door of the house. The +gardener was still quietly at work in the grounds. + +"Your master is taken ill," Benjamin said; "and the woman who attends +upon him has lost her head--if she ever had a head to lose. Where does +the nearest doctor live?" + +The man's devotion to Dexter showed itself as the woman's devotion had +shown itself--in the man's rough way. He threw down his spade with an +oath. + +"The Master taken bad?" he said. "I'll fetch the doctor. I shall find +him sooner than you will." + +"Tell the doctor to bring a man with him," Benjamin added. "He may want +help." + +The gardener turned around sternly. + +"_I'm_ the man," he said. "Nobody shall help but me." + +He left us. I sat down on one of the chairs in the hall, and did my best +to compose myself. Benjamin walked to and fro, deep in thought. "Both of +them fond of him," I heard my old friend say to himself. "Half monkey, +half man--and both of them fond of him. _That_ beats me." + +The gardener returned with the doctor--a quiet, dark, resolute man. +Benjamin advanced to meet them. "I have got the key," he said. "Shall I +go upstairs with you?" + +Without answering, the doctor drew Benjamin aside into a corner of the +hall. The two talked together in low voices. At the end of it the doctor +said, "Give me the key. You can be of no use; you will only irritate +her." + +With those words he beckoned to the gardener. He was about to lead the +way up the stairs when I ventured to stop him. + +"May I stay in the hall, sir?" I said. "I am very anxious to hear how it +ends." + +He looked at me for a moment before he replied. + +"You had better go home, madam," he said. "Is the gardener acquainted +with your address?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well. I will let you know how it ends by means of the gardener. +Take my advice. Go home." + +Benjamin placed my arm in his. I looked back, and saw the doctor and +the gardener ascending the stairs together on their way to the locked-up +room. + +"Never mind the doctor," I whispered. "Let's wait in the garden." + +Benjamin would not hear of deceiving the doctor. "I mean to take you +home," he said. I looked at him in amazement. My old friend, who was all +meekness and submission so long as there was no emergency to try him, +now showed the dormant reserve of manly spirit and decision in his +nature as he had never (in my experience) shown it yet. He led me into +the garden. We had kept our cab: it was waiting for us at the gate. + +On our way home Benjamin produced his note-book. + +"What's to be done, my dear, with the gibberish that I have written +here?" he said. + +"Have you written it all down?" I asked, in surprise. + +"When I undertake a duty, I do it," he answered. "You never gave me the +signal to leave off--you never moved your chair. I have written every +word of it. What shall I do? Throw it out of the cab window?" + +"Give it to me." + +"What are you going to do with it?" + +"I don't know yet. I will ask Mr. Playmore." + + + +CHAPTER XLI. MR. PLAYMORE IN A NEW CHARACTER. + +BY that night's post--although I was far from being fit to make the +exertion--I wrote to Mr. Playmore, to tell him what had taken place, and +to beg for his earliest assistance and advice. + +The notes in Benjamin's book were partly written in shorthand, and were, +on that account, of no use to me in their existing condition. At my +request, he made two fair copies. One of the copies I inclosed in my +letter to Mr. Playmore. The other I laid by me, on my bedside table, +when I went to rest. + +Over and over again, through the long hours of the wakeful night, I read +and re-read the last words which had dropped from Miserrimus Dexter's +lips. Was it possible to interpret them to any useful purpose? At the +very outset they seemed to set interpretation at defiance. After trying +vainly to solve the hopeless problem, I did at last what I might as well +have done at first--I threw down the paper in despair. Where were my +bright visions of discovery and success now? Scattered to the winds! +Was there the faintest chance of the stricken man's return to reason? I +remembered too well what I had seen to hope for it. The closing lines of +the medical report which I had read in Mr. Playmore's office recurred +to my memory in the stillness of the night--"When the catastrophe has +happened, his friends can entertain no hope of his cure: the balance +once lost, will be lost for life." + +The confirmation of that terrible sentence was not long in reaching +me. On the next morning the gardener brought a note containing the +information which the doctor had promised to give me on the previous +day. + +Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel were still where Benjamin and I had +left them together--in the long room. They were watched by skilled +attendants, waiting the decision of Dexter's nearest relative (a younger +brother, who lived in the country, and who had been communicated with by +telegraph). It had been found impossible to part the faithful Ariel +from her master without using the bodily restraints adopted in cases of +raging insanity. The doctor and the gardener (both unusually strong men) +had failed to hold the poor creature when they first attempted to remove +her on entering the room. Directly they permitted her to return to her +master the frenzy vanished: she was perfectly quiet and contented so +long as they let her sit at his feet and look at him. + +Sad as this was, the report of Miserrimus Dexter's condition was more +melancholy still. + +"My patient is in a state of absolute imbecility"--those were the words +in the doctor's letter; and the gardener's simple narrative confirmed +them as the truest words that could have been used. He was utterly +unconscious of poor Ariel's devotion to him--he did not even appear to +know that she was present in the room. For hours together he remained in +a state of utter lethargy in his chair. He showed an animal interest in +his meals, and a greedy animal enjoyment of eating and drinking as much +as he could get--and that was all. "This morning," the honest gardener +said to me at parting, "we thought he seemed to wake up a bit. Looked +about him, you know, and made queer signs with his hands. I couldn't +make out what he meant; no more could the doctor. _She_ knew, poor +thing--She did. Went and got him his harp, and put his hand up to it. +Lord bless you! no use. He couldn't play no more than I can. Twanged +at it anyhow, and grinned and gabbled to himself. No: he'll never come +right again. Any person can see that, without the doctor to help 'em. +Enjoys his meals, as I told you; and that's all. It would be the best +thing that could happen if it would please God to take him. There's no +more to be said. I wish you good-morning, ma'am." + +He went away with the tears in his eyes; and he left me, I own it, with +the tears in mine. + +An hour later there came some news which revived me. I received a +telegram from Mr. Playmore, expressed in these welcome words: "Obliged +to go to London by to-night's mail train. Expect me to breakfast +to-morrow morning." + +The appearance of the lawyer at our breakfast-table duly followed the +appearance of his telegram. His first words cheered me. To my infinite +surprise and relief, he was far from sharing the despondent view which I +took of my position. + +"I don't deny," he said, "that there are some serious obstacles in +your way. But I should never have called here before attending to my +professional business in London if Mr. Benjamin's notes had not produced +a very strong impression on my mind. For the first time, as _I_ think, +you really have a prospect of success. For the first time, I feel +justified in offering (under certain restrictions) to help you. That +miserable wretch, in the collapse of his intelligence, has done what he +would never have done in the possession of his sense and his cunning--he +has let us see the first precious glimmerings of the light of truth." + +"Are you sure it _is_ the truth?" I asked. + +"In two important particulars," he answered, "I know it to be the truth. +Your idea about him is the right one. His memory (as you suppose) was +the least injured of his faculties, and was the last to give way under +the strain of trying to tell that story. I believe his memory to have +been speaking to you (unconsciously to himself) in all that he said from +the moment when the first reference to 'the letter' escaped him to the +end." + +"But what does the reference to the letter mean?" I asked. "For my part, +I am entirely in the dark about it." + +"So am I," he answered, frankly. "The chief one among the obstacles +which I mentioned just now is the obstacle presented by that same +'letter.' The late Mrs. Eustace must have been connected with it in some +way, or Dexter would never have spoken of it as 'a dagger in his heart'; +Dexter would never have coupled her name with the words which describe +the tearing up of the letter and the throwing of it away. I can arrive +with some certainty at this result, and I can get no further. I have no +more idea than you have of who wrote the letter, or of what was +written in it. If we are ever to make that discovery--probably the +most important discovery of all--we must dispatch our first inquiries +a distance of three thousand miles. In plain English, my dear lady, we +must send to America." + +This, naturally enough, took me completely by surprise. I waited eagerly +to hear why we were to send to America. + +"It rests with you," he proceeded, "when you hear what I have to tell +you, to say whether you will go to the expense of sending a man to New +York, or not. I can find the right man for the purpose; and I estimate +the expense (including a telegram)--" + +"Never mind the expense!" I interposed, losing all patience with the +eminently Scotch view of the case which put my purse in the first place +of importance. "I don't care for the expense; I want to know what you +have discovered." + +He smiled. "She doesn't care for the expense," he said to himself, +pleasantly. "How like a woman!" + +I might have retorted, "He thinks of the expense before he thinks of +anything else. How like a Scotchman!" As it was, I was too anxious to +be witty. I only drummed impatiently with my fingers on the table, and +said, "Tell me! tell me!" + +He took out the fair copy from Benjamin's note-book which I had sent to +him, and showed me these among Dexter's closing words: "What about the +letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. No matches in the box. House +topsy-turvy. Servants all gone." + +"Do you really understand what those words mean?" I asked. + +"I look back into my own experience," he answered, "and I understand +perfectly what the words mean." + +"And can you make me understand them too?" + +"Easily. In those incomprehensible sentences Dexter's memory has +correctly recalled certain facts. I have only to tell you the facts, +and you will be as wise as I am. At the time of the Trial, your husband +surprised and distressed me by insisting on the instant dismissal of +all the household servants at Gleninch. I was instructed to pay them +a quarter's wages in advance, to give them the excellent written +characters which their good conduct thoroughly deserved, and to see +the house clear of them at an hour's notice. Eustace's motive for this +summary proceeding was much the same motive which animated his conduct +toward you. 'If I am ever to return to Gleninch,' he said, 'I cannot +face my honest servants after the infamy of having stood my trial for +murder.' There was his reason. Nothing that I could say to him, poor +fellow, shook his resolution. I dismissed the servants accordingly. At +an hour's notice, they quitted the house, leaving their work for the day +all undone. The only persons placed in charge of Gleninch were persons +who lived on the outskirts of the park--that is to say, the lodge-keeper +and his wife and daughter. On the last day of the Trial I instructed +the daughter to do her best to make the rooms tidy. She was a good girl +enough, but she had no experience as a housemaid: it would never enter +her head to lay the bedroom fires ready for lighting, or to replenish +the empty match-boxes. Those chance words that dropped from Dexter +would, no doubt, exactly describe the state of his room when he returned +to Gleninch, with the prisoner and his mother, from Edinburgh. That +he tore up the mysterious letter in his bedroom, and (finding no means +immediately at hand for burning it) that he threw the fragments into +the empty grate, or into the waste-paper basket, seems to be the most +reasonable conclusion that we can draw from what we know. In any case, +he would not have much time to think about it. Everything was done in a +hurry on that day. Eustace and his mother, accompanied by Dexter, left +for England the same evening by the night train. I myself locked up the +house, and gave the keys to the lodge-keeper. It was understood that +he was to look after the preservation of the reception-rooms on the +ground-floor; and that his wife and daughter were to perform the same +service between them in the rooms upstairs. On receiving your letter, +I drove at once to Gleninch to question the old woman on the subject of +the bedrooms, and of Dexter's room especially. She remembered the time +when the house was shut up by associating it with the time when she was +confined to her bed by an attack of sciatica. She had not crossed the +lodge door, she was sure, for at least a week (if not longer after +Gleninch had been left in charge of her husband and herself). Whatever +was done in the way of keeping the bedrooms aired and tidy during her +illness was done by her daughter. She, and she only, must have disposed +of any letter which might have been lying about in Dexter's room. Not a +vestige of torn paper, as I can myself certify, is to be discovered in +any part of the room now. Where did the girl find the fragments of the +letter? and what did she do with them? Those are the questions (if you +approve of it) which we must send three thousand miles away to ask--for +this sufficient reason, that the lodge-keeper's daughter was married +more than a year since, and that she is settled with her husband in +business at New York. It rests with you to decide what is to be done. +Don't let me mislead you with false hopes! Don't let me tempt you to +throw away your money! Even if this woman does remember what she +did with the torn paper, the chances, at this distance of time, are +enormously against our ever recovering a single morsel of it. Be in no +haste to decide. I have my work to do in the city--I can give you the +whole day to think it over." + +"Send the man to New York by the next steamer," I said. "There is my +decision, Mr. Playmore, without keeping you waiting for it!" + +He shook his head, in grave disapproval of my impetuosity. In my former +interview with him we had never once touched on the question of money. +I was now, for the first time, to make acquaintance with Mr. Playmore on +the purely Scotch side of his character. + +"Why, you don't even know what it will cost you!" he exclaimed, taking +out his pocket-book with the air of a man who was equally startled and +scandalized. "Wait till I tot it up," he said, "in English and American +money." + +"I can't wait! I want to make more discoveries!" + +He took no notice of my interruption; he went on impenetrably with his +calculations. + +"The man will go second-class, and will take a return-ticket. Very well. +His ticket includes his food; and (being, thank God, a teetotaler) he +won't waste your money in buying liquor on board. Arrived at New York, +he will go to a cheap German house, where he will, as I am credibly +informed, be boarded and lodged at the rate--" + +By this time (my patience being completely worn out) I had taken my +check-book from the table-drawer, had signed my name, and had handed the +blank check across the table to my legal adviser. + +"Fill it in with whatever the man wants," I said. "And for Heaven's sake +let us get back to Dexter!" + +Mr. Playmore fell back in his chair, and lifted his hands and eyes to +the ceiling. I was not in the least impressed by that solemn appeal +to the unseen powers of arithmetic and money. I insisted positively on +being fed with more information. + +"Listen to this," I went on, reading from Benjamin's notes. "What did +Dexter mean when he said, 'Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You +shan't have the Diary. A secret in your ear. The Diary will hang him?' +How came Dexter to know what was in my husband's Diary? And what does he +mean by 'Number Nine, Caldershaws,' and the rest of it? Facts again?" + +"Facts again!" Mr. Playmore answered, "muddled up together, as you may +say--but positive facts for all that. Caldershaws, you must know, is one +of the most disreputable districts in Edinburgh. One of my clerks (whom +I am in the habit of employing confidentially) volunteered to inquire +for 'Dandie' at 'Number Nine.' It was a ticklish business in every +way; and my man wisely took a person with him who was known in the +neighborhood. 