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font-variant:small-caps; } +.toc dt.sct { text-align:right; clear:both; font-variant:small-caps; margin-left:1em; } +.toc dt.jl { text-align:left; clear:both; font-variant:normal; } +.toc dt.scc { text-align:center; clear:both; font-variant:small-caps; } +.toc dt span.lj { text-align:left; display:block; float:left; } +.toc dt a { font-variant:small-caps; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mr. Marx's Secret, by E. Phillips Oppenheim, +Illustrated by F. Vaux Wilson</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Mr. Marx's Secret</p> +<p>Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim</p> +<p>Release Date: February 29, 2012 [eBook #39018]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. MARX'S SECRET***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by<br /> + Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div id="cover" class="img"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Mr. Marx’s Secret" width="510" height="718" /> +</div> +<div class="box"> +<h1>MR. MARX’S +<br />SECRET</h1> +<p class="center"><span class="small">BY</span> +<br />E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM</p> +<p class="center"><i>Author of “Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo,” “The Double Traitor,” +“The Illustrious Prince,” etc.</i></p> +<p class="center"><span class="smaller">WITH FRONTISPIECE BY</span> +<br /><span class="small">F. VAUX WILSON</span></p> +<div class="img"> +<img src="images/seal.jpg" alt="Image of Stamp Seal" width="200" height="272" /> +</div> +<p class="center">BOSTON +<br /><span class="small">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY +<br />1916</span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small">Published, January, 1916 +<br />Reprinted, January, 1916 (twice) +<br />February, 1916</span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small"><i><b>Printers</b></i> +<br /><span class="sc">S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A.</span></span></p> +</div> +<div id="front" class="img"> +<img src="images/front.jpg" alt="“I am going to put that beast out of his misery,” he answered." width="500" height="716" /> +<p class="center"><span class="small">“I am going to put that beast out of his misery,” he answered. +<br /><span class="sc">Frontispiece.</span> <i><a href="#Page_132">See page 132.</a></i></span></p> +</div> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<dl class="toc"> +<dt><a id="tocsh">CHAPTER</a> PAGE</dt> +<dt><a href="#c1">I.—<span class="sc">News from the Pacific</span></a> 11</dt> +<dt><a href="#c2">II.—<span class="sc">Mr. Francis</span></a> 15</dt> +<dt><a href="#c3">III.—<span class="sc">The Murder at the Slate-Pits</span></a> 18</dt> +<dt><a href="#c4">IV.—<span class="sc">My Mother’s Warning</span></a> 23</dt> +<dt><a href="#c5">V.—<span class="sc">Ravenor of Ravenor</span></a> 27</dt> +<dt><a href="#c6">VI.—<span class="sc">A Doubtful Visitor</span></a> 39</dt> +<dt><a href="#c7">VII.—<span class="sc">A Meeting and a Metamorphosis</span></a> 43</dt> +<dt><a href="#c8">VIII.—<span class="sc">An Abode of Mystery</span></a> 49</dt> +<dt><a href="#c9">IX.—<span class="sc">Mr. Marx</span></a> 58</dt> +<dt><a href="#c10">X.—<span class="sc">Lady Silchester</span></a> 65</dt> +<dt><a href="#c11">XI.—<span class="sc">The Cry in the Avenue</span></a> 70</dt> +<dt><a href="#c12">XII.—<span class="sc">A Dark Corner in the Avenue</span></a> 76</dt> +<dt><a href="#c13">XIII.—<span class="sc">The Cloud Between Us</span></a> 81</dt> +<dt><a href="#c14">XIV.—<span class="sc">A Meeting in the Coffee-Room</span></a> 85</dt> +<dt><a href="#c15">XV.—<span class="sc">A Tête-à-tête Dinner</span></a> 89</dt> +<dt><a href="#c16">XVI.—<span class="sc">Miss Mabel Fay</span></a> 93</dt> +<dt><a href="#c17">XVII.—<span class="sc">Behind the Scenes at the Torchester Theatre</span></a> 98</dt> +<dt><a href="#c18">XVIII.—<span class="sc">At Midnight on the Moor</span></a> 103</dt> +<dt><a href="#c19">XIX.—<span class="sc">A Strange Attack</span></a> 111</dt> +<dt><a href="#c20">XX.—<span class="sc">The Monastery Among the Hills</span></a> 115</dt> +<dt><a href="#c21">XXI.—<span class="sc">A Message from the Dead</span></a> 124</dt> +<dt><a href="#c22">XXII.—<span class="sc">For Life</span></a> 127</dt> +<dt><a href="#c23">XXIII.—<span class="sc">My Guardian</span></a> 135</dt> +<dt><a href="#c24">XXIV.—<span class="sc">My First Dinner Party</span></a> 138</dt> +<dt><a href="#c25">XXV.—<span class="sc">Mr. Marx’s Warning</span></a> 144</dt> +<dt><a href="#c26">XXVI.—<span class="sc">A Lost Photograph</span></a> 148</dt> +<dt><a href="#c27">XXVII.—<span class="sc">Leonard de Cartienne</span></a> 157</dt> +<dt><a href="#c28">XXVIII.—“<span class="sc">As Rome Does</span>”</a> 164</dt> +<dt><a href="#c29">XXIX.—<span class="sc">A Dinner Party Sub-rosa</span></a> 169</dt> +<dt><a href="#c30">XXX.—<span class="sc">Écarté with Mr. Fothergill</span></a> 174</dt> +<dt><a href="#c31">XXXI.—<span class="sc">A Startling Discovery</span></a> 182</dt> +<dt><a href="#c32">XXXII.—<span class="sc">Forestalled</span></a> 190</dt> +<dt><a href="#c33">XXXIII.—<span class="sc">A Gleam of Light</span></a> 195</dt> +<dt><a href="#c34">XXXIV.—<span class="sc">Dr. Schofield’s Opinion</span></a> 199</dt> +<dt><a href="#c35">XXXV.—<span class="sc">An Invitation</span></a> 204</dt> +<dt><a href="#c36">XXXVI.—<span class="sc">A Metamorphosis</span></a> 209</dt> +<dt><a href="#c37">XXXVII.—<span class="sc">Mr. Marx is Wanted</span></a> 218</dt> +<dt><a href="#c38">XXXVIII.—<span class="sc">I Accept a Mission</span></a> 223</dt> +<dt><a href="#c39">XXXIX.—<span class="sc">My Ride</span></a> 225</dt> +<dt><a href="#c40">XL.—<span class="sc">My Mission</span></a> 229</dt> +<dt><a href="#c41">XLI.—<span class="sc">The Count de Cartienne</span></a> 232</dt> +<dt><a href="#c42">XLII.—<span class="sc">News of Mr. Marx</span></a> 240</dt> +<dt><a href="#c43">XLIII.—<span class="sc">About Town</span></a> 246</dt> +<dt><a href="#c44">XLIV.—<span class="sc">A Midnight Excursion to the Suburbs</span></a> 252</dt> +<dt><a href="#c45">XLV.—<span class="sc">A Mysterious Commission</span></a> 258</dt> +<dt><a href="#c46">XLVI.—<span class="sc">A Brush with the Police</span></a> 261</dt> +<dt><a href="#c47">XLVII.—<span class="sc">Light at Last</span></a> 264</dt> +<dt><a href="#c48">XLVIII.—<span class="sc">A Page of History</span></a> 269</dt> +<dt><a href="#c49">XLIX.—<span class="sc">I will Go Alone</span></a> 278</dt> +<dt><a href="#c50">L.—<span class="sc">I Meet my Father</span></a> 280</dt> +<dt><a href="#c51">LI.—<span class="sc">Dawn</span></a> 284</dt> +<dt><a href="#c52">LII.—<span class="sc">Where is Mr. Marx?</span></a> 287</dt> +<dt><a href="#c53">LIII.—<span class="sc">Messrs. Higgenson and Co.</span></a> 293</dt> +<dt><a href="#c54">LIV.—<span class="sc">A Raid</span></a> 299</dt> +<dt><a href="#c55">LV.—<span class="sc">The Mystery of Mr. Marx</span></a> 304</dt> +<dt><a href="#c56">LVI.—<span class="sc">The End of It</span></a> 308</dt> +</dl> +<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div> + +<h2>MR. MARX’S SECRET</h2> +<h2 id="c1">CHAPTER I. +<br /><span class="small">NEWS FROM THE PACIFIC.</span></h2> +<p>My home was a quaint, three-storeyed, ivy-clad +farmhouse in a Midland county. It lay in a +hollow, nestled close up against Rothland Wood, +the dark, close-growing trees of which formed a +picturesque background to the worn greystone +whereof it was fashioned.</p> +<p>In front, just across the road, was the boundary-wall +of Ravenor Park, with its black fir spinneys, +huge masses of lichen-covered rock, clear fish-ponds, +and breezy hills, from the summits of which +were visible the sombre grey towers of Ravenor +Castle, standing out with grim, rugged boldness +against the sky.</p> +<p>Forbidden ground though it was, there was not +a yard of the park up to the inner boundary +fence which I did not know; not a spinney where +I had not searched for birds’ nests or raided in +quest of the first primrose; not a hill on which I +had not spent some part of a summer afternoon.</p> +<p>I was a trespasser, of course; but I was the +son of Farmer Morton, an old tenant on the estate, +and much in favour with the keepers, by reason +of a famous brew which he was ever ready to offer +a thirsty man, or to drink himself. So “Morton’s +young ’un” was unmolested; and, save for an +occasional good-humoured warning from Crooks, +the head-gamekeeper, during breeding-time, I +had the run of the place.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</div> +<p>Moreover, the great estates of which Ravenor +Park was the centre knew at that time no other +master than a lawyer of non-sporting proclivities, +so the preserves were only looked after as a matter +of form.</p> +<p>I was eight years old, and an unusually hot +summer was at its height. It was past midday, +and I had just come out from the house, with the +intention of settling down for an afternoon’s +reading in a shady corner of the orchard. I had +reached the stack-yard gate when I stopped short, +my hand upon the fastening.</p> +<p>A most unusual sound was floating across the +meadows, through the breathless air. The church-bells +of Rothland, the village on the other side of +the wood, had suddenly burst out into a wild, +clashing peal of joy.</p> +<p>In a country district everybody knows everyone +else’s business; and, child though I was, I knew +that no marriage was taking place anywhere near.</p> +<p>I stood listening in wonderment, for I had never +heard such a thing before; and, while I was +lingering, the bells from Annerley, a village a little +farther away, and the grand, mellow-sounding +chimes from the chapel at Ravenor Castle, breaking +the silence of many years, took up the peal, and +the lazy summer day seemed all of a sudden to +wake up into a state of unaccountable delight.</p> +<p>I ran back towards the house and met my mother +standing in the cool stone porch. The men about +the farm were all grouped together, wondering. +No one had the least idea of what had happened.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div> +<p>And then Jim Harrison, the waggoner, who had +just come in from the home meadow, called out +quickly, pointing with his finger; and far away, +along the white, dusty road, we could see the figure +of a man on horseback riding towards us at a furious +gallop.</p> +<p>“It be the master!” he cried, excitedly. “It +be the master, for sure! There bean’t no mistaking +Brown Bess’s gallop. Lord-a-mercy! how +’e be a-riding her!”</p> +<p>We all trooped out on to the road to meet my +father, eager to hear the news. In a few moments +he reached us, and brought Brown Bess to a standstill, +bathed in sweat and dust, and quivering in +every limb.</p> +<p>“Hurrah, lads!” he shouted, waving his whip +above his head. “Hurrah! There never was such +a bit o’ news as I’ve got for you! All Mellborough +be gone crazy about it!”</p> +<p>“What is it, George? Why don’t you tell +us?” my mother asked quickly. And, to my +surprise, her hand, in which mine was resting, was +as cold as ice, notwithstanding the August heat.</p> +<p>He raised himself in his stirrups and shouted so +that all might hear:</p> +<p>“Squire Ravenor be come to life again! They +’a’ found him on an island in the Pacific, close +against the coral reef where his yacht went down +six years ago! He’s on his way home again, lads. +Think of that! Sal, lass, bring us up a gallon of +ale and another after it. We’ll drink to his homecoming, +lads!”</p> +<p>There was a burst of applause and many +exclamations of wonder. My mother’s hand had +moved, as though unconsciously, to my shoulder, +and she was leaning heavily upon me.</p> +<p>“Where did you hear this, George?” she asked, +in a subdued tone.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div> +<p>“Why, it be in all the London papers this morning,” +he answered, taking off his hat and wiping +his forehead. “The steamer that’s bringing him +home ’a’ sent a message from some foreign port, +and Lawyer Cox he’s got one, and it’s all written +up large on the walls of the Corn Exchange. I +reckon it’ll make those deuced lawyers sit up!” +chuckled my father, as he slowly dismounted.