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diff --git a/old/lwldy10.txt b/old/lwldy10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fcfa1df --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lwldy10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16738 @@ +*Project Gutenberg Etext of Law and the Lady, by Wilkie Collins* +#11 in our series by Wilkie Collins + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +[Prepared by John Hamm and James Rusk (jrusk@cyberramp.net). +Italics are indicated by underscores.] + + + + + +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 Vic arage 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 stron g 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 mome nt 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?" be 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-m aster 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 r estore 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 mig ht 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 a +ccident 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 âme. +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 replie d 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 fee bly 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 youn g 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--a s 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 a nd 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 i nnocent. +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 r emonstrating +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 i n 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 tre +ats 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--exc ept 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 p oint 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 n ow. + +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 creatu re 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 th at 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 ob scurity) 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 accus ed (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 tur ned +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 mu sical 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 seceretly 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 hear s 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 hi m, +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 o ld 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 leav e +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 repli ed, "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 shatt ered +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, eclips e 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 gib berish 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 s ee 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 (pers onally +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, alm ost 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 tranqu illity; +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 dis +coveries 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 Project Gutenberg Etext of Law and the Lady, by Wilkie Collins + |