'Number Nine' turned out to be (ostensibly) a shop for the +sale of rags and old iron; and 'Dandie' was suspected of trading now +and then, additionally, as a receiver of stolen goods. Thanks to the +influence of his companion, backed by a bank-note (which can be repaid, +by the way, out of the fund for the American expenses), my clerk +succeeded is making the fellow speak. Not to trouble you with needless +details, the result in substance was this: A fortnight or more before +the date of Mrs. Eustace's death, 'Dandie' made two keys from wax models +supplied to him by a new customer. The mystery observed in the matter +by the agent who managed it excited Dandie's distrust. He had the +man privately watched before he delivered the keys; and he ended in +discovering that his customer was--Miserrimus Dexter. Wait a little! +I have not done yet. Add to this information Dexter's incomprehensible +knowledge of the contents of your husband's diary, and the product +is--that the wax models sent to the old-iron shop in Caldershaws were +models taken by theft from the key of the Diary and the key of the +table-drawer in which it was kept. I have my own idea of the revelations +that are still to come if this matter is properly followed up. Never +mind going into that at present. Dexter (I tell you again) is answerable +for the late Mrs. Eustace's death. _How_ he is answerable I believe you +are in a fair way of finding out. And, more than that, I say now, what I +could not venture to say before--it is a duty toward Justice, as well +as a duty toward your husband, to bring the truth to light. As for the +difficulties to be encountered, I don't think they need daunt you. The +greatest difficulties give way in the end, when they are attacked by the +united alliance of patience resolution--_and_ economy." + +With a strong emphasis on the last words, my worthy adviser, mindful of +the flight of time and the claims of business, rose to take his leave. + +"One word more," I said, as he held out his hand. "Can you manage to +see Miserrimus Dexter before you go back to Edinburgh? From what the +gardener told me, his brother must be with him by this time. It would be +a relief to me to hear the latest news of him, and to hear it from you." + +"It is part of my business in London to see him," said Mr. Playmore. +"But mind! I have no hope of his recovery; I only wish to satisfy myself +that his brother is able and willing to take care of him. So far as _we_ +are concerned, Mrs. Eustace, that unhappy man has said his last words." + +He opened the door--stopped--considered--and come back to me. + +"With regard to that matter of sending the agent to America," he +resumed--"I propose to have the honor of submitting to you a brief +abstract--" + +"Oh, Mr. Playmore!" + +"A brief abstract in writing, Mrs. Eustace, of the estimated expenses of +the whole proceeding. You will be good enough maturely to consider the +same, making any remarks on it, tending to economy, which may suggest +themselves to your mind at the time. And you will further oblige me, if +you approve of the abstract, by yourself filling in the blank space on +your check with the needful amount in words and figures. No, madam! I +really cannot justify it to my conscience to carry about my person +any such loose and reckless document as a blank check. There's a total +disregard of the first claims of prudence and economy implied in this +small slip of paper which is nothing less than a flat contradiction of +the principles that have governed my whole life. I can't submit to flat +contradiction. Good-morning, Mrs. Eustace--good-morning." + +He laid my check on the table with a low bow, and left me. Among the +curious developments of human stupidity which occasionally present +themselves to view, surely the least excusable is the stupidity which, +to this day, persists in wondering why the Scotch succeed so well in +life! + + + +CHAPTER XLII. MORE SURPRISES. + +The same evening I received my "abstract" by the hands of a clerk. + +It was an intensely characteristic document. My expenses were +remorselessly calculated downward to shillings and even to pence; and +our unfortunate messenger's instructions in respect to his expenditure +were reduced to a nicety which must have made his life in America +nothing less than a burden to him. In mercy to the man, I took the +liberty, when I wrote back to Mr. Playmore, of slightly increasing the +indicated amount of the figures which were to appear on the check. I +ought to have better known the correspondent whom I had to deal with. +Mr. Playmore's reply (informing me that our emissary had started on his +voyage) returned a receipt in due form, and the whole of the surplus +money, to the last farthing! + +A few hurried lines accompanied the "abstract," and stated the result of +the lawyer's visit to Miserrimus Dexter. + +There was no change for the better--there was no change at all. Mr. +Dexter, the brother, had arrived at the house accompanied by a medical +man accustomed to the charge of the insane. The new doctor declined to +give any definite opinion on the case until he had studied it carefully +with plenty of time at his disposal. It had been accordingly arranged +that he should remove Miserrimus Dexter to the asylum of which he was +the proprietor as soon as the preparations for receiving the patient +could be completed. The one difficulty that still remained to be met +related to the disposal of the faithful creature who had never left her +master, night or day, since the catastrophe had happened. Ariel had no +friends and no money. The proprietor of the asylum could not be expected +to receive her without the customary payment; and Mr. Dexter's brother +"regretted to say that he was not rich enough to find the money." A +forcible separation from the one human being whom she loved, and a +removal in the character of a pauper to a public asylum--such was +the prospect which awaited the unfortunate creature unless some one +interfered in her favor before the end of the week. + +Under these sad circumstances, good Mr. Playmore--passing over the +claims of economy in favor of the claims of humanity--suggested that +we should privately start a subscription, and offered to head the list +liberally himself. + +I must have written all these pages to very little purpose if it is +necessary for me to add that I instantly sent a letter to Mr. Dexter, +the brother, undertaking to be answerable for whatever money was to +be required while the subscriptions were being collected, and only +stipulating that when Miserrimus Dexter was removed to the asylum, Ariel +should accompany him. This was readily conceded. But serious objections +were raised when I further requested that she might be permitted to +attend on her master in the asylum as she had attended on him in the +house. The rules of the establishment forbade it, and the universal +practice in such cases forbade it, and so on, and so on. However, by +dint of perseverance and persuasion, I so far carried my point as to +gain a reasonable concession. During certain hours in the day, and under +certain wise restrictions, Ariel was to be allowed the privilege of +waiting on the Master in his room, as well as of accompanying him when +he was brought out in his chair to take the air in the garden. For the +honor of humanity, let me add that the liability which I had undertaken +made no very serious demands on my resources. Placed in Benjamin's +charge, our subscription-list prospered. Friends, and even strangers +sometimes, opened their hearts and their purses when they heard Ariel's +melancholy story. + +The day which followed the day of Mr. Playmore's visit brought me news +from Spain, in a letter from my mother-in-law. To describe what I felt +when I broke the seal and read the first lines is simply impossible. Let +Mrs. Macallan be heard on this occasion in my place. + +Thus she wrote: + +"Prepare yourself, my dearest Valeria, for a delightful surprise. +Eustace has justified my confidence in him. When he returns to England, +he returns--if you will let him--to his wife. + +"This resolution, let me hasten to assure you, has not been brought +about by any persuasions of mine. It is the natural outgrowth of your +husband's gratitude and your husband's love. The first words he said +to me, when he was able to speak, were these: 'If I live to return to +England, and if I go to Valeria, do you think she will forgive me?' We +can only leave it to you, my dear, to give the answer. If you love us, +answer us by return of post. + +"Having now told you what he said when I first informed him that you had +been his nurse--and remember, if it seem very little, that he is still +too weak to speak except with difficulty--I shall purposely keep my +letter back for a few days. My object is to give him time to think, +and to frankly tell you of it if the interval produce any change in his +resolution. + +"Three days have passed, and there is no change. He has but one feeling +now--he longs for the day which is to unite him again to his wife. + +"But there is something else connected with Eustace that you ought to +know, and that I ought to tell you. + +"Greatly as time and suffering have altered him in many respects, there +is no change, Valeria, in the aversion--the horror I may even say--with +which he views your idea of inquiring anew into the circumstances which +attended the lamentable death of his first wife. It makes no difference +to him that you are only animated by a desire to serve his interests. +'Has she given up that idea? Are you positively sure she has given up +that idea?' Over and over again he has put these questions to me. I have +answered--what else could I do in the miserably feeble state in which he +still lies?--I have answered in such a manner as to soothe and satisfy +him. I have said, 'Relieve your mind of all anxiety on that subject: +Valeria has no choice but to give up the idea; the obstacles in her way +have proved to be insurmountable--the obstacles have conquered her.' +This, if you remember, was what I really believed would happen when you +and I spoke of that painful topic; and I have heard nothing from you +since which has tended to shake my opinion in the smallest degree. If +I am right (as I pray God I may be) in the view that I take, you h ave +only to confirm me in your reply, and all will be well. In the other +event--that is to say, if you are still determined to persevere in +your hopeless project--then make up your mind to face the result. Set +Eustace's prejudices at defiance in this particular, and you lose your +hold on his gratitude, his penitence, and his love--you will, in my +belief, never see him again. + +"I express myself strongly, in your own interests, my dear, and for your +own sake. When you reply, write a few lines to Eustace, inclosed in your +letter to me. + +"As for the date of our departure, it is still impossible for me to give +you any definite information. Eustace recovers very slowly; the doctor +has not yet allowed him to leave his bed; and when we do travel we must +journey by easy stages. It will be at least six weeks, at the earliest, +before we can hope to be back again in dear Old England. + + "Affectionately yours, + + "CATHERINE MACALLAN." + +I laid down the letter, and did my best (vainly enough for some time) +to compose my spirits. To understand the position in which I now found +myself, it is only necessary to remember one circumstance: the messenger +to whom we had committed our inquiries was at that moment crossing the +Atlantic on his way to New York. + +What was to be done? + +I hesitated. Shocking as it may seem to some people, I hesitated. There +was really no need to hurry my decision. I had the whole day before me. + +I went out and took a wretched, lonely walk, and turned the matter over +in my mind. I came home again, and turned the matter over once more by +the fireside. To offend and repel my darling when he was returning to +me, penitently returning of his own free will, was what no woman in my +position, and feeling as I did, could under any earthly circumstances +have brought herself to do. And yet, on the other hand, how in Heaven's +name could I give up my grand enterprise at the very time when even wise +and prudent Mr. Playmore saw such a prospect of succeeding in it that +he had actually volunteered to help me? Placed between those two cruel +alternatives, which could I choose? Think of your own frailties, and +have some mercy on mine. I turned my back on both the alternatives. +Those two agreeable fiends, Prevarication and Deceit, took me, as it +were, softly by the hand: "Don't commit yourself either way, my dear," +they said, in their most persuasive manner. "Write just enough to +compose your mother-in-law and to satisfy your husband. You have got +time before you. Wait and see if Time doesn't stand your friend, and get +you out of the difficulty." + +Infamous advice! And yet I took it--I, who had been well brought up, and +who ought to have known better. You who read this shameful confession +would have known better, I am sure. _You_ are not included, in the +Prayer-book category, among the "miserable sinners." + +Well! well! let me have virtue enough to tell the truth. In writing to +my mother-in-law, I informed her that it had been found necessary to +remove Miserrimus Dexter to an asylum--and I left her to draw her own +conclusions from that fact, unenlightened by so much as one word of +additional information. In the same way, I told my husband a part of the +truth, and no more. I said I forgave him with all my heart--and I did! +I said he had only to come to me, and I would receive him with open +arms--and so I would! As for the rest, let me say with Hamlet--"The rest +is silence." + +Having dispatched my unworthy letters, I found myself growing restless, +and feeling the want of a change. It would be necessary to wait at least +eight or nine days before we could hope to hear by telegraph from New +York. I bade farewell for a time to my dear and admirable Benjamin, and +betook myself to my old home in the North, at the vicarage of my uncle +Starkweather. My journey to Spain to nurse Eustace had made my peace +with my worthy relatives; we had exchanged friendly letters; and I had +promised to be their guest as soon as it was possible for me to leave +London. + +I passed a quiet and (all things