</p> +<p>“Lord-a-mercy! Only to think on it! Six +year on a little bit o’ an island, and not a living +soul to speak a word to! And now he’s on his +way home again. It beats all story-telling I +ever heerd on. Why, Alice, lass, it ’a’ quite +upset you,” he added, looking anxiously at my +mother. “You’re all white and scared-like. Dost +feel badly?”</p> +<p>She was standing with her back to us and when +she turned round it seemed to me that a change +had crept into her face.</p> +<p>“It is the heat and excitement,” she said +quietly. “This is strange news. I think that +I will go in and rest.”</p> +<p>“All right, lass! Get thee indoors and lie +down for a bit. Now, then, lads. Hurrah for the +squire and long life to him! Pour it out, Jim—pour +it out! Don’t be afraid on it. Such news +as this don’t coom every day.”</p> +<p>And, with the vision of my stalwart yeoman +father, the centre of a little group of farm-labourers, +holding his foaming glass high above his head, +and his honest face ruddy with heat and excitement, +my memories of this scene grow dim and +fade away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div> +<h2 id="c2">CHAPTER II. +<br /><span class="small">MR. FRANCIS.</span></h2> +<p>I was alone with my father in the kitchen, and he +was looking as I had never seen him look before. +It was late in the afternoon—as near as I can +remember, about six weeks after the news had +reached us of Mr. Ravenor’s wonderful adventures. +He had just come in for tea, flushed with toil and +labouring in the hot sun. But as he stood on the +flags before me, reading a letter which had been +sent up from the village, the glow seemed to die +out from his face and his strong, rough hands +trembled.</p> +<p>“It’s a lie!” I heard him mutter to himself, in +a hoarse whisper—“a wicked lie!”</p> +<p>Then he sank back in one of the high-backed +chairs and I watched him, frightened.</p> +<p>“Philip, lad,” he said to me, speaking slowly, +and yet with a certain eagerness in his tone, “has +your mother had any visitors lately whilst I ’a’ +been out on the farm?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“No one, except Mr. Francis,” I added doubtfully.</p> +<p>He groaned and hid his face for a moment.</p> +<p>“How often has he been here?” he asked, after +a while. “When did he come first? Dost remember?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div> +<p>“Yes,” I answered promptly, “It was on the +day Tom Foulds fell from the oat-stack and broke +his leg. There was another gentleman with him +then. I saw them looking in at the orchard gate, +so I asked them if they wanted anything, and the +strange gentleman said that he was thirsty and +would like some milk, so I took him into the +dairy; and I think that mother must have +known him before, for she seemed so surprised to +see him.</p> +<p>“He gave me half a crown, too,” I went on, +“to run away and watch for a friend of his. But +the friend never came, although I waited ever so +long. He’s been often since; but I don’t like +him and——”</p> +<p>I broke off in sudden dismay. Had not my +mother forbidden my mentioning these visits to +anyone? What had I done? I began to cry +silently.</p> +<p>My father rose from his chair and leaned against +the oaken chimney-piece, with his back turned +towards me.</p> +<p>“It’s he, sure enough!” he gasped. “Heaven +forgive her! But him—him——”</p> +<p>His voice seemed choked with passion and he +did not finish his sentence. I knew that I had +done wrong, and a vague apprehension of threatening +evil stole swiftly upon me. But I sat still +and waited.</p> +<p>It was long before my father turned round and +spoke again. When he did so I scarcely knew +him, for there were deep lines across his forehead, +and all the healthy, sunburnt tan seemed to have +gone from his face. He looked ten years older +and I trembled when he spoke.</p> +<p>“Listen, Philip, lad!” he said gravely. “Your +mother thinks I be gone straight away to Farmer +Woods to see about the colt, don’t she?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</div> +<p>I nodded silently. We had not expected him +home again until late in the evening.</p> +<p>“Now, look you here, Philip,” he continued. +“She’s gone to bed wi’ a headache, you say? +Very well. Just you promise me that you won’t +go near her.”</p> +<p>I promised readily enough. Then he bade me +get my tea and he sank back again into his chair. +Once I asked him timidly if he were not going to +have some, but he took no notice. When I had +finished he led me softly upstairs and locked me +in my room. Never to this day have I forgotten +that dull look of hopeless agony in his face as he +turned away and left me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div> +<h2 id="c3">CHAPTER III. +<br /><span class="small">THE MURDER AT THE SLATE-PITS.</span></h2> +<p>It was late on this same evening. All day long +the thunder had been rumbling and growling, +and now the storm seemed close at hand.</p> +<p>I had partly undressed, but it was too hot to +get into bed, so I leaned out of my wide-open +window, watching the black clouds hanging +down from the sky, and listening to the rustling +of leaves in the wood—sure sign of the coming +storm.</p> +<p>The air was stifling; and, longing feverishly for +the rain, I sat in the deep window-sill and looked +out into the scented darkness, for honeysuckle and +clematis drooped around my window and the +garden below was overgrown with homely, sweet-smelling +flowers.</p> +<p>Suddenly I started. I was quick at hearing, and +I had distinctly caught the sound of a light, firm +step passing down the garden path beneath. My +first impulse was to call out, but I checked it when +I recognised the tall, graceful figure moving swiftly +along the gravel walk in the shade of the yew-hedge. +It was my mother!</p> +<p>I watched her, scarcely believing my eyes. +What could she be wanting in the garden at this +hour? And while I sat on the window casement, +wondering, a cold shiver of alarm chilled me, for +I saw a man creep stealthily out from the wood and +hurry across the little stretch of meadow towards +the garden gate, where she was standing.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div> +<p>The moon was shining with a sickly light through +a thick halo of mist and I could only just distinguish +the figures of my mother and this man, side +by side, talking earnestly. I watched them with +riveted eyes until I heard a quick step on the floor +behind me and a hand was laid upon my mouth, +stifling my cry of surprise.</p> +<p>“It’s only me, Philip, lad,” whispered a hoarse, +tremulous voice. “I didn’t want you to call out—that’s +all. Hast seen anything of this before?” +And he pointed, with shaking finger, towards the +window, from which he had drawn me back a +little.</p> +<p>I looked at him, a great horror stealing over +me. His ruddy face was blanched and drawn, as +though with pain; and there was a terrible light +in his eyes. I was frightened and half inclined +to cry.</p> +<p>“No,” I faltered. “It’s only Mr. Francis, isn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“Only Mr. Francis!” I heard my father repeat, +with a groan. “Oh, Alice, lass—Alice! How +could you?”</p> +<p>He staggered blindly towards the door. I rushed +after him, piteously calling him back, but he pushed +me off roughly and hurried out.</p> +<p>I heard him leave the house, but he did not +go down the garden. Then, in a few minutes, +every one of which seemed to me like an hour, +the low voices at the gate ceased and my mother +came slowly up the path towards the house.</p> +<p>I rushed downstairs and met her in the hall. +She seemed half surprised, half angry, to see me.</p> +<p>“Philip,” she exclaimed, “I thought you were +in bed long ago! What are you doing here?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</div> +<p>“I am frightened!” I sobbed out. “Father +has been in my room watching you at the gate +and he talked so strangely. He is very angry and +he looks as though he were going to hurt someone.”</p> +<p>My mother leaned against the wall, every vestige +of colour gone from her face, and her hand pressed +to her side. She understood better than I did then.</p> +<p>“Where is he now?” she asked hysterically. +“Quick, Philip—quick! Tell me!”</p> +<p>“He is gone,” I answered. “He went out by +the front door and up the road.”</p> +<p>A sudden calmness seemed to come to her and +she stood for a moment thinking aloud.</p> +<p>“He has gone up to the wood gate! They will +meet in the wood. Oh, Heaven, prevent it!” she +cried passionately.</p> +<p>She turned and rushed into the garden, down +the path and through the wicket gate towards +the wood. I followed her, afraid to stay alone. +A vast mass of inky-black clouds had sailed in +front of the moon and the darkness, especially +in the wood, was intense.</p> +<p>More than once I fell headlong down, scratching +my face and hands with the brambles; but each +time I was on my feet immediately, scarcely conscious +of the pain in my wild desire to keep near +my mother.</p> +<p>How she found her way I cannot tell. Great +pieces of her dress were torn off and remained +hanging to the bushes into which she stepped; +and many times I saw her run against a tree and +recoil half stunned by the shock.</p> +<p>But still we made progress, and at last we came +to a part of the wood where the trees and undergrowth +were less dense and there was a steep +ascent. Up it we ran and when we reached the +top my mother paused to listen, while I stood, +breathless, by her side.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div> +<p>Save that the leaves above us were stirring with +a curious motion, there was not a sound in the +whole wood. Birds and animals, even insects, +seemed to have crept away to their holes before +the coming storm. We could see nothing, for a +thick mantle of darkness—a darkness which could +almost be felt—had fallen upon the earth. We +stood crouched together, trembling and fearful.</p> +<p>“Thank Heaven for the darkness!” my mother +murmured to herself. “Philip,” she went on, +stooping down and feeling for my hand, “do you +know where we are? We should be close to the +slate-pits.”</p> +<p>I was on the point of answering her, but the +words died away on my parted lips. Such a sight +as was revealed to us at that moment might have +driven a strong man mad.</p> +<p>Although half a lifetime has passed away, I can +see it now as at that moment. But describe it I +cannot, for no words of mine could paint the +thrilling beauty and, at the same time, the +breathless horror of the scene which opened like +a flash before us.</p> +<p>Trees, sky, and space were suddenly bathed in +a brilliant, lurid light, the like of which I have +never since seen, nor ever shall again. It came +and went in a space of time which only thought +could measure; and this is what it showed us:—</p> +<p>Yawning at our feet the deep pit and sullen +waters of the quarry, for we were scarcely a +single step from the precipitous edge; the huge +piles of slate and the sheds with the workmen’s +tools scattered around; and my father, his arms +thrown upwards in agony, and a wild cry bursting +from his lips, at the very moment that he was +hurled over the opposite side of the chasm!</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div> +<p>We saw the frantic convulsions of despair upon +his ashen face, his eyes starting from their sockets, +as he felt himself falling into space; and we saw +the dim outline of another man staggering back +from the brink, with his hands outstretched before +his face, in horror at what he had done.</p> +<p>Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fierce +glare vanished. The heavens—only a moment +before open and flooding the land with sheets of +living fire—were black and impenetrable, and the +crashing thunder shook the air around and made +the earth tremble, as though it were splitting up +and the very elements were being dissolved.