considered) a happy time among the old +scenes. I visited once more the bank by the river-side, where Eustace +and I had first met. I walked again on the lawn and loitered through the +shrubbery--those favorite haunts in which we had so often talked over +our troubles, and so often forgotten them in a kiss. How sadly and +strangely had our lives been parted since that time! How uncertain still +was the fortune which the future had in store for us! + +The associations amid which I was now living had their softening effect +on my heart, their elevating influence over my mind. I reproached +myself, bitterly reproached myself, for not having written more fully +and frankly to Eustace. Why had I hesitated to sacrifice to him my hopes +and my interests in the coming investigation? _He_ had not hesitated, +poor fellow--_his_ first thought was the thought of his wife! + +I had passed a fortnight with my uncle and aunt before I heard +again from Mr. Playmore. When a letter from him arrived at last, it +disappointed me indescribably. A telegram from our messenger informed us +that the lodge-keeper's daughter and her husband had left New York, and +that he was still in search of a trace of them. + +There was nothing to be done but to wait as patiently as we could, +on the chance of hearing better news. I remained in the North, by Mr. +Playmore's advice, so as to be within an easy journey to Edinburgh--in +case it might be necessary for me to consult him personally. Three more +weeks of weary expectation passed before a second letter reached me. +This time it was impossible to say whether the news were good or bad. +It might have been either--it was simply bewildering. Even Mr. +Playmore himself was taken by surprise. These were the last wonderful +words--limited of course by considerations of economy--which reached us +(by telegram) from our agent in America: + +"Open the dust-heap at Gleninch." + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. AT LAST! + +MY letter from Mr. Playmore, inclosing the agent's extraordinary +telegram, was not inspired by the sanguine view of our prospects which +he had expressed to me when we met at Benjamin's house. + +"If the telegram mean anything," he wrote, "it means that the fragments +of the torn letter have been cast into the housemaid's bucket (along +with the dust, the ashes, and the rest of the litter in the room), and +have been emptied on the dust-heap at Gleninch. Since this was done, +the accumulated refuse collected from the periodical cleansings of the +house, during a term of nearly three years--including, of course, the +ashes from the fires kept burning, for the greater part of the year, in +the library and the picture-gallery--have been poured upon the heap, and +have buried the precious morsels of paper deeper and deeper, day by day. +Even if we have a fair chance of finding these fragments, what hope can +we feel, at this distance of time, of recovering them with the writing +in a state of preservation? I shall be glad to hear, by return of post +if possible, how the matter strikes you. If you could make it convenient +to consult with me personally in Edinburgh, we should save time, +when time may be of serious importance to us. While you are at Doctor +Starkweather's you are within easy reach of this place. Please think of +it." + +I thought of it seriously enough. The foremost question which I had to +consider was the question of my husband. + +The departure of the mother and son from Spain had been so long delayed, +by the surgeon's orders, that the travelers had only advanced on their +homeward journey as far as Bordeaux, when I had last heard from Mrs. +Macallan three or four days since. Allowing for an interval of repose at +Bordeaux, and for the slow rate at which they would be compelled to +move afterward, I might still expect them to arrive in England some time +before a letter from the agent in America could reach Mr. Playmore. +How, in this position of affairs, I could contrive to join the lawyer in +Edinburgh, after meeting my husband in London, it was not easy to see. +The wise and the right way, as I thought, was to tell Mr. Playmore +frankly that I was not mistress of my Own movements, and that he had +better address his next letter to me at Benjamin's house. + +Writing to my legal adviser in this sense, I had a word of my own to add +on the subject of the torn letter. + +In the last years of my father's life I had traveled with him in Italy, +and I had seen in the Museum at Naples the wonderful relics of a bygone +time discovered among the ruins of Pompeii. By way of encouraging Mr. +Playmore, I now reminded him that the eruption which had overwhelmed the +town had preserved, for more than sixteen hundred years, such perishable +things as the straw in which pottery had been packed; the paintings on +house walls; the dresses worn by the inhabitants; and (most noticeable +of all, in our case) a piece of ancient paper, still attached to the +volcanic ashes which had fallen over it. If these discoveries had been +made after a lapse of sixteen centuries, under a layer of dust and ashes +on a large scale, surely we might hope to meet with similar cases of +preservation, after a lapse of three or four years only, under a layer +of dust and ashes on a small scale. Taking for granted (what was perhaps +doubtful enough) that the fragments of the letter could be recovered, my +own conviction was that the writing on them, though it might be faded, +would certainly still be legible. The very accumulations which Mr. +Playmore deplored would be the means of preserving them from the rain +and the damp. With these modest hints I closed my letter; and thus for +once, thanks to my Continental experience, I was able to instruct my +lawyer! + +Another day passed; and I heard nothing of the travelers. + +I began to feel anxious. I made my preparations for my journey southward +overnight; and I resolved to start for London the next day--unless I +heard of some change in Mrs. Macallan's traveling arrangements in the +interval. + +The post of the next morning decided my course of action. It brought me +a letter from my mother-in-law, which added one more to the memorable +dates in my domestic calendar. + +Eustace and his mother had advanced as far as Paris on their homeward +journey, when a cruel disaster had befallen them. The fatigues of +traveling, and the excitement of his anticipated meeting with me, had +proved together to be too much for my husband. He had held out as far as +Paris with the greatest difficulty; and he was now confined to his bed +again, struck down by a relapse. The doctors, this time, had no fear +for his life, provided that his patience would support him through a +lengthened period of the most absolute repose. + +"It now rests with you, Valeria," Mrs. Macallan wrote, "to fortify and +comfort Eustace under this new calamity. Do not suppose that he has ever +blamed or thought of blaming you for leaving him with me in Spain, +as soon as he was declared to be out of danger. 'It was _I_ who left +_her,_' he said to me, when we first talked about it; 'and it is my +wife's right to expect that I should go back to her.' Those were his +words, my dear; and he has done all he can to abide by them. Helpless in +his bed, he now asks you to take the will for the deed, and to join him +in Paris. I think I know you well enough, my child, to be sure that you +will do this; and I need only add one word of caution, before I close my +letter. Avoid all reference, not only to the Trial (you will do that of +your own accord), but even to our house at Gleninch. You will understand +how he feels, in his present state of nervous depression, when I tell +you that I should never have ventured on asking you to join him here, +if your letter had not informed me that your visits to Dexter were at +an end. Would you believe it?--his horror of anything which recalls our +past troubles is still so vivid that he has actually asked me to give my +consent to selling Gleninch!" + +So Eustace's mother wrote of him. But she had not trusted entirely +to her own powers of persuasion. A slip of paper was inclosed in her +letter, containing these two lines, traced in pencil--oh, so feebly and +so wearily!--by my poor darling himself: + +"I am too weak to travel any further, Valeria. Will you come to me and +forgive me?" A few pencil-marks followed; but they were illegible. The +writing of those two short sentences had exhausted him. + +It is not saying much for myself, I know--but, having confessed it when +I was wrong, let me, at least, record it when I did what was right--I +decided instantly on giving up all further connection with the recovery +of the torn letter. If Eustace asked me the question, I was resolved to +be able to answer truly: "I have made the sacrifice that assures your +tranquillity. When resignation was hardest, I have humbled my obstinate +spirit, and I have given way for my husband's sake." + +There was half an hour to spare before I left the vicarage for the +railway station. In that interval I wrote again to Mr. Playmore, telling +him plainly what my position was, and withdrawing, at once and forever, +from all share in investigating the mystery which lay hidden under the +dust-heap at Gleninch. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. OUR NEW HONEYMOON. + +It is not to be disguised or denied that my spirits were depressed on my +journey to London. + +To resign the one cherished purpose of my life, when I had suffered +so much in pursuing it, and when I had (to all appearance) so nearly +reached the realization of my hopes, was putting to a hard trial a +woman's fortitude and a woman's sense of duty. Still, even if the +opportunity had been offered to me, I would not have recalled my letter +to Mr. Playmore. "It is done, and well done," I said to myself; "and I +have only to wait a day to be reconciled to it--when I give my husband +my first kiss." + +I had planned and hoped to reach London in time to start for Paris by +the night-mail. But the train was twice delayed on the long journey +from the North; and there was no help for it but to sleep at Benjamin's +villa, and to defer my departure until the morning. + +It was, of course, impossible for me to warn my old friend of the change +in my plans. My arrival took him by surprise. I found him alone in his +library, with a wonderful illumination of lamps and candles, absorbed +over some morsels of torn paper scattered on the table before him. + +"What in the world are you about?" I asked. + +Benjamin blushed--I was going to say, like a young girl; but young girls +have given up blushing in these latter days of the age we live in. + +"Oh, nothing, nothing!" he said, confusedly. "Don't notice it." + +He stretched out his hand to brush the morsels of paper off the table. +Those morsels raised a sudden suspicion in my mind. I stopped him. + +"You have heard from Mr. Playmore!" I said. "Tell me the truth, +Benjamin. Yes or no?" + +Benjamin blushed a shade deeper, and answered, "Yes." + +"Where is the letter?" + +"I mustn't show it to you, Valeria." + +This (need I say it?) made me determined to see the letter. My best way +of persuading Benjamin to show it to me was to tell him of the sacrifice +that I had made to my husband's wishes. "I have no further voice in +the matter," I added, when I had done. "It now rests entirely with Mr. +Playmore to go on or to give up; and this is my last opportunity of +discovering what he really thinks about it. Don't I deserve some little +indulgence? Have I no claim to look at the letter?" + +Benjamin was too much surprised, and too much pleased with me, when he +heard what had happened, to be able to resist my entreaties. He gave me +the letter. + +Mr. Playmore wrote to appeal confidentially to Benjamin as a commercial +man. In the long course of his occupation in business, it was just +possible that he might have heard of cases in which documents have been +put together again after having been torn up by design or by accident. +Even if his experience failed in this particular, he might be able to +refer to some authority in London who would be capable of giving an +opinion on the subject. By way of explaining his strange request, Mr. +Playmore reverted to the notes which Benjamin had taken at Miserrimus +Dexter's house, and informed him of the serious importance of "the +gibberish" which he had reported under protest. The letter closed by +recommending that any correspondence which ensued should be kept a +secret from me--on the ground that it might excite false hopes in my +mind if I were informed of it. + +I now understood the tone which my worthy adviser had adopted in writing +to me. His interest in the recovery of the letter was evidently so +overpowering that common prudence compelled him to conceal it from me, +in case of ultimate failure. This did not look as if Mr. Playmore was +likely to give up the investigation on my withdrawal from it. I glanced +again at the fragments of paper on Benjamin's table, with an interest in +them which I had not felt yet. + +"Has anything been found at Gleninch?" I asked. + +"No," said Benjamin. "I have only been trying experiments with a letter +of my own, before I wrote to Mr. Playmore." + +"Oh, you have torn up the letter yourself, then?" + +"Yes. And, to make it all the more difficult to put them together again, +I shook up the pieces in a basket. It's a childish thing to do, my dear, +at my age--" + +He stopped, looking very much ashamed of himself. + +"Well," I went on; "and have you succeeded in putting your letter +together again?" + +"It's not very easy, Valeria. But I have made a beginning. It's the +same principle as the principle in the 'Puzzles' which we used to put +together when I was a boy. Only get one central bit of it right, and the +rest of the Puzzle falls into its place in a longer or a shorter time. +Please don't tell anybody, my dear. People might say I was in my dotage. +To think of that gibberish in my note-book having a meaning in it, after +all! I only got Mr. Playmore's letter this morning; and--I am really +almost ashamed to mention it--I have been trying experiments on torn +letters, off and on, ever since. You won't tell upon me, will you?" + +I answered the dear old man by a hearty embrace. Now that he had lost +his steady moral balance, and had caught the infection of my enthusiasm, +I loved him better than ever. + +But I was not quite happy, though I tried to appear so. Struggle against +it as I might, I felt a little mortified when I remembered that I had +resigned all further connection with the search for the letter at such +a time as this. My one comfort was to think of Eustace. My one +encouragement was to keep my mind fixed as constantly as possible on the +bright change for the better that now appeared in the domestic prospect. +Here, at least, there was no disaster to fear; here I could honestly +feel that I had triumphed. My husband had come back to me of his own +free will; he had not given way, under the hard weight of evidence--he +had yielded to the nobler influences of his gratitude and his love. And +I had taken him to my heart again--not because I had made discoveries +which left him no other alternative than to live with me, but because I +believed in the better mind that had come to him, and loved and trusted +him without reserve. Was it not worth some sacrifice to have arrived at +this result! True--most true! And yet I was a little out of spirits. Ah, +well! well! the remedy was within a day's journey. The sooner I was with +Eustace the better. + +Early the next morning I left London for Paris by the tidal-train. +Benjamin accompanied me to the Terminus. + +"I shall write to Edinburgh by to-day's post," he said, in the interval +before the train moved out of the station. "I think I can find the man +Mr. Playmore wants to help him, if he decides to go on. Have you any +message to send, Valeria?" + +"No. I have done with it, Benjamin; I have nothing more to say." + +"Shall I write and tell you how it ends, if Mr. Playmore does really try +the experiment at Gleninch?" + +I answered, as I felt, a little bitterly. + +"Yes," I said "Write and tell me if the experiment fail." + +My old friend smiled. He knew me better than I knew myself. + +"All right!" he said, resignedly. "I have got the address of your +banker's correspondent in Paris. You will have to go there for money, my +dear; and you _may_ find a letter waiting for you in the office when you +least expect it. Let me hear how your husband goes on. Good-by--and God +bless you!" + +That evening I was restored to Eustace. + +He was too weak, poor fellow, even to raise his head from the pillow. +I knelt down at the bedside and kissed him. His languid, weary eyes +kindled with a new life as my lips touched his. "I must try to live +now," he whispered, "for your sake." + +My mother-in-law had delicately left us together. When he said those +words the temptation to tell him of the new hope that had come to +brighten our lives was more than I could resist. + +"You must try to live now, Eustace," I said, "for some one else besides +me." + +His eyes looked wonderingly into mine. + +"Do you mean my mother?" he asked. + +I laid my head on his bosom, and whispered back--"I mean your child." + +I had all my reward for all that I had given up. I forgot Mr. Playmore; +I forgot Gleninch. Our new honeymoon dates, in my remembrance, from that +day. + +The quiet time passed, in the by-street in which we lived. The outer +stir and tumult of Parisian life ran its daily course around us, +unnoticed and unheard. Steadily, though slowly, Eustace gained strength. +The doctors, with a word or two of caution, left him almost entirely to +me. "You are his physician," they said; "the happier you make him, the +sooner he will recover." The quiet, monotonous round of my new life +was far from wearying me. I, too, wanted repose--I had no interests, no +pleasures, out of my husband's room. + +Once, and once only, the placid surface of our lives was just gently +ruffled by an allusion to the past. Something that I accidentally said +reminded Eustace of our last interview at Major Fitz-David's house. +He referred, very delicately, to what I had then said of the Verdict +pronounced on him at the Trial; and he left me to infer that a word from +my lips, confirming what his mother had already told him, would quiet +his mind at once and forever. + +My answer involved no embarrassments or difficulties; I could and did +honestly tell him that I had made his wishes my law. But it was hardly +in womanhood, I am afraid, to be satisfied with merely replying, and to +leave it there. I thought it due to me that Eustace too should concede +something, in the way of an assurance which might quiet _my_ mind. As +usual with me, the words followed the impulse to speak them. "Eustace," +I asked, "are you quite cured of those cruel doubts which once made you +leave me?" + +His answer (as he afterward said) made me blush with pleasure. "Ah, +Valeria, I should never have gone away if I had known you then as well +as I know you now!" + +So the last shadows of distrust melted away out of our lives. + +The very remembrance of the turmoil and the trouble of my past days in +London seemed now to fade from my memory. We were lovers again; we were +absorbed again in each other; we could almost fancy that our marriage +dated back once more to a day or two since. But one last victory over +myself was wanting to make my happiness complete. I still felt secret +longings, in those dangerous moments when I was left by myself, to know +whether the search for the torn letter had or had not taken place. What +wayward creatures we are! With everything that a woman could want to +make her happy, I was ready to put that happiness in peril rather than +remain ignorant of what was going on at Gleninch! I actually hailed +the day when my empty purse gave me an excuse for going to my banker's +correspondent on business, and so receiving any letters waiting for me +which might be placed in my hands. + +I applied for my money without knowing what I was about; wondering all +the time whether Benjamin had written to me or not. My eyes wandered +over the desks and tables in the office, looking for letters furtively. +Nothing of the sort was visible. But a man appeared from an inner +office: an ugly man, who was yet beautiful to my eyes, for this +sufficient reason--he had a letter in his hand, and he said, "Is this +for you, ma'am?" + +A glance at the address showed me Benjamin's handwriting. + +Had they tried the experiment of recovering the letter? and had they +failed? + +Somebody put my money in my bag, and politely led me out to the little +hired carriage which was waiting for me at the door. I remember nothing +distinctly until I open ed the letter on my way home. The first words +told me that the dust-heap had been examined, and that the fragments of +the torn letter had been found. + + + +CHAPTER XLV. THE DUST-HEAP DISTURBED. + +My head turned giddy. I was obliged to wait and let my overpowering +agitation subside, before I could read any more. + +Looking at the letter again, after an interval, my eyes fell +accidentally on a sentence near the end, which surprised and startled +me. + +I stopped the driver of the carriage, at the entrance to the street +in which our lodgings were situated, and told him to take me to the +beautiful park of Paris--the famous Bois de Boulogne. My object was to +gain time enough, in this way, to read the letter carefully through +by myself, and to ascertain whether I ought or ought not to keep the +receipt of it a secret before I confronted my husband and his mother at +home. + +This precaution taken, I read the narrative which my good Benjamin +had so wisely and so thoughtfully written for me. Treating the various +incidents methodically, he began with the Report which had arrived, in +due course of mail, from our agent in America. + +Our man had successfully traced the lodgekeeper's daughter and her +husband to a small town in one of the Western States. Mr. Playmore's +letter of introduction at once secured him a cordial reception from the +married pair, and a patient hearing when he stated the object of his +voyage across the Atlantic. + +His first questions led to no very encouraging results. The woman was +confused and surprised, and was apparently quite unable to exert her +memory to any useful purpose. Fortunately, her husband proved to be a +very intelligent man. He took the agent privately aside, and said to +him, "I understand my wife, and you don't. Tell me exactly what it is +you want to know, and leave it to me to discover how much she remembers +and how much she forgets." + +This sensible suggestion was readily accepted. The agent waited for +events a day and a night. + +Early the next morning the husband said to him, "Talk to my wife now, +and you'll find she has something to tell you. Only mind this. Don't +laugh at her when she speaks of trifles. She is half ashamed to speak of +trifles, even to me. Thinks men are above such matters, you know. Listen +quietly, and let her talk--and you will get at it all in that way." + +The agent followed his instructions, and "got at it" as follows: + +The woman remembered, perfectly well, being sent to clean the bedrooms +and put them tidy, after the gentlefolks had all left Gleninch. Her +mother had a bad hip at the time, and could not go with her and help +her. She did not much fancy being alone in the great house, after +what had happened in it. On her way to her work she passed two of +the cottagers' children in the neighborhood at play in the park. Mr. +Macallan was always kind to his poor tenants, and never objected to the +young ones round about having a run on the grass. The two children idly +followed her to the house. She took them inside, along with her--not +liking the place, as already mentioned, and feeling that they would be +company in the solitary rooms. + +She began her work in the Guests' Corridor--leaving the room in the +other corridor, in which the death had happened, to the last. + +There was very little to do in the two first rooms. There was not litter +enough, when she had swept the floors and cleaned the grates, to +even half fill the housemaid's bucket which she carried with her. The +children followed her about; and, all things considered, were "very good +company" in the lonely place. + +The third room (that is to say, the bedchamber which had been occupied +by Miserrimus Dexter) was in a much worse state than the other two, and +wanted a great deal of tidying. She did not much notice the children +here, being occupied with her work. The litter was swept up from the +carpet, and the cinders and ashes were taken out of the grate, and the +whole of it was in the bucket, when her attention was recalled to the +children by hearing one of them cry. + +She looked about the room without at first discovering them. + +A fresh outburst of crying led her in the right direction, and showed +her the children under a table in a corner of the room. The youngest of +the two had got into a waste-paper basket. The eldest had found an old +bottle of gum, with a brush fixed in the cork, and was gravely painting +the face of the smaller child with what little remained of the contents +of the bottle. Some natural struggles, on the part of the little +creature, had ended in the overthrow of the basket, and the usual +outburst of crying had followed as a matter of course. + +In this state of things the remedy was soon applied. The woman took the +bottle away from the eldest child, and gave it a "box on the ear." +The younger one she set on its legs again, and she put the two "in the +corner" to keep them quiet. This done, she swept up such fragments of +the torn paper in the basket as had fallen on the floor; threw them back +again into the basket, along with the gum-bottle; fetched the bucket, +and emptied the basket into it; and then proceeded to the fourth and +last room in the corridor, where she finished her work for that day. + +Leaving the house, with the children after her, she took the filled +bucket to the dust-heap, and emptied it in a hollow place among the +rubbish, about half-way up the mound. Then she took the children home; +and there was an end of it for the day. + +Such was the result of the appeal made to the woman's memory of domestic +events at Gleninch. + +The conclusion at which Mr. Playmore arrived, from the facts submitted +to him, was that the chances were now decidedly in favor of the recovery +of the letter. Thrown in, nearly midway between the contents of the +housemaid's bucket, the torn morsels would be protected above as well as +below, when they were emptied on the dust-heap. + +Succeeding weeks and months would add to that protection, by adding to +the accumulated refuse. In the neglected condition of the grounds, +the dust-heap had not been disturbed in search of manure. There it had +stood, untouched, from the time when the family left Gleninch to +the present day. And there, hidden deep somewhere in the mound, the +fragments of the letter must be. + +Such were the lawyer's conclusions. He had written immediately to +communicate them to Benjamin. And, thereupon, what had Benjamin done? + +After having tried his powers of reconstruction on his own +correspondence, the prospect of experimenting on the mysterious letter +itself had proved to be a temptation too powerful for the old man to +resist. "I almost fancy, my dear, this business of yours has bewitched +me," he wrote. "You see I have the misfortune to be an idle man. I have +time to spare and money to spare. And the end of it is that I am here +at Gleninch, engaged on my own sole responsibility (with good Mr. +Playmore's permission) in searching the dust-heap!" + +Benjamin's description of his first view of the field of action at +Gleninch followed these characteristic lines of apology. + +I passed over the description without ceremony. My remembrance of the +scene was too vivid to require any prompting of that sort. I saw again, +in the dim evening light, the unsightly mound which had so strangely +attracted my attention at Gleninch. I heard again the words in which +Mr. Playmore had explained to me the custom of the dust-heap in Scotch +country-houses. What had Benjamin and Mr. Playmore done? What had +Benjamin and Mr. Playmore found? For me, the true interest of the +narrative was there--and to that portion of it I eagerly turned next. + +They had proceeded methodically, of course, with one eye on the pounds, +shillings, and pence, and the other on the object in view. In Benjamin, +the lawyer had found what he had not met with in me--a sympathetic mind, +alive to the value of "an abstract of the expenses," and conscious of +that most remunerative of human virtues, the virtue of economy. + +At so much a week, they had engaged men to dig into the mound and to +sift the ashes. At so much a week, they had hired a tent to shelter +the open dust-heap from wind and weather. At so much a week, they had +engaged the services of a young man (personally known to Benjamin), who +was employed in a laboratory under a professor of chemistry, and who had +distinguished himself by his skillful manipulation of paper in a +recent case of forgery on a well-known London firm. Armed with these +preparations, they had begun the work; Benjamin and the young +chemist living at Gleninch, and taking it in turns to superintend the +proceedings. + +Three days of labor with the spade and the sieve produced no results of +the slightest importance. However, the matter was in the hands of two +quietly determined men. They declined to be discouraged. They went on. + +On the fourth day the first morsels of paper were found. + +Upon examination, they proved to be the fragments of a tradesman's +prospectus. Nothing dismayed, Benjamin and the young chemist still +persevered. At the end of the day's work more pieces of paper were +turned up. These proved to be covered with written characters. +Mr. Playmore (arriving at Gleninch, as usual, every evening on +the conclusion of his labors in the law) was consulted as to the +handwriting. After careful examination, he declared that the mutilated +portions of sentences submitted to him had been written, beyond all +doubt, by Eustace Macallan's first wife! + +This discovery aroused the enthusiasm of the searchers to fever height. + +Spades and sieves were from that moment forbidden utensils. However +unpleasant the task might be, hands alone were used in the further +examination of the mound. The first and foremost necessity was to place +the morsels of paper (in flat cardboard boxes prepared for the purpose) +in their order as they were found. Night came; the laborers were +dismissed; Benjamin and his two colleagues worked on by lamplight. The +morsels of paper were now turned up by dozens, instead of by ones and +twos. For a while the search prospered in this way; and then the +morsels appeared no more. Had they all been recovered? or would renewed +hand-digging yield more yet? The next light layers of rubbish were +carefully removed--and the grand discovery of the day followed. There +(upside down) was the gum-bottle which the lodge-keeper's daughter +had spoken of. And, more precious still, there, under it, were more +fragments of written paper, all stuck together in a little lump, by the +last drippings from the gum-bottle dropping upon them as they lay on the +dust-heap! + +The scene now shifted to the interior of the house. When the searchers +next