</p> +<p>With a cry, the heartrending anguish of which +will ring for ever in my ears, my mother sank down, +a white, scared heap; and I, my limbs unstrung +and my senses numbed, crouched helpless beside +her. Then the rain fell and there was silence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div> +<h2 id="c4">CHAPTER IV. +<br /><span class="small">MY MOTHER’S WARNING.</span></h2> +<p>For many weeks after that terrible night in Rothland +Wood, I lay wrestling with a fierce fever, +my recovery from which was deemed little short +of miraculous. A sound constitution, however, +and careful nursing brought me round, and I +opened my eyes one sunny morning upon what +seemed to me almost a new world.</p> +<p>The first thing that I can clearly remember +after my return to consciousness was the extraordinary +change which had taken place in my +mother. From a beautiful, active woman, she +seemed to have become transformed into a stern, +cold statue.</p> +<p>Even now I can recall how frightened I was +of her during those first days of convalescence, +and how I shrank from her constant presence by +my bedside with a nameless dread.</p> +<p>The change was in her appearance as well as +in her manner. Her rich brown hair had turned +completely grey, and there was a frigid, set look +in her face, denuded of all expression or affection, +which chilled me every time I looked into it. +It was the face—not of my mother, but of a +stranger.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div> +<p>As I began to regain strength and the doctors +pronounced me fit to leave the sick-room, she +began to display signs of uneasiness, and often +looked at me in a singular kind of way, as +though there were something which she would say +to me.</p> +<p>And one night I woke up suddenly, to find her +standing by my bedside, wrapped in a long dressing-gown, +her grey hair streaming down her back +and a wild gleam in her burning eyes. I started +up in bed with a cry of fear, but she held out +her hand with a gesture which she intended to be +reassuring.</p> +<p>“Nothing is the matter, Philip,” she said. “Lie +down, but listen.”</p> +<p>I obeyed, and had she noticed me closely +she would have seen that I was shivering; for +her strange appearance and the total lack of +affection in her manner, had filled me with something +approaching to horror.</p> +<p>“Philip, you will soon be well enough to go +out,” she continued. “People will ask you questions +about that night.”</p> +<p>It was the first time the subject had been +broached between us. I raised myself a little in +the bed and gazed at her, with blanched cheeks +and fascinated eyes.</p> +<p>“Listen, Philip! You must remember nothing. +Do you understand me?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered faintly.</p> +<p>“You must forget that you saw me in the garden; +you must forget everything your father said to +you. Do you hear?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I repeated. “But—but, mother——”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Will he be caught—the man who killed father?” +I asked timidly. “Oh, I hope he will!”</p> +<p>Her lips parted slowly, and she laughed—a bitter, +hysterical laugh, which seemed to me the most +awful sound I had ever heard.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div> +<p>“Hope! Yes; you may hope—hope if you +will!” she cried; “but remember this, boy: +If your hope comes true, it will be an evil day +for you and for me! Remember!”</p> +<p>Then she turned and walked to the door without +another word. I sat in bed and watched her +piteously, with a great lump in my throat and a +sore heart. The moonlight was pouring in through +my latticed window, falling full upon the long, +graceful lines of her stately figure and her hard, +cold face. I was forlorn and unhappy, but to look +at her froze the words upon my lips.</p> +<p>Merciless and cruel her features seemed to +me. There was no pity, no love, not a +shadow of response to my half-formed, appealing +gesture. I let her go and sank back upon my +pillows, weeping bitterly, with a deep sense of +utter loneliness and desolation.</p> +<p>On the following day I was allowed to leave +my room and very soon I was able to get about. +As my mother had anticipated, many people asked +me questions concerning the events of that hideous +night. To one and all my answer was the same. +I remembered nothing. My illness had left my +memory a blank.</p> +<p>Long afterwards I saw more clearly how well it +was that I had obeyed my mother’s bidding.</p> +<p>A brief extract from a county newspaper will +be sufficient to show what the universal opinion +was concerning my father’s murder. I copy it +here:</p> +<p>“In another column will be found an account +of the inquest on the body of George Morton, +farmer, late of Rothland Wood Farm. The verdict +returned by the jury—namely, ‘Wilful murder +against John Francis’—was, in the face of the +evidence, the only possible one; and everyone +must unite in hoping that the efforts of the police +will be successful, and that the criminal will not +be allowed to escape. The facts are simple and +conclusive.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div> +<p>“It appears from the evidence of Mr. Bullson, +landlord of the George Hotel, Mellborough, and of +several other <i>habitués</i> of the place, that only a +few days before the deed was committed, there +was a violent dispute between deceased and Francis +and that threats were freely used on both sides. +On the night in question Francis started from +Rothland village shortly after nine o’clock, with +the intention of making his way through the wood +to Ravenor Castle. Owing, no doubt, to the extraordinary +darkness of the night, he appears to +have lost his way, and to have been directed by +Mrs. Morton, who noticed him wandering about +near her garden gate.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Morton declines to swear to his identity, +owing in the darkness; but this, in the face of +other circumstances, must count for little in his +favour. He was also seen by the deceased, who, +enraged at finding him on his land and addressing +his wife, started in pursuit, followed by Mrs. +Morton and her little boy, who arrived at the +slate-pits in time to witness, but too late to +prevent, the awful tragedy which we fully reported +a few days since.</p> +<p>“In face of the flight of the man Francis, +and the known fact that he was in the wood that +night, there is little room for doubt as to his being +the actual perpetrator of the deed, although the +details of the struggle must remain, for the present, +shrouded in mystery. Mr. Ravenor, who has just +arrived in England, has offered a reward of £500 +for information leading to the arrest of Francis, +who was a servant at the Castle.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div> +<h2 id="c5">CHAPTER V. +<br /><span class="small">RAVENOR OF RAVENOR.</span></h2> +<p>It was generally expected that my mother would +be anxious to depart as soon as possible from a +neighbourhood which had such terrible associations +for her. As a matter of fact, she showed no intention +of doing anything of the sort. At the time +I rather wondered at this, but I am able now to +divine her reason.</p> +<p>It chanced that the farm, of which my father +had been tenant for nearly a quarter of a century, +was taken by a neighbour who had no use for the +house, and so it was arranged that we should stay +on at a merely nominal rent. Then began a +chapter of my life without event, which I can +pass rapidly over.</p> +<p>Every morning I walked over to Rothland and +received two hours’ instruction from the curate, +and in the afternoon my mother taught me modern +languages. The rest of the day I spent alone, wandering +whithersoever I pleased, staying away as +long as I chose, and returning when I felt inclined. +The results of such a life at my age soon developed +themselves. I became something of a misanthrope, +a great reader, and a passionate lover of Nature. +At any rate, it was healthy, and my taste for all +sorts of outdoor sport prevented my becoming a +bookworm.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div> +<p>It had its influence, too, upon my disposition. +It strengthened and gave colour to my imagination, +expanded my mind, and filled me with a strong +love for everything that was vigorous and fresh +and pure in the books I read.</p> +<p>Shakespeare and Goethe were my first favourites +in literature; but as I grew older the fascination +of lyric poetry obtained a hold upon me, and +Shelley and Keats, for a time, reigned supreme +in my fancy. But my tastes were catholic. I +read everything that came in my way, and was +blessed with a wonderful memory, which enabled +me to retain much that was worth retaining.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, the more purely technical part of +my education was being steadily persevered in; +and so I was not surprised, although it was rather +a blow to me, when the clergyman who had been +my tutor walked home with me through the wood +one summer evening, and told my mother that it +was useless my going to him any longer, for I already +knew all that he could teach me.</p> +<p>I watched her covertly, hoping that she would +show some sign of gratification at what I felt to +be a high compliment. But she simply remarked +that, if such was the case, she supposed the +present arrangement had better terminate, thanked +him for the trouble he had taken with me, and +dismissed the matter. I scanned her cold, beautiful +face in vain for any signs of interest. The cloud +which had fallen between us on the night of my +father’s murder had never been lifted.</p> +<p>The curate stayed to tea with us, and afterwards +I walked back through the woods with him, +for he was a sociable fellow, fond of company—even +mine.</p> +<p>When I reached home again I found my mother +looking out for me, and I knew from her manner +that she had something important to say to me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div> +<p>“Philip, I have heard to-day that Mr. Ravenor +is expected home,” she said slowly.</p> +<p>I started and a little exclamation of pleasure +escaped me. There was no man whom I longed +so much to see. What a reputation was his! A +scholar of European fame, a poet, and a great +sinner; a Crœsus; at times a reckless Sybarite, +at others an ascetic and a hermit; a student of +Voltaire; the founder of a new school of philosophy. +All these things I had heard of him at different +times, but as yet I had never seen him. Something +more than my curiosity had been excited +and I looked forward now to its gratification.</p> +<p>My mother took no note of my exclamation, but +her brow darkened. We were standing together +on the lawn in front of the house and she was in +the shadow of a tall cypress tree.</p> +<p>“I do not suppose that he will remain here +long,” she continued, in a hard, strained tone; +“but while he is at the Castle it is my wish that +you do not enter the park at all.”</p> +<p>“Not enter the park!” I repeated the words +and stared at my mother in blank astonishment. +What difference could Mr. Ravenor’s presence make +to us?</p> +<p>“Surely you do not mean this?” I cried, bitterly +disappointed. “Why, I have been looking forward +for years to see Mr. Ravenor! He is a famous +man!”</p> +<p>“I know it,” she interrupted, “and a very +dangerous one. I do not wish you to meet him. +The chances are that he would not notice you if +he saw you, but it is better to run no risks. You +will remember what I have said? A man of his +strange views and principles is to be avoided—especially +by an impressionable boy like you.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</div> +<p>She left me dumbfounded, crossed the lawn with +smooth, even footsteps, and entered the house. +I watched her disappear, disturbed and uneasy; +Something in her manner had conveyed a strange +impression to me. I could not help thinking +she had other reasons than those she had given +for wishing to keep Mr. Ravenor and me apart. +It seemed on the face of it to be a very absurd +notion, but it had laid hold of me and her subsequent +conduct did not tend to dispel it.