assembled they met at the great table in the library at Gleninch. + +Benjamin's experience with the "Puzzles" which he had put together in +the days of his boyhood proved to be of some use to his companions. +The fragments accidentally stuck together would, in all probability, +be found to fit each other, and would certainly (in any case) be the +easiest fragments to reconstruct as a center to start from. + +The delicate business of separating these pieces of paper, and of +preserving them in the order in which they had adhered to each +other, was assigned to the practiced fingers of the chemist. But the +difficulties of his task did not end here. The writing was (as usual +in letters) traced on both sides of the paper, and it could only be +preserved for the purpose of reconstruction by splitting each morsel +into two--so as artificially to make a blank side, on which could +be spread the fine cement used for reuniting the fragments in their +original form. + +To Mr. Playmore and Benjamin the prospect of successfully putting +the letter together, under these disadvantages, seemed to be almost +hopeless. Their skilled colleague soon satisfied them that they were +wrong. + +He drew their attention to the thickness of the paper--note-paper of the +strongest and best quality--on which the writing was traced. It was +of more than twice the substance of the last paper on which he had +operated, when he was engaged in the forgery ease; and it was, on that +account, comparatively easy for him (aided by the mechanical appliances +which he had brought from London) to split the morsels of the torn +paper, within a given space of time which might permit them to begin the +reconstruction of the letter that night. + +With these explanations, he quietly devoted himself to his work. While +Benjamin and the lawyer were still poring over the scattered morsels +of the letter which had been first discovered, and trying to piece +them together again, the chemist had divided the greater part of the +fragments specially confided to him into two halves each; and had +correctly put together some five or six sentences of the letter on the +smooth sheet of cardboard prepared for that purpose. + +They looked eagerly at the reconstructed writing so far. + +It was correctly done: the sense was perfect. The first result gained +by examination was remarkable enough to reward them for all their +exertions. The language used plainly identified the person to whom the +late Mrs. Eustace had addressed her letter. + +That person was--my husband. + +And the letter thus addressed--if the plainest circumstantial evidence +could be trusted--was identical with the letter which Miserrimus Dexter +had suppressed until the Trial was over, and had then destroyed by +tearing it up. + +These were the discoveries that had been made at the time when Benjamin +wrote to me. He had been on the point of posting his letter, when Mr. +Playmore had suggested that he should keep it by him for a few days +longer, on the chance of having more still to tell me. + +"We are indebted to her for these results," the lawyer had said. "But +for her resolution; and her influence over Miserrimus Dexter, we should +never have discovered what the dust-heap was hiding from us--we should +never have seen so much as a glimmering of the truth. She has the first +claim to the fullest information. Let her have it." + +The letter had been accordingly kept back for three days. That interval +being at an end, it was hurriedly resumed and concluded in terms which +indescribably alarmed me. + +"The chemist is advancing rapidly with his part of the work" (Benjamin +wrote); "and I have succeeded in putting together a separate portion +of the torn writing which makes sense. Comparison of what he has +accomplished with what I have accomplished has led to startling +conclusions. Unless Mr. Playmore and I are entirely wrong (and God +grant we may be so!), there is a serious necessity for your keeping the +reconstruction of the letter strictly secret from everybody about you. +The disclosures suggested by what has come to light are so heartrending +and so dreadful that I cannot bring myself to write about them until +I am absolutely obliged to do so. Please forgive me for disturbing you +with this news. We are bound, sooner or later, to consult with you in +the matter; and we think it right to prepare your mind for what may be +to come." + +To this there was added a postscript in Mr. Playmore's handwriting: + +"Pray observe strictly the caution which Mr. Benjamin impresses on +you. And bear this in mind, as a warning from _me:_ If we succeed in +reconstructing the entire letter, the last person living who ought (in +my opinion) to be allowed to see it is--your husband." + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. THE CRISIS DEFERRED. + +"TAKE care, Valeria!" said Mrs. Macallan. "I ask you no questions; I +only caution you for your own sake. Eustace has noticed what I have +noticed--Eustace has seen a change in you. Take care!" + +So my mother-in-law spoke to me later in the day, when we happened to be +alone. I had done my best to conceal all traces of the effect produced +on me by the strange and terrible news from Gleninch. But who could read +what I had read, who could feel what I now felt, and still maintain +an undisturbed serenity of look and manner? If I had been the vilest +hypocrite living, I doubt even then if my face could have kept my secret +while my mind was full of Benjamin's letter. + +Having spoken her word of caution, Mrs. Macallan made no further advance +to me. I dare say she was right. Still, it seemed hard to be left, +without a word of advice or of sympathy, to decide for myself what it +was my duty to my husband to do next. + +To show him Benjamin's narrative, in his state of health, and in the +face of the warning addressed to me, was simply out of the question. At +the same time, it was equally impossible, after I had already betrayed +myself, to keep him entirely in the dark. I thought over it anxiously +in the night. When the morning came, I decided to appeal to my husband's +confidence in me. + +I went straight to the point in these terms: + +"Eustace, your mother said yesterday that you noticed a change in me +when I came back from my drive. Is she right?" + +"Quite right, Valeria," he answered--speaking in lower tones than usual, +and not looking at me. + +"We have no concealments from each other now," I answered. "I ought to +tell you, and do tell you, that I found a letter from England waiting +at the banker's which has caused me some agitation and alarm. Will you +leave it to me to choose my own time for speaking more plainly? And will +you believe, love, that I am really doing my duty toward you, as a good +wife, in making this request?" + +I paused. He made no answer: I could see that he was secretly struggling +with himself. Had I ventured too far? Had I overestimated the strength +of my influence? My heart beat fast, my voice faltered--but I summoned +courage enough to take his hand, and to make a last appeal to him. +"Eustace," I said; "don't you know me yet well enough to trust me?" + +He turned toward me for the first time. I saw a last vanishing trace of +doubt in his eyes as they looked into mine. + +"You promise, sooner or later, to tell me the whole truth?" he said + +"I promise with all my heart!" + +"I trust you, Valeria!" + +His brightening eyes told me that he really meant what he said. +We sealed our compact with a kiss. Pardon me for mentioning these +trifles--I am still writing (if you will kindly remember it) of our new +honeymoon. + +By that day's post I answered Benjamin's letter, telling him what I had +done, and entreating him, if he and Mr. Playmore approved of my conduct, +to keep me informed of any future discoveries which they might make at +Gleninch. + +After an interval---an endless interval, as it seemed to me--of ten +days more, I received a second letter from my old friend, with another +postscript added by Mr. Playmore. + +"We are advancing steadily and successfully with the putting together of +the letter," Benjamin wrote. "The one new discovery which we have made +is of serious importance to your husband. We have reconstructed certain +sentences declaring, in the plainest words, that the arsenic which +Eustace procured was purchased at the request of his wife, and was in +her possession at Gleninch. This, remember, is in the handwriting of +the wife, and is signed by the wife--as we have also found out. +Unfortunately, I am obliged to add that the objection to taking your +husband into our confidence, mentioned when I last wrote, still remains +in force--in greater force, I may say, than ever. The more we make out +of the letter, the more inclined we are (if we only studied our own +feelings) to throw it back into the dust-heap, in mercy to the memory of +the unhappy writer. I shall keep this open for a day or two. If there +is more news to tell you by that time you will hear of it from Mr. +Playmore." + +Mr. Playmore's postscript followed, dated three days later. + +"The concluding part of the late Mrs. Macallan's letter to her husband," +the lawyer wrote, "has proved accidentally to be the first part which +we have succeeded in piecing together. With the exception of a few gaps +still left, here and there, the writing of the closing paragraphs +has been perfectly reconstructed. I have neither the time nor the +inclination to write to you on this sad subject in any detail. In a +fortnight more, at the longest, we shall, I hope, send you a copy of the +letter, complete from the first line to the last. Meanwhile, it is +my duty to tell you that there is one bright side to this otherwise +deplorable and shocking document. Legally speaking, as well as morally +speaking, it absolutely vindicates your husband's innocence. And it +may be lawfully used for this purpose--if he can reconcile it to his +conscience, and to the mercy due to the memory of the dead, to permit +the public exposure of the letter in Court. Understand me, he cannot be +tried again on what we call the criminal charge--for certain technical +reasons with which I need not trouble you. But, if the facts which were +involved at the criminal trial can also be shown to be involved in a +civil action (and in this case they can), the entire matter may be made +the subject of a new legal inquiry; and the verdict of a second jury, +completely vindicating your husband, may thus be obtained. Keep this +information to yourself for the present. Preserve the position which you +have so sensibly adopted toward Eustace until you have read the restored +letter. When you have done this, my own idea is that you will shrink, +in pity to _him,_ from letting him see it. How he is to be kept in +ignorance of what we have discovered is another question, the discussion +of which must be deferred until we can consult together. Until that time +comes, I can only repeat my advice--wait till the next news reaches you +from Gleninch." + +I waited. What I suffered, what Eustace thought of me, does not matter. +Nothing matters now but the facts. + +In less than a fortnight more the task of restoring the letter was +completed. Excepting certain instances, in which the morsels of the torn +paper had been irretrievably lost--and in which it had been necessary +to complete the sense in harmony with the writer's intention--the whole +letter had been put together; and the promised copy of it was forwarded +to me in Paris. + +Before you, too, read that dreadful letter, do me one favor. Let me +briefly remind you of the circumstances under which Eustace Macallan +married his first wife. + +Remember that the poor creature fell in love with him without awakening +any corresponding affection on his side. Remember that he separated +himself from her, and did all he could to avoid her, when he found this +out. Remember that she presented herself at his residence in London +without a word of warning; that he did his best to save her reputation; +that he failed, through no fault of his own; and that he ended, rashly +ended in a moment of despair, by marrying her, to silence the scandal +that must otherwise have blighted her life as a woman for the rest +of her days. Bear all this in mind (it is the sworn testimony of +respectable witnesses); and pray do not forget--however foolishly +and blamably he may have written about her in the secret pages of his +Diary--that he was proved to have done his best to conceal from his wife +the aversion which the poor soul inspired in him; and that he was (in +the opinion of those who could best judge him) at least a courteous and +a considerate husband, if he could be no more. + +And now take the letter. It asks but one favor of you: it asks to be +read by the light of Christ's teaching--"Judge not, that ye be not +judged." + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. THE WIFE'S CONFESSION. + +"GLENINCH, October 19, 18--. + +"MY HUSBAND-- + +"I have something very painful to tell you about one of your oldest +friends. + +"You have never encouraged me to come to you with any confidences of +mine. If you had allowed me to be as familiar with you as some wives are +with their husbands, I should have spoken to you personally instead of +writing. As it is, I don't know how you might receive what I have to say +to you if I said it by word of mouth. So I write. + +"The man against whom I warn you is still a guest in this +house--Miserrimus Dexter. No falser or wickeder creature walks the +earth. Don't throw my letter aside! I have waited to say this until I +could find proof that might satisfy you. I have got the proof. + +"You may remember that I ventured to express some disapproval when you +first told me you had asked this man to visit us. If you had allowed me +time to explain myself, I might have been bold enough to give you a good +reason for the aversion I felt toward your friend. But you would not +wait. You hastily (and most unjustly) accused me of feeling prejudiced +against the miserable creature on account of his deformity. No other +feeling than compassion for deformed persons has ever entered my mind. +I have, indeed, almost a fellow-feeling for them; being that next worst +thing myself to a deformity--a plain woman. I objected to Mr. Dexter +as your guest because he had asked me to be his wife in past days, +and because I had reason to fear that he still regarded me (after my +marriage) with a guilty and a horrible love. Was it not my duty, as a +good wife, to object to his being your guest at Gleninch? And was it not +your duty, as a good husband, to encourage me to say more? + +"Well, Mr. Dexter has been your guest for many weeks; and Mr. Dexter has +dared to speak to me again of his love. He has insulted me, and insulted +you, by declaring that _he_ adores me and that _you_ hate me. He has +promised me a life of unalloyed happiness, in a foreign country with my +lover; and he has prophesied for me a life of unendurable misery at home +with my husband. + +"Why did I not make my complaint to you, and have this monster dismissed +from the house at once and forever? + +"Are you sure you would have believed me if I had complained, and if +your bosom friend had denied all intention of insulting me? I heard you +once say (when you were not aware that I was within hearing) that the +vainest women were always the ugly women. You might have accused _me_ of +vanity. Who knows? + +"But I have no desire to shelter myself under this excuse. I am a +jealous, unhappy creature; always doubtful of your affection for me; +always fearing that another woman has got my place in your heart. +Miserrimus Dexter has practiced on this weakness of mine. He has +declared he can prove to me (if I will permit him) that I am, in +your secret heart, an object of loathing to you; that you shrink from +touching me; that you curse the hour when you were foolish enough to +make me your wife. I have struggled as long as I could against the +temptation to let him produce his proofs. It was a terrible temptation +to a woman who was far from feeling sure of the sincerity of your +affection for her; and it has ended in getting the better of my +resistance. I wickedly concealed the disgust which the wretch inspired +in me; I wickedly gave him leave to explain himself; I wickedly +permitted this enemy of yours and of mine to take me into his +confidence. And why? Because I loved you, and you only; and because +Miserrimus Dexter's proposal did, after all, echo a doubt of you that +had long been gnawing secretly at my heart. + +"Forgive me, Eustace! This is my first sin against you. It shall be my +last. + +"I will not spare myself; I will write a full confession of what I said +to him and of what he said to me. You may make me suffer for it when you +know what I have done; but you will at least be warned in time; you will +see your false friend in his true light. + +"I said to him, 'How can you prove to me that my husband hates me in +secret?' + +"He answered, 'I can prove it under his own handwriting; you shall see +it in his Diary.' + +"I said, 'His Diary has a lock; and the drawer in which he keeps it has +a lock. How can you get at the Diary and the drawer?' + +"He answered, 'I have my own way of getting at both of them, without the +slightest risk of being discovered by your husband. All you have to do +is to give me the opportunity of seeing you privately. I will engage, in +return, to bring the open Diary with me to your room.' + +"I said, 'How can I give you the opportunity? What do you mean?' + +"He pointed to the key in the door of communication between my room and +the little study. + +"He said, 'With my infirmity, I may not be able to profit by the first +opportunity of visiting you here unobserved. I must be able to choose +my own time and my own way of getting to you secretly. Let me take this +key, leaving the door locked. When the key is missed, if _you_ say it +doesn't matter--if _you_ point out that the door is locked, and tell the +servants not to trouble themselves about finding the key--there will be +no disturbance in the house; and I shall be in secure possession of a +means of communication with you which no one will suspect. Will you do +this?' + +"I have done it. + +"Yes! I have become the accomplice of this double-faced villain. I have +degraded myself and outraged you by making an appointment to pry into +your Diary. I know how base my conduct is. I can make no excuse. I can +only repeat that I love you, and that I am sorely afraid you don't love +me. And Miserrimus Dexter offers to end my doubts by showing me the most +secret thoughts of your heart, in your own writing. + +"He is to be with me, for this purpose (while you are out), some time +in the course of the next two hours I shall decline to be satisfied with +only once looking at your Diary; and I shall make an appointment with +him to bring it to me again at the same time to-morrow. Before then you +will receive these lines by the hand of my nurse. Go out as usual after +reading them; but return privately, and unlock the table-drawer in which +you keep your book. You will find it gone. Post yourself quietly in the +little study; and you will discover the Diary (when Miserrimus Dexter +leaves me) in the hands of your friend."* + +***** + +* Note by Mr. Playmore: + +The greatest difficulties of reconstruction occurred in this first +portion of the torn letter. In the fourth paragraph from the beginning +we have been obliged to supply lost words in no less than three places. +In the ninth, tenth, and seventeenth paragraphs the same proceeding was, +in a greater or less degree, found to be necessary. In all these cases +the utmost pains have been taken to supply the deficiency in exact +accordance with what appeared to be the meaning of the writer, as +indicated in the existing pieces of the manuscript. + +***** + +"October 20. + +"I have read your Diary. + +"At last I know what you really think of me. I have read what Miserrimus +Dexter promised I should read--the confession of your loathing for me, +in your own handwriting. + +"You will not receive what I wrote to you yesterday at the time or in +the manner which I had proposed. Long as my letter is, I have still +(after reading your Diary) some more words to add. After I have closed +and sealed the envelope, and addressed it to you, I shall put it under +my pillow. It will be found there when I am laid out for the grave--and +then, Eustace (when it is too late for hope or help), my letter will be +given to you. + +"Yes: I have had enough of my life. Yes: I mean to die. + +"I have already sacrificed everything but my life to my love for you. +Now I know that my love is not returned, the last sacrifice left is +easy. My death will set you free to marry Mrs. Beauly. + +"You don't know what it cost me to control my hatred of her, and to beg +her to pay her visit here, without minding my illness. I could never +have done it if I had not been so fond of you, and so fearful of +irritating you against me by showing my jealousy. And how did you reward +me? Let your Diary answer: 'I tenderly embraced her this very morning; +and I hope, poor soul, she did not discover the effort that it cost me.' + +"Well, I have discovered it now. I know that you privately think your +life with me 'a purgatory.' I know that you have compassionately hidden +from me the 'sense of shrinking that comes over you when you are obliged +to submit to my caresses.' I am nothing but an obstacle--an 'utterly +distasteful' obstacle--between you and the woman whom you love so dearly +that you 'adore the earth which she touches with her foot.' Be it so! I +will stand in your way no longer. It is no sacrifice and no merit on +my part. Life is unendurable to me, now I know that the man whom I love +with all my heart and soul secretly shrinks from me whenever I touch +him. + +"I have got the means of death close at hand. + +"The arsenic that I twice asked you to buy for me is in my +dressing-case. I deceived you when I mentioned some commonplace domestic +reasons for wanting it. My true reason was to try if I could not improve +my ugly complexion--not from any vain feeling of mine: only to make +myself look better and more lovable in your eyes. I have taken some of +it for that purpose; but I have got plenty left to kill myself with. +The poison will have its use at last. It might have failed to improve my +complexion--it will not fail to relieve you of your ugly wife. + +"Don't let me be examined after death. Show this letter to the doctor +who attends me. It will tell him that I have committed suicide; it will +prevent any innocent persons from being suspected of poisoning me. +I want nobody to be blamed or punished. I shall remove the chemist's +label, and carefully empty the bottle containing the poison, so that he +may not suffer on my account. + +"I must wait here, and rest a little while--then take up my letter +again. It is far too long already. But these are my farewell words. I +may surely dwell a little on my last talk with you! + +"October 21. Two o'clock in the morning. + +"I sent you out of the room yesterday when you came in to ask how I had +passed the night. And I spoke of you shamefully, Eustace, after you +had gone, to the hired nurse who attends on me. Forgive me. I am almost +beside myself now. You know why. + +"Half-past three. + +"Oh, my husband, I have done the deed which will relieve you of the wife +whom you hate! I have taken the poison--all of it that was left in the +paper packet, which was the first that I found. If this is not enough to +kill me, I have more left in the bottle. + +"Ten minutes past five. + +"You have just gone, after giving me my composing draught. My courage +failed me at the sight of you. I thought to myself, 'If he look at me +kindly, I will confess what I have done, and let him save my life.' You +never looked at me at all. You only looked at the medicine. I let you go +without saying a word. + +"Half-past five. + +"I begin to feel the first effects of the poison. The nurse is asleep +at the foot of my bed. I won't call for assistance; I won't wake her. I +will die. + +"Half-past nine. + +"The agony was beyond my endurance--I awoke the nurse. I have seen the +doctor. + +"Nobody suspects anything. Strange to say, the pain has left me; I have +evidently taken too little of the poison. I must open the bottle which +contains the larger quantity. Fortunately, you are not near me--my +resolution to die, or, rather, my loathing of life, remains as bitterly +unaltered as ever. To make sure of my courage, I have forbidden the +nurse to send for you. She has just gone downstairs by my orders. I am +free to get the poison out of my dressing-case. + +"Ten minutes to ten. + +"I had just time to hide the bottle (after the nurse had left me) when +you came into my room. + +"I had another moment of weakness when I saw you. I determined to give +myself a last chance of life. That is to say, I determined to offer you +a last opportunity of treating me kindly. I asked you to get me a cup of +tea. If, in paying me this little attention, you only encouraged me by +one fond word or one fond look, I resolved not to take the second dose +of poison. + +"You obeyed my wishes, but you were not kind. You gave me my tea, +Eustace, as if you were giving a drink to your dog. And then you +wondered in a languid way (thinking, I suppose, of Mrs. Beauly all the +time), at my dropping the cup in handing it back to you. I really could +not help it; my hand _would_ tremble. In my place, your hand might have +trembled too--with the arsenic under the bedclothes. You politely hoped, +before you went away? that the tea would do me good--and, oh God, you +could not even look at me when you said that! You looked at the broken +bits of the tea-cup. + +"The instant you were out of the room I took the poison--a double dose +this time. + +"I have a little request to make here, while I think of it. + +"After removing the label from the bottle, and putting it back, clean, +in my dressing-case, it struck me that I had failed to take the same +precaution (in the early morning) with the empty paper-packet, bearing +on it the name of the other chemist. I threw it aside on the counterpane +of the bed, among some other loose papers. My ill-tempered nurse +complained of the litter, and crumpled them all up and put them away +somewhere. I hope the chemist will not suffer through my carelessness. +Pray bear it in mind to say that he is not to blame. + +"Dexter--something reminds me of Miserrimus Dexter. He has put your +Diary back again in the drawer, and he presses me for an answer to his +proposals. Has this false wretch any conscience? If he has, even he will +suffer--when my death answers him. + +"The nurse has been in my room again. I have sent her away. I have told +her I want to be alone. + +"How is the time going? I cannot find my watch. Is the pain coming back +again and paralyzing me? I don't feel it keenly yet. + +"It may come back, though, at any moment. I have still to close my +letter and to address it to you. And, besides, I must save up my +strength to hide it under the pillow, so that nobody may find it until +after my death. + +"Farewell, my dear. I wish I had been a prettier woman. A more loving +woman (toward you) I could not be. Even now I dread the sight of your +dear face. Even now, if I allowed myself the luxury of looking at you, +I don't know that you might not charm me into confessing what I have +done--before it is too late to save me. + +"But you are not here. Better as it is! better as it is! + +"Once more, farewell! Be happier than you have been with me. I love you, +Eustace--I forgive you. When you have nothing else to think about, think +sometimes, as kindly as you can, of your poor, ugly + +"SARA MACALLAN."* + +***** + +* Note by Mr. Playmore: + +The lost words and phrases supplied in this concluding portion of the +letter are so few in number that it is needless to mention them. The +fragments which were found accidentally stuck together by the gum, and +which represent the part of the letter first completely reconstructed, +begin at the phrase, "I spoke of you shamefully, Eustace;" and end with +the broken sentence, "If in paying me this little attention, you only +encouraged me by one fond word or one fond look, I resolved not to +take--" With the assistance thus afforded to us, the labor of putting +together the concluding half of the letter (dated "October 20") was +trifling, compared with the almost insurmountable difficulties which we +encountered in dealing with the scattered wreck of the preceding pages. + +***** + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. WHAT ELSE COULD I DO? + +As soon as I could dry my eyes and compose my spirits after reading +the wife's pitiable and dreadful farewell, my first thought was of +Eustace--my first anxiety was to prevent him from ever reading what I +had read. + +Yes! to this end it had come. I had devoted my life to the attainment of +one object; and that object I had gained. There, on the table before me, +lay the triumphant vindication of my husband's innocence; and, in mercy +to him, in mercy to the memory of his dead wife, my one hope was that he +might never see it! my one desire was to hide it from the public view! + +I looked back at the strange circumstances under which the letter had +been discovered. + +It was all my doing--as the lawyer had said. And yet, what I had done, I +had, so to speak, done blindfold. The merest accident might have altered +the whole course of later events. I had over and over again interfered +to check Ariel when she entreated the Master to "tell her a story." If +she had not succeeded, in spite of my opposition, Miserrimus Dexter's +last effort of memory might never have been directed to the tragedy at +Gleninch. And, again, if I had only remembered to move my chair, and so +to give Benjamin the signal to leave off, he would never have written +down the apparently senseless words which have led us to the discovery +of the truth. + +Looking back at events in this frame of mind, the very sight of the +letter sickened and horrified me. I cursed the day which had disinterred +the fragments of it from their foul tomb. Just at the time when Eustace +had found his weary way back to health and strength; just at the time +when we were united again and happy again--when a month or two more +might make us father and mother, as well as husband and wife--that +frightful record of suffering and sin had risen against us like +an avenging spirit. There it faced me on the table, threatening my +husband's tranquillity; nay, for all I knew (if he read it at the +present critical stage of his recovery) even threatening his life! + +The hour struck from the clock on the mantelpiece. It was Eustace's time +for paying me his morning visit in my own little room. He might come in +at any moment; he might see the letter; he might snatch the letter out +of my hand. In a frenzy of terror and loathing, I caught up the vile +sheets of paper and threw them into the fire. + +It was a fortunate thing that a copy only had been sent to me. If the +original letter had been in its place, I believe I should have burned +the original at that moment. + +The last morsel of paper had been barely consumed by the flames when the +door opened, and Eustace came in. + +He glanced at the fire. The black cinders of the burned paper were still +floating at the back of the grate. He had seen the letter brought to +me at the breakfast-table. Did he suspect what I had