</p> +<p>On the afternoon of his expected arrival I lingered +about for hours in the orchard, hoping to +catch a glimpse of him, for the gates of the park, +opposite our house, were the nearest to Mellborough +Station. But I was disappointed. He came, it +is true, but in a closed brougham, drawn by a +pair of swift, high-stepping bays, which swept like +a flash by the hedge over which I was looking, +leaving a confused recollection of glistening harness, +handsome liveries, and a dark, noble face, partly +turned towards me, but imperfectly seen. It was +a glimpse which only increased my interest; yet +how to gratify my curiosity in view of my mother’s +wishes I could not tell.</p> +<p>That night she renewed her prohibition. She +came to me in the little room, where I kept my +books and Penates, and laid her hand upon my +shoulder. Mr. Ravenor had returned, she said—how +did she know, save that she, too, had been +watching, for the flag was not yet hoisted?—and +she hoped that I would remember what her +wishes were.</p> +<p>I promised that I would observe them, as +far as I could, although they seemed to me +ridiculous, and I did not hesitate to hint as much. +What was more unlikely than that Mr. Ravenor, +distinguished man of the world, should take the +slightest notice of a country boy, much more +attempt to gain any sort of influence over him? +The more I thought of it and of my mother’s +nervous fears, the more I grew convinced, against +my will, of some other motive which was to be +kept secret from me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div> +<p>A week passed and very little was seen of Mr. +Ravenor by anyone. As usual, many rumours +were circulated and discussed. He was reported +to have shut himself up in his library and to have +refused admission to all visitors. He was living +like an anchorite, fasting and working hard, surrounded +by books and manuscripts all day and +night, and far into the small hours of the morning. +He was doing penance for recent excesses; he +was preparing for some wild orgies; he was +writing a novel, a philosophical pamphlet, an +article for the reviews, or another volume of +poems.</p> +<p>Among all classes of our neighbours nothing +else was talked about but the doings, or supposed +doings, of Mr. Ravenor.</p> +<p>One afternoon chance led me into the little room +which my mother called her own, a room I seldom +entered. There was a small volume lying on the +table and carelessly I took it up and glanced at +the title. Then, with a quick exclamation of pleasure, +I carried it away with me. It was Mr. Ravenor’s +first little volume of poems, which I had tried +in vain to get. The Mellborough bookseller of +whom I had ordered it told me that it was out of +print. The first edition had been exhausted long +since and the author had refused to allow a second +edition to be issued.</p> +<p>I met my mother in the hall and held out the +volume to her.</p> +<p>“You never told me that you had a copy of +Mr. Ravenor’s poems,” I said reproachfully. “I +have just found it in your room.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</div> +<p>She started, and for a moment I feared that +she was going to insist upon my giving up the +book. She did not do so, however; but I noticed +that the hand which was resting upon the banister +was grasping the handrail nervously, as though for +support, and that she was white to the very lips.</p> +<p>“No; I had forgotten,” she said slowly—“I +mean that I had forgotten you had ever asked +for it. Take care of it, Philip, and give it me back +to-night. It was given to me by a friend and I +value it.”</p> +<p>I promised and left the house. My range of +pleasures was in some respects a limited one, but +it did not prevent me from being an epicure with +regard to their enjoyment. I did not glance inside +the book, although I was longing to do so, until +I had walked five or six miles and had reached +one of my favourite halting-places. Then I threw +myself down in the shadow of a great rock on the +top of Beacon Hill and took the volume from my +pocket.</p> +<p>It was a small, olive-green book, delicately +bound, and printed upon rough paper. It had +been given to my mother, evidently, for her Christian +name was inside, written in a fine, dashing hand, +and underneath were some initials which had become +indistinct. Then, having satisfied myself of this, +and handled it for a few moments, I turned over +the pages rapidly and began to read.</p> +<p>The first part was composed almost entirely of +sonnets and love-poems. One after another I read +them and wondered. There was nothing amateurish, +nothing weak, here. They were full of +glowing imagery, of brilliant colouring, of passion, +of fire. Crude some of them seemed to me, who +had read no modern poetry and knew many of +Shakespeare’s and Milton’s sonnets by heart; but +full of genius, nevertheless, and with the breath +of life warm in them.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div> +<p>The second portion was devoted to longer poems +and these I liked best. There was in some +more than a touch of the graceful, fascinating +mysticism of Shelley, the passionate outcry of a +strong, noble mind, seeking to wrest from Nature +her vast secrets and to fathom the mysteries of +existence; the wail of bewildered nobility of soul +turning in despair from the cold creeds of modern +religion to seek some other and higher form of +spiritual life.</p> +<p>I read on until the sun had gone down and the +shades of twilight had chased the afterglow from +the western sky. Then I closed the book and +rose suddenly with a great start.</p> +<p>Scarcely a dozen yards away, on the extreme +summit of the hill, a man on horseback sat watching +me. His unusually tall figure and the fine shape +of the coal-black horse which he was riding, stood +out against the background of the distant sky +with a vividness which seemed almost more than +natural. Such a face as his I had never seen, +never imagined. I could neither describe it, nor +think of anything with which to compare it.</p> +<p>Dark, with jet-black hair, and complexion perfectly +clear, but tanned by Southern suns; a small, +firm mouth; a high forehead, furrowed with +thought; aquiline nose; grey-blue eyes, powerful +and expressive—any man might thus be described, +and yet lack altogether the wonderful charm of +the face into which I looked. It was the rare +combination of perfect classical modelling with +intensity of character and nobility of intellect. +It was the face of a king among men; and yet +there were times when a certain smile played around +those iron lips, and a certain light flashed in those +brilliant eyes, when to look into it made me shudder. +But that was afterwards.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div> +<p>He remained looking at me and I at him, for +fully a minute. Then he beckoned to me with +his whip—a slight but imperious gesture. I rose +and walked to his side.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” he asked curtly.</p> +<p>“My name is Philip Morton,” I answered. “I +live at Rothland Wood farmhouse.”</p> +<p>“Son of the man who was murdered?”</p> +<p>I assented. He gazed at me fixedly, with the +faintest possible expression of interest in his languid +grey eyes.</p> +<p>“You were very intent upon your book,” he +remarked. “What was it?”</p> +<p>I held it up.</p> +<p>“You should know it, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>He glanced at the title and shrugged his shoulders +slightly. There were indications of a frown upon +his fine forehead.</p> +<p>“You should be able to employ your time better +than that,” he said.</p> +<p>“I don’t think so. I am fond of reading—especially +poetry,” I replied.</p> +<p>The idea seemed to amuse him, for he smiled, +and the stem lines in his countenance relaxed for +a moment. Directly his lips were parted his whole +expression was transformed and I understood +what women had meant when they talked about +the fascination of his face.</p> +<p>“Fond of reading, are you? A village bookworm. +Well, they say that to book-lovers every +volume has a language and a mission of its own. +What do my schoolboy voices tell you?”</p> +<p>“That you were once in love,” I answered quickly.</p> +<p>A half-amused, half-contemptuous shade passed +across his face.</p> +<p>“Youth has its follies, like every other stage of +life,” he said. “I daresay I experienced the +luxury of the sensation once, but it must have +been a long time ago. Come, is that all it tells +you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div> +<p>“It tells me that men lie when they call you +an Atheist.”</p> +<p>He sat quite still on his horse and the smile on +his lips became a mocking one.</p> +<p>“Atheism was most unfashionable when those +verses were written,” he remarked. “Any other +‘ism’ was popular enough, but Atheism sounded +ugly. Besides, I was only a boy then. Perhaps +I had some imagination left. It is a gift which +one loses in later life.”</p> +<p>“But religion is not dependent upon imagination.”</p> +<p>“Wholly. Religion is an effort of imagination +and, therefore, is more or less a matter of disposition. +That is one of its chief absurdities. Women +and sensitive boys are easiest affected by it. Men +of sturdy common-sense, men with brains and the +knowledge how to use them, are every day bursting +the trammels of an effete orthodoxy.”</p> +<p>“And what can their common-sense and their +brains give them in its place?” I asked. “I +cannot conceive any practical religion without +orthodoxy.”</p> +<p>“A little measure of philosophy. It is all they +want. Only the faint-hearted, who have not the +courage to contemplate physical annihilation, console +themselves by building up a hysterical faith +in an impossible hereafter. There is no hereafter.”</p> +<p>“A horrible creed!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“By no means. Let men devote half the time +and the efforts that they devote to this phantasy +of religion to schooling themselves in philosophic +thought, and they will learn to contemplate it +unmoved. To recognise that the end of life is +inevitable is to rob it of most of its terrors, save +to cowards. The man who wastes a tissue of his +body in regretting what he cannot prevent is a +fool. Annihilation is a more comfortable doctrine +and a more reasonable one, too. Don’t you agree +with me, boy?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div> +<p>“No; not with a single word!” I cried, growing +hot and a little angry, for I could see that he was +only half in earnest and I had no fancy to be made +a butt of. “Imagination is not the groundwork +of religion; common-sense is. Why——”</p> +<p>“Oh, spare me the stock arguments!” he broke +in, with a slight shudder. “Keep your religion +and hug it as close as you like, if you find it any +comfort to you. Where have you been to school?”</p> +<p>“Nowhere,” I answered. “I have read with +Mr. Sands, the curate of Rothland.”</p> +<p>He laughed softly to himself, as though the idea +amused him, looking at me all the time as though +I were some sort of natural curiosity.</p> +<p>“Fond of reading, are you?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“Yes. Fonder than I am of anything else.”</p> +<p>“And your books—where do they come from?”</p> +<p>“Wherever I can get any. From the library at +Mellborough, or from Mr. Sands, most of them.” +He laughed again and repeated my words, as +though amused.</p> +<p>“No wonder you’re behind the times,” he remarked. +“Now, shall I lend you some books?”</p> +<p>I shook my head feebly, for I was longing to +accept his offer.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid your sort of books would not suit +me,” I said. “I don’t want to be converted to +your way of thinking. It seems to me that there +is such a thing as overtraining of the mind.”</p> +<p>“So you look upon me as a sort of Mephistopheles, +eh? Well, I’ve no ambition to make a convert of +you. To be a pessimist is to be——”</p> +<p>“An unhappy man,” I interrupted eagerly, “and +a very narrow-minded one, too. It is a city-born +creed. No one could live out here in the country +and espouse it!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div> +<p>“Boy, how old are you?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“Seventeen next birthday, sir,” I answered.</p> +<p>“You have a glib tongue—the sign of an empty +head, I fear.”</p> +<p>“Better empty than full of unhealthy philosophy,” +I answered bluntly.</p> +<p>He laughed outright.</p> +<p>“The country air has sharpened your wits, at +any rate,” he said. “You’re a fool, Philip Morton; +but you will be happier in your folly than other +men in their wisdom. There’s a great deal of +comfort in ignorance.”</p> +<p>He gave me a careless yet not unkind nod and, +wheeling his great horse round with a turn of the +wrist, galloped down the hillside and across the +soft, spongy turf at a pace which soon carried him +out of sight. But I stood for a while on a piece +of broken rock on the summit of the hill gazing +after his retreating figure, and watching the twinkling +lights from the many villages stretched away in +the valley below. The sound of his low, strong +voice yet vibrated in my ears, and the sad, beautiful +face, with its languid grey eyes and weary expression, +seemed still by my side. Already I began to feel +something of the influence which this man appeared +to exercise over everyone whom he came near; +and I felt vaguely, even then, that if suffered to +grow, it would become an influence all-powerful +with me.</p> +<p>When I reached home it was late—so late that +my mother, who seldom betrayed any interest or +curiosity in my doings, asked me questions. I +felt a curious reluctance at first to tell her with +whom I had been talking, and it was justified +when I saw the effect which my words had upon +her. A look almost of horror filled her eyes and +her face was white with anger. It was as though +a long-expected blow had fallen.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div> +<p>“At last! at last!” she murmured to herself, +as though forgetful of my presence. Then her +eyes closed and her lips moved softly. It seemed +to me that she was praying.</p> +<p>I was bewildered and inclined to be angry +that she should carry her dislike of Mr. Ravenor +so far. Did she think me so weak and impressionable +that a few minutes’ conversation with +any man could bring me harm?</p> +<p>“You carry your dislike of Mr. Ravenor a little +too far, mother,” I ventured to say. “What can +you know of him so bad that you see danger in +my having talked with him for a few minutes?”</p> +<p>She looked at me fixedly and grew more composed.</p> +<p>“It is too late now, Philip,” she said, in a low +tone. “The mischief is done. If I could have +foreseen this we would have gone away.”</p> +<p>“To have avoided Mr. Ravenor?” I cried, +wondering.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div> +<h2 id="c6">CHAPTER VI. +<br /><span class="small">A DOUBTFUL VISITOR.</span></h2> +<p>Late in the afternoon of the following day a +visitor rode through the stack-yard and reined in +his horse before our door. I was reading in the +room which my mother chiefly occupied and, +when I glanced out of the side-window, overhung +and darkened by jessamine and honeysuckle, I +had a great surprise. The book dropped from my +fingers and I stood still for a moment, uncertain +what to do. For outside, sitting composedly upon +his fine black horse and apparently considering as +to the best means of making his presence known, +was Mr. Ravenor.</p> +<p>He saw me and, with a curt but not ungracious +motion of the head, beckoned me out. I went +at once and found him dismounted and standing +upon the step.</p> +<p>“I want to see your mother, boy,” he said +sharply. “Is there no one about who can hold +my horse? Where are all the farm men?”</p> +<p>I hesitated and stood there for a moment, +awkward and confused. My mother’s strange words +concerning him were still ringing in my ears. +Supposing she refused to come down and receive, +as a visitor, the man of whom she had spoken +such mysterious words? Nothing appeared to me +more likely. And yet what was I to do?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div> +<p>He watched me, as though reading my thoughts. +That he was indeed doing so I very quickly discovered.</p> +<p>“Quick, boy!” he said. “I am not accustomed +to be kept waiting. I know as well as you +do that I am not a welcome visitor, but your +mother will see me, nevertheless. Call one of the +men!”</p> +<p>I passed across the garden and entered the farmyard. +Jim, the waggoner, was there, turning +over a manure-heap, and I returned with him at +my heels. Mr. Ravenor tossed him the reins +and, stooping low, followed me into our little +sitting-room.</p> +<p>He laid his whip upon the table and, selecting +the most comfortable chair, sat down leisurely +and crossed his legs. He was, of course, entirely +at his ease, and was watching my discomposure +with a quiet, mocking smile.</p> +<p>“Now go and tell your mother that I desire to +see her!” he commanded.</p> +<p>With slow steps I turned away, and, mounting +the stairs, knocked at her door.</p> +<p>“Mother, there is a visitor downstairs!” I called +out softly. “It is——”</p> +<p>“I know,” she answered calmly. “Go away. +I shall be down in a few minutes.”</p> +<p>I went downstairs again and into the sitting-room, +breathing more freely. Mr. Ravenor had +not stirred, and when I entered appeared to +be deep in thought. At the sound of my footsteps, +however, his expression changed at once +into its former impassiveness. He glanced round +the room with an air of lazy curiosity and his +half-closed eyes rested upon my little case of books.</p> +<p>“What have you there?” he inquired. “Read +me out the titles.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div> +<p>I did so, with just an inkling of reluctance, for +my collection was altogether a haphazard one, +precious though it was to me. Half-way through +he checked me.</p> +<p>“There, that’ll do!” he exclaimed, laughing +softly. “This is really idyllic. ‘Abercrombie’ +and ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ ‘Jeremy Taylor’ and +‘Thomas à Kempis.’ My poor boy, if you have +a headpiece at all, how it must want oiling!”</p> +<p>I was a little indignant at his tone and answered +him quickly.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I’m not sure that I should +care for your kind of books very much.”</p> +<p>He arched his fine eyebrows and the smile still +lingered around his lips.</p> +<p>“Indeed! And why not? And how have you +been able to divine what sort of books mine are, +without having seen them?”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps I don’t mean that exactly,” I +answered, sitting on the edge of the table, and +thrusting my hands deep down into my trousers +pockets, with the uncomfortable sensation that I +was making a fool of myself. “I was judging +from what you said you were last night. If study +has only brought you to pessimism, I would rather +be ignorant.”</p> +<p>“You really are a wonderfully wise boy for +your years,” he said, still smiling. “But you +must remember that there are two distinct branches +of study. One, the more popular and the more +commonly recognised, leads to acquired knowledge—the +knowledge of facts and sciences and +languages; the other is the pure sharpening and +training of the mind, by reading other men’s +thoughts and ideas and theories—in short, by becoming +master of all the philosophical writers of +all nations. Now, it is the latter which you +would have to avoid in order to retain your +present Arcadian simplicity; but without the +former, man is scarcely above the level of an +animal.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div> +<p>“I think I see what you mean,” I admitted. +“I should like to be a good classical scholar and +mathematician, and know a lot of things. It +seems to me,” I added hesitatingly, “that this +sort of knowledge is quite sufficient to strengthen +and train the mind. The other would be very likely +to overtrain it and prove unhealthy, especially if +it leads everyone where it has led you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I wanted no leading!” he said lightly. +“I was born a pessimist. Schopenhauer was my +earliest friend, Voltaire my teacher, and Shelley +my god! Matter of disposition, of course. I had +too little imagination to care a rap about cultivating +a religion, and too much to be a moralist. +Your mother is coming at last, then?”</p> +<p>The door opened and I looked up anxiously. +The words of introduction which had been trembling +upon my lips were unuttered. I stood as helpless +and dumbfounded as a ploughboy, with my eyes +fixed upon my mother.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div> +<h2 id="c7">CHAPTER VII. +<br /><span class="small">A MEETING AND A METAMORPHOSIS.</span></h2> +<p>That it was my mother I could not at first believe. +She wore a plain dark dress, with a black lace +kerchief about her neck; but a dress, simple +though it was, of a style and material unlike any +that I had ever before seen her wear. Although +I knew nothing of her history, I had always suspected +that she was of a very different station +from my father’s, and at that moment I knew it, +for it seemed as though she had, of a sudden, made +up her mind to assume her proper position. Not +only were her dress and the fashion of arranging +her hair unusual, but her manners, her voice, +her whole bearing and appearance were utterly +changed. It was as though she had, without the +slightest warning, dropped the mask of long years, +and stepped back, like a flash, into the personality +which belonged to her.</p> +<p>Nor was this the only change. A slight pink +flush had chased the leaden pallor from her +cheeks, and her eyes, which had of late seemed +dull and heavy, were full of sparkling light +and suppressed animation. Her manners, as +well as her personal appearance, all bore witness +to some startling metamorphosis. I was more +than astonished; I was thunderstruck. What +seemed to me most wonderful was that a visit +from the man against whom she had so solemnly +and passionately cautioned me should thus have +galvanised her into another state of being.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div> +<p>Mr. Ravenor rose at her entrance and bowed +with the easy grace of a man of the world. My +mother returned his greeting with a stately self-possession +which matched his own; but it struck +me, watching them both closely, that, while he was +perfectly collected, she was in reality far from +being so. I could see the delicate white fingers +of her left hand fold themselves convulsively +around the lace handkerchief which she was carrying, +and when she entered a shiver—gone in a +moment and perceptible only to me, because my eyes +were fastened upon her—shook her slim, lithe figure.</p> +<p>But in the few commonplace remarks which first +passed between them there was nothing in speech +or manner that betrayed the least embarrassment. +She answered him as one of his own order, graciously, +yet just allowing him to see that his visit was a +surprise to her and that she expected him to +declare its purpose. I have dwelt somewhat upon +this meeting for reasons which will be sufficiently +apparent when I have finished my story.</p> +<p>After a few remarks about the farm, the crops, +and the favourable weather, he gave the wished-for +explanation.</p> +<p>“I have come to say a few words to you about +your son, Mrs. Morton,” he began abruptly.</p> +<p>She and I looked equally astonished.</p> +<p>“I am a man of few words,” he continued. +“The few which I desire to say upon this subject +had better be said, I think, to you alone, Mrs. +Morton.”