done? He said +nothing--he stood gravely looking into the fire. Then he advanced and +fixed his eyes on me. I suppose I was very pale. The first words he +spoke were words which asked me if I felt ill. + +I was determined not to deceive him, even in the merest trifle. + +"I am feeling a little nervous, Eustace," I answered; "that is all." + +He looked at me again, as if he expected me to say something more. I +remained silent. He took a letter out of the breast-pocket of his coat +and laid it on the table before me--just where the Confession had lain +before I destroyed it! + +"I have had a letter too this morning," he said. "And _I,_ Valeria, have +no secrets from _you._" + +I understood the reproach which my husband's last words conveyed; but I +made no attempt to answer him. + +"Do you wish me to read it?" was all I said pointing to the envelope +which he had laid on the table. + +"I have already said that I have no secrets from you," he repeated. "The +envelope is open. See for yourself what is inclosed in it." + +I took out--not a letter, but a printed paragraph, cut from a Scotch +newspaper. + +"Read it," said Eustace. + +I read as follows: + +"STRANGE DOINGS AT GLENINCH--A romance in real life seems to be in +course of progress at Mr. Macallan's country-house. Private excavations +are taking place--if our readers will pardon us the unsavory +allusion--at the dust-heap, of all places in the world! Something has +assuredly been discovered; but nobody knows what. This alone is certain: +For weeks past two strangers from London (superintended by our respected +fellow-citizen, Mr. Playmore) have been at work night and day in the +library at Gleninch, with the door locked. Will the secret ever be +revealed? And will it throw any light on a mysterious and shocking event +which our readers have learned to associate with the past history of +Gleninch? Perhaps when Mr. Macallan returns, he may be able to answer +these questions. In the meantime we can only await events." + +I laid the newspaper slip on the table, in no very Christian frame of +mind toward the persons concerned in producing it. Some reporter in +search of news had evidently been prying about the grounds at Gleninch, +and some busy-body in the neighborhood had in all probability sent the +published paragraph to Eustace. Entirely at a loss what to do, I waited +for my husband to speak. He did not keep me in suspense--he questioned +me instantly. + +"Do you understand what it means, Valeria?" + +I answered honestly--I owned that I understood what it meant. + +He waited again, as if he expected me to say more. I still kept the only +refuge left to me--the refuge of silence. + +"Am I to know no more than I know now?" he proceeded, after an interval. +"Are you not bound to tell me what is going on in my own house?" + +It is a common remark that people, if they can think at all, think +quickly in emergencies. There was but one way out of the embarrassing +position in which my husband's last words had placed me. My instincts +showed me the way, I suppose. At any rate, I took it. + +"You have promised to trust me," I began. + +He admitted that he had promised. + +"I must ask you, for your own sake, Eustace, to trust me for a little +while longer. I will satisfy you, if you will only give me time." + +His face darkened. "How much longer must I wait?" he asked. + +I saw that the time had come for trying some stronger form of persuasion +than words. + +"Kiss me," I said, "before I tell you!" + +He hesitated (so like a husband!). And I persisted (so like a wife!). +There was no choice for him but to yield. Having given me my kiss (not +over-graciously), he insisted once more on knowing how much longer I +wanted him to wait. + +"I want you to wait," I answered, "until our child is born." + +He started. My condition took him by surprise. I gently pressed his +hand, and gave him a look. He returned the look (warmly enough, this +time, to satisfy me). "Say you consent," I whispered. + +He consented. + +So I put off the day of reckoning once more. So I gained time to consult +again with Benjamin and Mr. Playmore. + +While Eustace remained with me in the room, I was composed, and capable +of talking to him. But when he left me, after a time, to think over what +had passed between us, and to remember how kindly he had given way to +me, my heart turned pityingly to those other wives (better women, some +of them, than I am), whose husbands, under similar circumstances, would +have spoken hard words to them--would perhaps even have acted more +cruelly still. The contrast thus suggested between their fate and mine +quite overcame me. What had I done to deserve my happiness? What +had _they_ done, poor souls, to deserve their misery? My nerves were +overwrought, I dare says after reading the dreadful confession of +Eustace's first wife. I burst out crying--and I was all the better for +it afterward! + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. PAST AND FUTURE. + +I write from memory, unassisted by notes or diaries; and I have +no distinct recollection of the length of our residence abroad. It +certainly extended over a period of some months. Long after Eustace was +strong enough to take the journey to London the doctors persisted in +keeping him in Paris. He had shown symptoms of weakness in one of his +lungs, and his medical advisers, seeing that he prospered in the dry +atmosphere of France, warned him to be careful of breathing too soon the +moist air of his own country. + +Thus it happened that we were still in Paris when I received my next +news from Gleninch. + +This time no letters passed on either side. To my surprise and delight, +Benjamin quietly made his appearance one morning in our pretty French +drawing-room. He was so preternaturally smart in his dress, and so +incomprehensibly anxious (while my husband was in the way) to make us +understand that his reasons for visiting Paris were holiday reasons +only, that I at once suspected him of having crossed the Channel in +a double character--say, as tourist in search of pleasure, when third +persons were present; as ambassador from Mr. Playmore, when he and I had +the room to ourselves. + +Later in the day I contrived that we should be left together, and I soon +found that my anticipations had not misled me. Benjamin had set out for +Paris, at Mr. Playmore's express request, to consult with me as to the +future, and to enlighten me as to the past. He presented me with his +credentials in the shape of a little note from the lawyer. + +"There are some few points" (Mr. Playmore wrote) "which the recovery +of the letter does not seem to clear up. I have done my best, with Mr. +Benjamin's assistance, to find the right explanation of these debatable +matters; and I have treated the subject, for the sake of brevity, in the +form of Questions and Answers. Will you accept me as interpreter, after +the mistakes I made when you consulted me in Edinburgh? Events, I admit, +have proved that I was entirely wrong in trying to prevent you from +returning to Dexter--and partially wrong in suspecting Dexter of being +directly, instead of indirectly, answerable for the first Mrs. Eustace's +death. I frankly make my confession, and leave you to tell Mr. Benjamin +whether you think my new Catechism worthy of examination or not." + +I thought his "new Catechism" (as he called it) decidedly worthy of +examination. If you don't ag ree with this view, and if you are dying +to be done with me and my narrative, pass on to the next chapter by all +means! + +Benjamin produced the Questions and Answers; and read them to me, at my +request, in these terms: + +"Questions suggested by the letter discovered at Gleninch. First Group: +Questions relating to the Diary. First Question: obtaining access to Mr. +Macallan's private journal, was Miserrimus Dexter guided by any previous +knowledge of its contents? + +"Answer: It is doubtful if he had any such knowledge. The probabilities +are that he noticed how carefully Mr. Macallan secured his Diary from +observation; that he inferred therefrom the existence of dangerous +domestic secrets in the locked-up pages; and that he speculated on using +those secrets for his own purpose when he caused the false keys to be +made. + +"Second Question: To what motive are we to attribute Miserrimus Dexter's +interference with the sheriff's officers, on the day when they seized +Mr. Macallan's Diary along with his other papers? + +"Answer: In replying to this question, we must first do justice to +Dexter himself. Infamously as we now know him to have acted, the man +was not a downright fiend. That he secretly hated Mr. Macallan, as his +successful rival in the affections of the woman he loved--and that he +did all he could to induce the unhappy lady to desert her husband--are, +in this case, facts not to be denied. On the other hand, it is fairly to +be doubted whether he were additionally capable of permitting the friend +who trusted him to be tried for murder, through his fault, without +making an effort to save the innocent man. It had naturally never +occurred to Mr. Macallan (being guiltless of his wife's death) to +destroy his Diary and his letters, in the fear that they might be used +against him. Until the prompt and secret action of the Fiscal took him +by surprise, the idea of his being charged with the murder of his +wife was an idea which we know, from his own statement, had never even +entered his mind. But Dexter must have looked at the matter from another +point of view. In his last wandering words (spoken when his mind broke +down) he refers to the Diary in these terms, 'The Diary will hang him; +I won't have him hanged.' If he could have found his opportunity of +getting at it in time--or if the sheriff's officers had not been too +quick for him--there can be no reasonable doubt that Dexter would +have himself destroyed the Diary, foreseeing the consequences of its +production in court. So strongly does he appear to have felt these +considerations, that he even resisted the officers in the execution of +their duty. His agitation when he sent for Mr. Playmore to interfere +was witnessed by that gentleman, and (it may not be amiss to add) was +genuine agitation beyond dispute. + +"Questions of the Second Group: relating to the Wife's Confession. First +Question: What prevented Dexter from destroying the letter, when he +first discovered it under the dead woman's pillow? + +"Answer: The same motives which led him to resist the seizure of the +Diary, and to give his evidence in the prisoner's favor at the Trial, +induced him to preserve the letter until the verdict was known. Looking +back once more at his last words (as taken down by Mr. Benjamin), we may +infer that if the verdict had been Guilty, he would not have hesitated +to save the innocent husband by producing the wife's confession. There +are degrees in all wickedness. Dexter was wicked enough to suppress +the letter, which wounded his vanity by revealing him as an object for +loathing and contempt--but he was not wicked enough deliberately to let +an innocent man perish on the scaffold. He was capable of exposing the +rival whom he hated to the infamy and torture of a public accusation of +murder; but, in the event of an adverse verdict, he shrank before the +direr cruelty of letting him be hanged. Reflect, in this connection, on +what he must have suffered, villain as he was, when he first read the +wife's confession. He had calculated on undermining her affection for +her husband--and whither had his calculations led him? He had driven +the woman whom he loved to the last dreadful refuge of death by suicide! +Give these considerations their due weight; and you will understand that +some little redeeming virtue might show itself, as the result even of +_this_ man's remorse. + +"Second Question: What motive influenced Miserrimus Dexter's conduct, +when Mrs. (Valeria) Macallan informed him that she proposed reopening +the inquiry into the poisoning at Gleninch? + +"Answer: In all probability, Dexter's guilty fears suggested to him that +he might have been watched on the morning when he secretly entered the +chamber in which the first Mrs. Eustace lay dead. Feeling no scruples +himself to restrain him from listening at doors and looking through +keyholes, he would be all the more ready to suspect other people of the +same practices. With this dread in him, it would naturally occur to his +mind that Mrs. Valeria might meet with the person who had watched him, +and might hear all that the person had discovered--unless he led her +astray at the outset of her investigations. Her own jealous suspicions +of Mrs. Beauly offered him the chance of easily doing this. And he was +all the readier to profit by the chance, being himself animated by the +most hostile feeling toward that lady. He knew her as the enemy who +destroyed the domestic peace of the mistress of the house; he loved +the mistress of the house--and he hated her enemy accordingly. The +preservation of his guilty secret, and the persecution of Mrs. Beauly: +there you have the greater and the lesser motive of his conduct in his +relations with Mrs. Eustace the second!"* + +***** + +* Note by the writer of the Narrative: + +Look back for a further illustration of this point of view to the +scene at Benjamin's house (Chapter XXXV.), where Dexter, in a moment of +ungovernable agitation, betrays his own secret to Valeria. + +***** + +Benjamin laid down his notes, and took off his spectacles. + +"We have not thought it necessary to go further than this," he said. "Is +there any point you can think of that is still left unexplained?" + +I reflected. There was no point of any importance left unexplained that +I could remember. But there was one little matter (suggested by the +recent allusions to Mrs. Beauly) which I wished (if possible) to have +thoroughly cleared up. + +"Have you and Mr. Playmore ever spoken together on the subject of my +husband's former attachment to Mrs. Beauly?" I asked. "Has Mr. Playmore +ever told you why Eustace did not marry her, after the Trial?" + +"I put that question to Mr. Playmore myself," said Benjamin. "He +answered it easily enough. Being your husband's confidential friend and +adviser, he was consulted when Mr. Eustace wrote to Mrs. Beauly, after +the Trial; and he repeated the substance of the letter, at my request. +Would you like to hear what I remember of it, in my turn?" + +I owned that I should like to hear it. What Benjamin thereupon told me, +exactly coincided with what Miserrimus Dexter had told me--as related in +the thirtieth chapter of my narrative. Mrs. Beauly had been a witness +of the public degradation of my husband. That was enough in itself to +prevent him from marrying her: He broke off with _her_ for the same +reason which had led him to separate himself from _me._ Existence with a +woman who knew that he had been tried for his life as a murderer was an +existence which he had not resolution enough to face. The two accounts +agreed in every particular. At last my jealous curiosity was pacified; +and Benjamin was free to dismiss the past from further consideration, +and to approach the more critical and more interesting topic of the +future. + +His first inquiries related to Eustace. He asked if my husband had any +suspicion of the proceedings which had taken place at Gleninch. + +I told him what had happened, and how I had contrived to put off the +inevitable disclosure for a time. + +My old friend's face cleared up as he listened to me. + +"This will be good news for Mr. Playmore," he said. "Our excellent +friend, the lawyer, is sorely afraid that our discoveries may +compromise your position with your husband. On the one hand, he is +naturally anxious to spare Mr. Eustace the distress which he must +certainly feel, if he read his first wife's confession. On the other +hand, it is impossible, in justice (as Mr. Playmore puts it) to +the unborn children of your marriage, to suppress a document which +vindicates the memory of their father from the aspersion that the Scotch +Verdict might otherwise cast on it." + +I listened attentively. Benjamin had touched on a trouble which was +still secretly preying on my mind. + +"How does Mr. Playmore propose to meet the difficulty?" I asked. + +"He can only meet it in one way," Benjamin replied. "He proposes to +seal up the original manuscript of the letter, and to add to it a plain +statement of the circumstances under which it was discovered, supported +by your signed attestation and mine, as witnesses to the fact. This +done, he must leave it to you to take your husband into your confidence, +at your own time. It will then be for Mr. Eustace to decide whether +he will open the inclosure--or whether he will leave it, with the seal +unbroken, as an heirloom to his children, to be made public or not, at +their discretion, when they are of an age to think for themselves. Do +you consent to this, my dear? Or would you prefer that Mr. Playmore +should see your husband, and act for you in the matter?" + +I decided, without hesitation, to take the responsibility on myself. +Where the question of guiding Eustace's decision was concerned, I +considered my influence to be decidedly superior to the influence of Mr. +Playmore. My choice met with Benjamin's full approval. He arranged to +write to Edinburgh, and relieve the lawyer's anxieties by that day's +post. + +The one last thing now left to be settled related to our plans for +returning to England. The doctors were the authorities on this subject. +I promised to consult them about it at their next visit to Eustace. + +"Have you anything more to say to me?" Benjamin inquired, as he opened +his writing-case. + +I thought of Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel; and I inquired if he had heard +any news of them lately. My old friend sighed, and warned me that I had +touched on a painful subject. + +"The best thing that can happen to that unhappy man is likely to +happen," he said. "The one change in him is a change that threatens +paralysis. You may hear of his death before you get back to England." + +"And Ariel?" I asked. + +"Quite unaltered," Benjamin answered. "Perfectly happy so long as she +is with 'the Master.' From all I can hear of her, poor soul, she doesn't +reckon Dexter among moral beings. She laughs at the idea of his dying; +and she waits patiently, in the firm persuasion that he will recognize +her again." + +Benjamin's news saddened and silenced me. I left him to his letter. + + + +CHAPTER L. + +THE LAST OF THE STORY. + +In ten days more we returned to England, accompanied by Benjamin. + +Mrs. Macallan's house in London offered us ample accommodation. We +gladly availed ourselves of her proposal, when she invited us to stay +with her until our child was born, and our plans for the future were +arranged. + +The sad news from the asylum (for which Benjamin had prepared my mind at +Paris) reached me soon after our return to England. Miserrimus Dexter's +release from the burden of life had come to him by slow degrees. A few +hours before he breathed his last he rallied for a while, and recognized +Ariel at his bedside. He feebly pronounced her name, and looked at her, +and asked for me. They thought of sending for me, but it was too late. +Before the messenger could be dispatched, he said, with a touch of his +old self-importance, "Silence, all of you! my brains are weary; I am +going to sleep." He closed his eyes in slumber, and never awoke again. +So for this man too the end came mercifully, without grief or pain! So +that strange and many-sided life--with its guilt and its misery, its +fitful flashes of poetry and humor, its fantastic gayety, cruelty, and +vanity--ran its destined course, and faded out like a dream! + +Alas for Ariel! She had lived for the Master--what more could she do, +now the Master was gone? She could die for him. + +They had mercifully allowed her to attend the funeral of Miserrimus +Dexter--in the hope that the ceremony might avail to convince her of his +death. The anticipation was not realized; she still persisted in denying +that "the Master" had left her. They were obliged to restrain the poor +creature by force when the coffin was lowered into the grave; and they +could only remove her from the cemetery by the same means when the +burial-service was over. From that time her life alternated, for a +few weeks, between fits of raving delirium and intervals of lethargic +repose. At the annual ball given in the asylum, when the strict +superintendence of the patients was in some degree relaxed, the alarm +was raised, a little before midnight, that Ariel was missing. The nurse +in charge had left her asleep, and had yielded to the temptation of +going downstairs to look at the dancing. When the woman returned to +her post, Ariel was gone. The presence of strangers, and the confusion +incidental to the festival, offered her facilities for escaping which +would not have presented themselves at any other time. That night the +search for her proved to be useless. The next morning brought with it +the last touching and terrible tidings of her. She had strayed back to +the burial-ground; and she had been found toward sunrise, dead of cold +and exposure, on Miserrimus Dexter's grave. Faithful to the last, Ariel +had followed the Master! Faithful to the last, Ariel had died on the +Master's grave! + +Having written these sad words, I turn willingly to a less painful +theme. + +Events had separated me from Major Fitz-David, after the date of +the dinner-party which had witnessed my memorable meeting with Lady +Clarinda. From that time I heard little or nothing of the Major; and +I am ashamed to say I had almost entirely forgotten him--when I +was reminded of the modern Don Juan by the amazing appearance of +wedding-cards, addressed to me at my mother-in-law's house! The Major +had settled in life at last. And, more wonderful still, the Major had +chosen as the lawful ruler of his household and himself--"the future +Queen of Song," the round-eyed, overdressed young lady with the strident +soprano voice! + +We paid our visit of congratulation in due form; and we really did feel +for Major Fitz-David. + +The ordeal of marriage had so changed my gay and gallant admirer +of former times that I hardly knew him again. He had lost all his +pretensions to youth: he had become, hopelessly and undisguisedly, an +old man. Standing behind the chair on which his imperious young wife sat +enthroned, he looked at her submissively between every two words that he +addressed to me, as if he waited for her permission to open his lips +and speak. Whenever she interrupted him--and she did it, over and +over again, without ceremony--he submitted with a senile docility and +admiration, at once absurd and shocking to see. + +"Isn't she beautiful?" he said to me (in his wife's hearing!). "What a +figure, and what a voice! You remember her voice? It's a loss, my dear +lady, an irretrievable loss, to the operatic stage! Do you know, when I +think what that grand creature might have done, I sometimes ask myself +if I really had any right to marry her. I feel, upon my honor I feel, as +if I had committed a fraud on the public!" + +As for the favored object of this quaint mixture of admiration and +regret, she was pleased to receive me graciously, as an old friend. +While Eustace was talking to the Major, the bride drew me aside out of +their hearing, and explained her motives for marrying, with a candor +which was positively shameless. + +"You see we are a large family at home, quite unprovided for!" this +odious young woman whispered in my ear. "It's all very well about my +being a 'Queen of Song' and the rest of it. Lord bless you, I have been +often enough to the opera, and I have learned enough of my music-master, +to know what it takes to make a fine singer. I haven't the patience +to work at it as those foreign women do: a parcel of brazen-faced +Jezebels--I hat e them! No! no! between you and me, it was a great +deal easier to get the money by marrying the old gentleman. Here I am, +provided for--and there's all my family provided for, too--and nothing +to do but to spend the money. I am fond of my family; I'm a good +daughter and sister--_I_ am! See how I'm dressed; look at the furniture: +I haven't played my cards badly, have I? It's a great advantage to marry +an old man--you can twist him round your little finger. Happy? Oh, yes! +I'm quite happy; and I hope you are, too. Where are you living now? I +shall call soon, and have a long gossip with you. I always had a sort of +liking for you, and (now I'm as good as you are) I want to be friends." + +I made a short and civil reply to this; determining inwardly that when +she did visit me she should get no further than the house-door. I don't +scruple to say that I was thoroughly disgusted with her. When a woman +sells herself to a man, that vile bargain is none the less infamous (to +my mind) because it happens to be made under the sanction of the Church +and the Law. + +As I sit at the desk thinking, the picture of the Major and his wife +vanishes from my memory--and the last scene in my story comes slowly +into view. + +The place is my bedroom. The persons (both, if you will be pleased to +excuse them, in bed) are myself and my son. He is already three weeks +old; and he is now lying fast asleep by his mother's side. My good Uncle +Starkweather is coming to London to baptize him. Mrs. Macallan will be +his godmother; and his godfathers will be Benjamin and Mr. Playmore. +I wonder whether my christening will pass off more merrily than my +wedding? + +The doctor has just left the house, in some little perplexity about me. +He has found me reclining as usual (latterly) in my arm-chair; but on +this particular day he has detected symptoms of exhaustion, which he +finds quite unaccountable under the circumstances, and which warn him to +exert his authority by sending me back to my bed. + +The truth is that I have not taken the doctor into my confidence. There +are two causes for those signs of exhaustion which have surprised my +medical attendant--and the names of them are--Anxiety and Suspense. + +On this day I have at last summoned courage enough to perform the +promise which I made to my husband in Paris. He is informed, by this +time, how his wife's Confession was discovered. He knows (on Mr. +Playmore's authority) that the letter may be made the means, if he so +will it, of publicly vindicating his innocence in a Court of Law. And, +last and most important of all, he is now aware that the Confession +itself has been kept a sealed secret from him, out of compassionate +regard for his own peace of mind, as well as for the memory of the +unhappy woman who was once his wife. + +These necessary disclosures I have communicated to my husband--not +by word of mouth; when the time came, I shrank from speaking to +him personally of his first wife--but by a written statement of the +circumstances, taken mainly out of my letters received in Paris from +Benjamin and Mr. Playmore. He has now had ample time to read all that I +have written to him, and to reflect on it in the retirement of his +own study. I am waiting, with the fatal letter in my hand--and my +mother-in-law is waiting in the next room to me--to hear from his own +lips whether he decides to break the seal or not. + +The minutes pass; and still we fail to hear his footstep on the stairs. +My doubts as to which way his decision may turn affect me more and more +uneasily the longer I wait. The very possession of the letter, in the +present excited state of my nerves, oppresses and revolts me. I shrink +from touching it or looking at it. I move it about restlessly from place +to place on the bed, and still I cannot keep it out of my mind. At last, +an odd fancy strikes me. I lift up one of the baby's hands, and put the +letter under it--and so associate that dreadful record of sin and misery +with something innocent and pretty that seems to hallow and to purify +it. + +The minutes pass; the half-hour longer strikes from the clock on the +chimney-piece; and at last I hear him! He knocks softly, and opens the +door. + +He is deadly pale: I fancy I can detect traces of tears on his cheeks. +But no outward signs of agitation escape him as he takes his seat by my +side. I can see that he has waited until he could control himself--for +my sake. + +He takes my hand, and kisses me tenderly. + +"Valeria!" he says; "let me once more ask you to forgive what I said +and did in the bygone time. If I understand nothing else, my love, I +understand this: The proof of my innocence has been found; and I owe it +entirely to the courage and the devotion of my wife!" + +I wait a little, to enjoy the full luxury of hearing him say those +words--to revel in the love and the gratitude that moisten his dear eyes +as they look at me. Then I rouse my resolution, and put the momentous +question on which our future depends. + +"Do you wish to see the letter, Eustace?" + +Instead of answering directly, he questions me in his turn. + +"Have you got the letter here?" + +"Yes." + +"Sealed up?" + +"Sealed up." + +He waits a little, considering what he is going to say next before he +says it, + +"Let me be sure that I know exactly what it is I have to decide," he +proceeds. "Suppose I insist on reading the letter--?" + +There I interrupt him. I know it is my duty to restrain myself. But I +cannot do my duty. + +"My darling, don't talk of reading the letter! Pray, pray spare +yourself--" + +He holds up his hand for silence. + +"I am not thinking of myself," he says. "I am thinking of my dead +wife. If I give up the public vindication of my innocence, in my own +lifetime--if I leave the seal of the letter unbroken--do you say, as Mr. +Playmore says, that I shall be acting mercifully and tenderly toward the +memory of my wife?" + +"Oh, Eustace, there cannot be the shadow of a doubt of it!" + +"Shall I be making some little atonement for any pain that I may have +thoughtlessly caused her to suffer in her lifetime?" + +"Yes! yes!" + +"And, Valeria--shall I please You?" + +"My darling, you will enchant me!" + +"Where is the letter?" + +"In your son's hand, Eustace." + +He goes around to the other side of the bed, and lifts the baby's +little pink hand to his lips. For a while he waits so, in sad and secret +communion with himself. I see his mother softly open the door, and watch +him as I am watching him. In a moment more our suspense is at an end. +With a heavy sigh, he lays the child's hand back again on the sealed +letter; and by that one little action says (as if in words) to his +son--"I leave it to You!" + +And so it ended! Not as I thought it would end; not perhaps as you +thought it would end. What do we know of our own lives? What do we know +of the fulfillment of our dearest wishes? God knows--and that is best. + +Must I shut up the paper? Yes. There is nothing more for you to read or +for me to say. + +Except this--as a postscript. Don't bear hardly, good people, on the +follies and the errors of my husband's life. Abuse _me_ as much as you +please. But pray think kindly of Eustace for my sake. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Law and the Lady, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAW AND THE LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 1622.txt or 1622.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/1622/ + +Produced by John Hamm, and James Rusk + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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