</p> +<p>I would have left the room at once, but my +mother prevented me. She laid a trembling hand +upon my shoulder, and drew me closer to her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div> +<p>“You can have nothing to say to me, Mr. Ravenor, +which it would not be better for him to hear, +especially as you say that it concerns him.”</p> +<p>He shrugged his high, square shoulders, as +though indifferent; but I fancied, nevertheless, +that a shade of annoyance lingered in his face for +a moment.</p> +<p>“Very good!” he said shortly. “Rumour may +have told you, Mrs. Morton, if you ever listen to +such things, that I am a very wicked man. Possibly! +I don’t deny it! At any rate, I am, by +disposition and custom, profoundly selfish. I owe +to your son a luxury—that of having found my +thoughts withdrawn from myself for a few minutes—with +me a most rare event.</p> +<p>“I met him last evening and talked with him. +He talked like a fool, it is true, but that has nothing +to do with it. Afterwards I thought of him again; +wondered what you were going to do with him; +remembered—pardon me!—that you must be +poor; and remembered, also, that you have +suffered through a servant of mine.”</p> +<p>He paused. For nearly half a minute they +looked one another in the face—my mother and +this man. There was something in her rapt, fascinated +gaze, and in the keen, brilliant light which +flashed from his dark eyes as he returned it, which +seemed strange to me. It was like a challenge +offered and accepted—a duel in which neither +was vanquished, for neither flinched.</p> +<p>“It occurred to me then,” he continued calmly, +“to call and ask you what you intended doing +with him, and to plead, as excuses for the suggestion +which I am about to make, the reasons +which I have just stated. I am a rich man, as +you know, and the money would be nothing to +me. I wish to be allowed to defray the expenses +of finishing your son’s education.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div> +<p>It seemed to me a magnificently generous offer, +but a very simple one. I could not understand +the agitation and apparent indecision which it +caused my mother. Her prompt refusal I could +have understood, although it would have been a +blow to me. But this mixture of horror and consternation, +of emotion and dismay, I could make +nothing of. The feeling which I had imagined +would surely be manifested—gratitude—was conspicuous +by its absence. What did it all mean?</p> +<p>My mother sat down and Mr. Ravenor leaned +back in his armchair, apparently content to wait +for her decision. I moved across the room to her +side and took her cold fingers into mine.</p> +<p>“Mother,” I cried, with glowing cheeks and +voice trembling with eagerness, “what is the +matter? Why do you not say ‘yes’? You know +how I have wanted to go to college! There is no +reason why you should not consent, is there?”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor smiled—a very slight movement of +the lips.</p> +<p>“If your mother considers your interests at +all,” he said calmly, “she will certainly consent.”</p> +<p>I was about to speak, but my mother looked up +and I checked the words on my lips.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor,” she said quietly, “I accept +your offer and I thank you for it. That is all I +can say.”</p> +<p>“Quite enough,” he remarked nonchalantly.</p> +<p>“But there is one thing I should like you to +understand,” she added, looking up at him. “I +consent, it is true; but, had it not been for another +reason, far more powerful with me than any you +have urged, I never should have done so. It is a +reason which you do not know of—and which I +pray that you never may know of,” she added, in +a lower key.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div> +<p>He made no answer; indeed, he seemed little +interested in my mother’s words. He turned, +instead, to me and read in my face all the enthusiasm +which hers lacked. I would have spoken, +but he held up his hand and checked me.</p> +<p>“Only on one condition,” he said coldly. “No +thanks. I hate them! What I do for you I do +to please myself. The money which it will cost +me is no more than I have thrown away many +times on the idlest passing pleasure. I have simply +chosen to gratify a whim, and it happens that you +are the gainer. Remember that you can best +show your gratitude by silence.”</p> +<p>His words fell like drops of ice upon my impetuosity. +I remained silent without an effort.</p> +<p>“From what you said just now,” he continued, +“I learn that it has been your desire to perfect +your education in a fashion which you could not +have done here. Have you any distinct aims? +I mean, have you any definite ideas as to the +future?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“I never dared to encourage any,” I answered, +truthfully enough. “I knew that we were poor +and that I should have to think about earning +my living soon—probably as a schoolmaster.”</p> +<p>“You mean to say, then, that you have never +had any distinct ambitions—everything has been +vague?”</p> +<p>“Except one thing,” I answered slowly. “There +is one thing which I have always set before me to +accomplish some day, but it is scarcely an ambition +and it has nothing to do with a career.”</p> +<p>“Tell it to me!” he commanded.</p> +<p>I did so, without hesitation, looking him full in +the face with heightened colour, but speaking +with all the determination which I felt in my heart.</p> +<p>“I have made up my mind that some day I +will find the man Francis—the man who murdered +my father!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div> +<p>He was silent. I could almost have fancied that +he was in some measure moved by my words, and +the refined beauty of his dark face was heightened +for a moment by the strange, sad look which flashed +across it. Then he rose and took up his riding-whip +from the table.</p> +<p>“A boyish enthusiasm,” he remarked contemptuously, +as he made his way towards the +door. “Where the cleverest detectives in England +have failed, you hope to succeed. Well, I wish +you success. The rascal deserves to swing, certainly. +You will hear further from me in a day +or two. Good-morning!”</p> +<p>He left the room abruptly and I followed him, +stepping bareheaded out into the sunshine to look +about for Jim, who was leading his horse up and +down the road.</p> +<p>When I returned, Mr. Ravenor was still standing +upon the doorstep watching me intently.</p> +<p>“I am going back to speak to your mother for +a moment,” he said slowly, withdrawing his eyes +from my face at last. “No; stop where you +are!” he added imperatively. “I wish to speak +to her alone.”</p> +<p>I obeyed him and wandered about the orchard +until I saw him come out and gallop furiously +away across the park. Then I hurried into the +house.</p> +<p>“Mother!” I exclaimed, calling out to her +before I had opened the door of the parlour—“mother, +what do you—”</p> +<p>I stopped short and hurried to her side, alarmed +at her appearance. Her cheeks, even her lips, +were ashen pale and her eyes were closed. She +had fainted in her chair.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div> +<h2 id="c8">CHAPTER VIII. +<br /><span class="small">AN ABODE OF MYSTERY.</span></h2> +<p>For the first time in my life I was on my way to +Ravenor Castle, summoned there by a brief, imperious +note from Mr. Ravenor. Often had I +looked longingly from the distant hills of the park +upon its grey, rugged towers and mighty battlements; +but I had never dared to clamber over the +high wall into the inner grounds, nor even to make +my way up the servants’ drive to win a closer +acquaintance with it.</p> +<p>One reason why I had abstained from doing +what, on the face of it, would seem a very natural +thing to do, was a solemn promise to my mother, +extracted from me almost as soon as I was able +to get about by myself, never to pass within that +great boundary-wall which completely encircled +the inner grounds and wardens of the castle. But, +apart from that, the thing would have been impossible +for me, in any case.</p> +<p>I have already said that Mr. Ravenor bore the +character of being a remarkably eccentric man. +Perhaps one of the most striking manifestations +of this eccentricity lay in the rigid seclusion in +which he chose to live while at the Castle, and the +extraordinary precautions which he had taken to +prevent all intruders and visitors of every sort +from obtaining access to him.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</div> +<p>From the outer part there was indeed no attempt +to exclude anyone belonging to the neighbourhood +who chose to ramble about there, and in Mr. Ravenor’s +absence visitors who had obtained permission +from the steward were occasionally permitted to +drive through; but to the grounds and the Castle +itself access was simply an impossibility. Had +Ravenor Castle been the abode of a sovereign, +and the country around in possession of a hostile +people, the precautions could scarcely have been +more rigorous.</p> +<p>The high stone wall, which encircled the Castle +and gardens for a circuit of three-quarters of a mile, +effectually shut them off from the outside world. +The postern-gates with which it was pierced were of +solid iron, and the locks which secured them were +said to have been fashioned by a Hindoo whom +Mr. Ravenor had once brought home with him from +India, and to be perfectly unique in their design and +workmanship. The two main carriage entrances, +about half a mile apart, were remarkable for nothing +but the fine proportions of the towering iron gates; +but they were always kept jealously locked and +barred, and the fate of the uninvited guest who +presented himself there was inevitable. There +was no admittance.</p> +<p>The afternoon was drawing towards a close +when I turned the last corner of the winding +avenue and approached the entrance. It had +been a wild, blustering day; but just before I +started from home the wind had dropped and a +watery sun, feebly piercing the masses of heavy +clouds with which the sky was strewn, was shining +down, with a wan, unnatural glow, upon the clumps +of fir-trees on either side of the way and the massive, +frowning towers of the Castle close above me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div> +<p>Under foot and around me everything was wet. +With the faintest stir of the dying breeze showers of +raindrops fell from shrubs and trees, and at every +step my feet sank into the soft, soaked gravel, or +sent the moisture bubbling up from the layers of +rotten leaves and twigs which the morning’s gale +had scattered along the road.</p> +<p>It was an afternoon to damp anyone’s spirits; +and it was perhaps to the influence of the weather +that I owed the sudden sinking of heart and courage +which came over me as I slackened my pace +before the grim-looking lodges and barred gate. +I had started from home, notwithstanding my +mother’s white face and nervous, trembling manner, +in a state of pleasurable excitement.</p> +<p>I was about to penetrate into a mystery which +had been the curiosity of my boyhood; I was to +become one of those favoured few who had been +permitted to pass within the portals of Ravenor +Castle; and, more than that, I was about to visit +there as the guest of a man whose marvellous +reputation, personality, and career had kindled +within me an almost passionate reverence—a man +who had long been the object of my devoted, +although boyish and unreasonable, hero-worship. +Yet, though it would seem that I had everything +to gain and nothing to fear or lose from the coming +interview, no sooner had I arrived within sight of +my destination than my spirits sank to zero.</p> +<p>A woman would have called it a presentiment +and have accepted it with mute despair. To me it +seemed only an unreasonable reaction from my +previous state of suppressed excitement—a feeling +to be crushed at any cost, lest I should stand, with +gloomy, unthankful face, before the man in whose +power it lay to raise me from my present distasteful +position and prospects. So I threw my head back +and quickened my steps, keeping resolutely before +me in my thoughts all that I had ventured to hope +from my forthcoming interview; and by the time +I stood before the great iron gates and stretched +out my hand to ring the bell, the depression had +almost passed away, and the eagerness which I felt +was, no doubt, fully reflected m my countenance.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div> +<p>I had no need to ring. My last quick footstep +had fallen upon a harder substance than the gravel +upon which I had been walking, and the contact +of my feet with it made my presence known in a +manner which surprised me not a little. There +was a shrill ringing from the lodge door on my +right, and almost simultaneously it opened and +a servant came out in the dark Ravenor livery.</p> +<p>“Will you be so good, sir, as to step off the +planking?” he said.</p> +<p>I moved a yard or two backwards, and the bell—it +was an electric bell, of course—instantly +ceased. It was my first experience of any such +means of communication, and I stood for a moment +looking down in some bewilderment.</p> +<p>“Your name and business, sir?” the man inquired +respectfully. “Did you wish to see Mr. +Clemson?” Mr. Clemson was the steward.</p> +<p>“My name is Morton, and my business is with +Mr. Ravenor,” I answered. “I want to see him.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid that Mr. Ravenor will not be able +to see you, sir,” he said. “Have you an appointment?”</p> +<p>“Yes; for five o’clock,” I answered. And the +words had scarcely left my lips before the first +stroke of the hour boomed out from the great Castle +clock. Perhaps, more than anything else could +have done, that sound brought home to me the +realisation of where I was. Hour after hour, all +through my life, from the depths of Rothland +Wood, from the home meadows, or in my long +rambles over the far-away Barnwood Hills, I had +heard those deep, throbbing chimes; sometimes +faint and low, when the wind bore the sound away +from me, sometimes harsh and piercing in the storm, +and often as dear and distinct as though only a +sheet of water stretched between us. And now I +stood almost within a stone’s throw of them, and +marvelled no longer that the deep, resounding +notes should travel so far over hill and moor that +I had never yet been able to wander out of hearing +of them.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</div> +<p>The man accepted my explanation after a +moment’s hesitation, and, standing aside from +the doorway out of which he had issued, motioned +me to enter. I did so and received a fresh surprise. +Instead of finding myself in the home of +one of the servants of the estate, which would +have seemed the natural thing, I found myself +in a most luxuriously furnished waiting-room, +hung with mirrors and oak-framed paintings upon +a dark panelled wall. My feet sank into a thick +carpet, and I subsided, a little dazed, into a low, +crimson velvet chair, and found beside me a table +covered with magazines.</p> +<p>The man followed me into the room, and, as he +passed on his way to its upper end, he wheeled +towards me a smaller table on which were decanters +and glasses and a long box of cigarettes. Scarcely +glancing at them, I watched him unlock a tall +cupboard and half vanish inside it.</p> +<p>He remained there for a space of almost five +minutes. Then he stepped out, carefully locked +it and advanced towards me. I fancied that +there was a shade more respect in his manner +and certainly some surprise.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor’s servant will be here in a few +minutes, sir, to show you the way to the Castle.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div> +<p>I thought that I could have found it very well +by myself, but, of course, I could not say so. I +occupied myself by examining the contents of the +room, and struggled for a few moments between +a feeling of strong curiosity and a natural disinclination +to ask questions of a servant, especially +one whose manner seemed so little to invite them. +Finally the former conquered.</p> +<p>“How did you find that out without leaving +this room?” I asked.</p> +<p>He pointed to the cupboard.</p> +<p>“We have a telephone there in connection with +the Castle, sir,” he explained. Then he busied +himself arranging some papers on a table at the +other end of the apartment, with the obvious air +of not desiring to be questioned further.</p> +<p>The explanation was so simple that I smiled. +I began to realise the very insufficient causes +which had given rise to the stories which were +always floating about concerning the mystery +in which the master of Ravenor Castle chose to +dwell. What more natural than that a man of +liberal education, with a passion for absolute solitude, +should seek to insure it by some such means +as these, by the application of very simple scientific +devices, common enough in a city, but unheard +of in our quiet country neighbourhood?</p> +<p>I was kept waiting for about a quarter of an +hour. Then the door was opened noiselessly from +without and a tall, dark man, clean-shaven and +dressed in black, relieved by an immaculate white +tie, entered and looked at me. I rose to my feet +and threw down the magazine which I had been +pretending to read.</p> +<p>“You are Mr. Morton?” he inquired, in a subdued +tone, glancing steadily at me the while with +somewhat puzzled, criticising gaze, which, perhaps +unreasonably, annoyed me extremely. It was an +annoyance which I took pains not to show, however, +for something about the personality of the +man impressed me. His manner, though studiously +respectful, was not without a certain quiet dignity, +and his thin oval face—thin almost to emaciation—had +in it more than a suspicion of refinement. +My first glance, whilst I was undergoing his brief +scrutiny, assured me that this was no ordinary +servant.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</div> +<p>“That is my name,” I answered. “You have +come to take me to Mr. Ravenor?”</p> +<p>“If you will be so good as to follow me, sir.”</p> +<p>I took up my cap and did so, taking long, swinging +strides up the steep ascent, hoping thereby +to gain his side and ask him a few questions about +the place. But he prevented this by hurrying on +when I was close behind him; so, after the third +attempt I gave it up, and contented myself by +looking around me as much as I could, and making +the most of the short walk.</p> +<p>On one side of the drive—I had been along few +highways as wide—was a tall yew hedge, which +shut out little from my view, for the thick black +pine-wood which overtopped and formed so striking +a background to the grand old Castle had never +been thinned in this direction, and stretched away +in a wide, irregular belt, skirting the long line of +out-buildings to the hills and beyond. But on +the right hand only a low ring-fence separated us +from the grounds immediately in front of the Castle, +which a sudden bend in the sharply winding road +brought into full view.</p> +<p>My absolute ignorance of architecture forbids +my attempting to describe it, save in its general +effect. I remember even now what that effect was +upon me when I stood for the first time almost at +its foot. At a distance its frowning battlements +and worn grey turrets had a majestic appearance; +but, standing as I did then, within a few hundred +yards of its vast, imposing front, and almost under +the shadow of its walls and towers, its effect was +nothing short of awe-inspiring.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div> +<p>I almost held my breath as I gazed upon it +and the terrace lawns, sloping away below, smooth-shaven, +velvetty, the very perfection of English +turf. Not that I had much time to look about +me. On the contrary, my conductor never once +slackened his pace, and when I involuntarily +paused for a moment, with eyes riveted upon the +magnificent pile before me, he looked round sharply +and beckoned me impatiently to proceed.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor is not used to be kept waiting, +sir,” he remarked, “and will be expecting us.”</p> +<p>I pulled myself together with an effort and +followed him more closely. We passed under a +bridge of solid masonry, moss-encrusted, and indented +with the storms of ages and the ruder +marks of battering-ram and cannon, across a wide, +circular courtyard protected by massive iron gates, +which rolled slowly open before us with many ponderous +creakings and gratings, as though reluctant +to admit a stranger, into a great, white, stone-paved +hall, dimly lighted, yet sufficiently so to +enable me to perceive the long rows of armoured +warriors which lined the walls, and the lances and +spears and shields which flashed above their +heads.</p> +<p>We passed straight across it, our footsteps +awakening clattering echoes as they fell on the +polished flags, through a door on the opposite side, +into a room which nearly took my breath away. +From the high, vaulted ceiling to the floor, on +every side of the apartment, were books—nothing +but books.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div> +<p>Two men—one old, the other of about my own +age—looked up from a table as we entered and +paused in their work, which seemed to be cataloguing; +but my guide passed them without remark +or notice, and walked straight across the +room to where a crimson curtain, hanging down +in thick folds, concealed a black oak door. Here +he knocked, and I waited by his side until the +answer came in that clear, low tone, which, though +I had heard it but once or twice before, I could +have recognised in a thousand. Then my guide +turned the handle and, silently motioning me to +enter, left me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div> +<h2 id="c9">CHAPTER IX. +<br /><span class="small">MR. MARX.</span></h2> +<p>At first I had eyes only for the dark figure seated +a few yards away from me at a small writing-table +drawn into the centre of the room. He was bending +low over his desk and never even raised his +eyes or ceased writing at my entrance. Before +him on the table, and scattered around his chair +on the floor, were many sheets of white foolscap +covered with his broad, firm handwriting, some +with the ink scarcely dry upon them; and +while I stood before him he impatiently swept +another one from his desk and, without waiting +to see it flutter to the ground, began a fresh +sheet.</p> +<p>A glass of water, a few dry biscuits, and a little +pile of books—some turned face-downwards—were +by his side. Nothing else was on the table, save +a great pile of unused paper, a watch detached +from its chain, and a heavily-shaded lamp, which +threw a ghastly light upon his white, worn face, +and his dry, brilliant eyes, under which were faintly +engraven the dark rims of the student.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div> +<p>I watched him for a while, fascinated. Then, +as he took not the slightest notice of me, my +eyes began to wander round the room. It was +hexagonal and, on every side save one, lined from +the floor to the high ceiling with books. The +furniture was all of black oak, as also were the +bookshelves, and the carpet and hangings were +of a deep olive-green. The mantelpiece and inlaid +grate were of black marble, faintly relieved +with gold, and within the polished bars of the +grate a small fire was burning.</p> +<p>There was nothing cheerful about the apartment; +on the contrary, it struck me as being, +though magnificent, sombre and heavy, wrapped +as it was in the gloom of a dismal twilight, which +the flickering fire and the shaded lamp failed to +pierce. From the high French windows, I could +catch a glimpse of a long stretch of soddened +lawn, beyond which everything was shrouded in the +semi-obscurity of the fast-falling dusk, deepened by +the grey, cloudy sky. But I chose, after my first +glance around the room, to keep my eyes fixed +upon the man who sat writing before me, the man +in whom already I felt an interest so strong as to +deaden all the curiosity which I might otherwise +have felt as to my surroundings.</p> +<p>At last he seemed conscious of my presence. +Lifting his eyes, to give them a momentary rest, +he encountered my fixed gaze. For a moment he +looked at me in a puzzled manner, as though wondering +how I came there. Then his expression changed +and, putting down his pen, he pushed his papers +away from him.</p> +<p>“So you have come, Philip Morton,” he said.</p> +<p>To so self-evident a statement I could return +no answer, save a brief affirmative. He seemed +to expect nothing more, however.</p> +<p>“How old did you say you were?” he asked +abruptly.</p> +<p>“Seventeen, sir.”</p> +<p>It was quite five minutes before he spoke again, +during which time he sat with knitted brows and +eyes fixed intently but absently upon me, deep in +thought, and thought of which it seemed to me +somehow that I must be the subject.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</div> +<p>“Where were you born?”</p> +<p>“At the farm, sir—at least, I suppose so.”</p> +<p>It flashed into my mind at that moment that I +had never heard the period of my earliest childhood +spoken of either by my father or mother. +But it was only a passing thought, dismissed almost +as soon as conceived. Had we not always lived +at the farm? Where else could I have been born?</p> +<p>“Do you know any of your mother’s relations?” +Mr. Ravenor asked, taking no notice of the qualifying +addition to my previous answer.</p> +<p>I shook my head. I had never seen or heard +of any of them, and it was a circumstance upon +which I had more than once pondered. But my +mother’s reserved demeanour towards me of late +years had checked many questions which I might +otherwise have felt inclined to ask her. There +was a brief silence, during which Mr. Ravenor +sat with his face half turned away from me, resting +it lightly upon the long, delicate fingers of his +left hand.</p> +<p>“You are a little young for college,” he said +presently, in a more matter-of-fact tone; “besides +which, I doubt whether you are quite advanced +enough. I have decided, therefore, to +send you for two years to a clergyman in Lincolnshire +who receives a few pupils, my own nephew +among them. He is a friend of mine, and will +give some shape to your studies. There are one +or two things which I shall ask you to remember +when you get there,” he went on.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div> +<p>“First, that this little arrangement between +your mother, yourself, and me remains absolutely +a secret among us. Also that you seek, or, at any +rate, do not refuse, the friendship of my nephew, +Cecil, Lord Silchester. From what I can learn I fear +that he is behaving in a most unsatisfactory manner, +and, as I know him to be weak-minded and easily +led, his behaviour at present and his character +in the future are to a great extent dependent +upon the influence which his immediate companions +may have over him. You understand +me?”</p> +<p>I assented silently, for words at that moment +were not at my command; my cheeks were flushed, +and my heart was beating with pleasure at the +confidence in me which Mr. Ravenor’s words +implied. That moment was one of the sweetest +of my life.</p> +<p>“I do not, of course, wish you to play the spy +in any way upon my nephew,” Mr. Ravenor continued, +“but I shall expect you to tell me the unbiassed +truth should I at any time ask you any +questions concerning him; and if you think, after +you have been there some time and have had an +opportunity of judging, that he would be likely +to do better elsewhere, under stricter discipline +than at Dr. Randall’s, I shall expect you to +tell me so. In plain words, Philip Morton, I +ask you to take an interest in and look after my +nephew.”</p> +<p>“I will do my best, sir,” I answered fervently.</p> +<p>“A youthful Mentor, very!”</p> +<p>The words, accompanied by something closely +resembling a sneer, came from neither Mr. Ravenor +nor myself. Either a third person must have been +in the room before my arrival and during the +whole of our conversation, or he must have entered +it since by some means unknown to me, for almost +at my elbow, on the side remote from the door, +stood the man who had broken in, without apology +or explanation, upon our interview.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div> +<p>Both from the strange manner of his attire and +on account of his personality, I could not repress +a strong curiosity in the new-comer. He was +above the average height, but of awkward and +ungainly figure, its massiveness enhanced by the +long black dressing-gown which was wrapped loosely +around him. His hair and beard were of a deep +reddish hue, the former partly concealed by a +black silk skull-cap, and he wore thick blue +spectacles, which by no means added to the attractiveness +of his face; his features—those which +were visible—were good, but their effect was completely +spoilt by the disfiguring glasses and his +curious complexion. There was an air of power +about him difficult to analyse, but sufficiently +apparent, which altogether redeemed him from +coarseness, or even mediocrity; and his voice, +too, was good. But my impressions concerning +him were very mixed ones.</p> +<p>He was evidently someone of account in the +household, for he stood on the hearthrug with his +hands thrust into his loose pockets, completely +at his ease, and without making any apology for +his unceremonious appearance. When I first +turned to look at him he was examining me with +a cold, critical stare, which made me feel uncomfortable +without knowing why.</p> +<p>“Who is the young gentleman?” he asked, +turning to Mr. Ravenor. “Won’t you introduce +me?”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor took up some papers lying on the +table before him and began to sort them.</p> +<p>“It is Philip Morton, the son of the man who +was murdered in Rothland Wood,” he answered +quietly. “I am going to undertake his education.”</p> +<p>“Indeed! You’re becoming quite a philanthropist,” +was the reply. “But why not send him +to a public school at once?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div> +<p>“Because a public school would be just the +worst place for him,” Mr. Ravenor answered coldly. +“His education has been good enough up to now, +I dare say, but it has not been systematic. It +wants shape and proportion, and Dr. Randall is +just the man to see to that.”</p> +<p>The new-comer shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe in private tutors,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“That scarcely affects the question,” Mr. Ravenor +answered, a little haughtily. “Are you ready +for me, Marx?”</p> +<p>“I shall be presently. I had very nearly finished +when the sound of voices tempted me out to see +whom you had admitted into your august presence. +You have not completed the introduction.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor turned to me with a slight frown +upon his fine forehead.</p> +<p>“Morton,” he said, “this is Mr. Marx, my private +secretary and collaborator.”</p> +<p>We exchanged greetings, and I looked at him +with revived interest. The man who was worthy +to work with Mr. Ravenor must be a scholar indeed, +and, on the whole, Mr. Marx looked it. I +almost forgave him his supercilious speech and +patronising manner.</p> +<p>“You have quite settled, then, to send this +young man to Dr. Randall’s?” Mr. Marx said +calmly.</p> +<p>“I have. There are one or two more matters +which I have not yet mentioned to him, so I shall +be glad to see you again in half an hour,” Mr. +Ravenor remarked, glancing at his watch.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx nodded to me in a not unfriendly +manner, and, lifting a curtain, which I had not +noticed before, disappeared into a smaller apartment.</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor waited until he was out of hearing +and then turned towards me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div> +<p>“I do not know whether it is necessary for me +to mention it, as you may possibly not come into +contact again,” he said slowly; “but in case +you should do so, remember this: I wish you to +have as little to do with Mr. Marx as possible. +You—”</p> +<p>He broke off suddenly and I started and looked +round, half amazed, half frightened. The continuous +sound of an electric-bell, which seemed +to come from within a few feet of me, was echoing +through the room.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div> +<h2 id="c10">CHAPTER X. +<br /><span class="small">LADY SILCHESTER.</span></h2> +<p>Mr. Ravenor sat like a man stunned by a sudden +shock, while the shrill ringing grew more and more +imperative. Then suddenly, when I least expected +it, he spoke, and the fact that his calm, +even tone betrayed not the slightest sign of agitation +or anything approaching to it, was a great +relief to me. After all, his silence might have meant +indifference.</p> +<p>“Go over there,” he said, pointing to the corner +of the room from which the sound came.</p> +<p>I did so and saw just before me what seemed +to be a dark mahogany box let into the wall.</p> +<p>“Touch that knob,” he commanded, “and put +your ear to the tube.”</p> +<p>I had scarcely done so when a quick, agitated +voice, which I recognised as the voice of the man +who had admitted me at the lodge gate, began +speaking. I repeated his words to Mr. Ravenor.</p> +<p>“I am very sorry, sir; but while I stepped in +here to announce her, Lady Silchester has driven +through. She is alone.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor made no sign of annoyance or surprise. +I could not tell whether the news was a +relief to him, or the reverse.</p> +<p>“Is there any answer, sir?” I inquired.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div> +<p>“Yes. Tell him to come to the steward for his +wages in an hour’s time and be prepared to leave +this evening.”</p> +<p>I hesitated and then repeated the words. Mr. +Ravenor watched me keenly.</p> +<p>“You are thinking that I am a stern master,” +he said abruptly.</p> +<p>It was exactly what had been passing through +my mind and I confessed it. He shrugged his +shoulders.</p> +<p>“I like to be obeyed implicitly, and to the letter,” +he said. “If a quarter of the people who present +themselves here to see me were allowed to pass +through to my Castle, my leisure, which is of some +value to me, would be continually broken in upon. +Anderson has been careful hitherto, however, and +this must be a lesson to him. You can tell him +as you go out that I will give him one more chance.”</p> +<p>I rose, with my cap in hand, but he waved me +back.</p> +<p>“I have a letter to write to your mother,” he +said, drawing some notepaper towards him. “Wait +a minute or two.”</p> +<p>I strolled over to the high French windows and +looked out upon the grey twilight. I had scarcely +stood there for a moment when the sound of horses’ +feet and smoothly rolling wheels coming up the +broad drive told me that Mr. Ravenor’s visitor +was at hand, and immediately afterwards a small +brougham flashed past the window and, describing +a semi-circle, pulled up in front of the hall door. +A footman leaped down from the box and several +servants stood on the steps and respectfully saluted +the lady who had alighted from the carriage. A +moment or two later there was a knock at the door.</p> +<p>“Come in,” answered Mr. Ravenor, without +looking up, or even ceasing his writing, for I could +hear the broad quill dashing away without a pause +over the notepaper.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div> +<p>A servant threw open the door and announced +“Lady Silchester,” and a tall woman, wrapped +from head to foot in dark brown furs, swept past +him and entered the room.</p> +<p>A single glance at the slim, majestic figure, and +at the classical outline of her face, told me who +she was and told me rightly. It was Mr. Ravenor’s +sister.</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor rose and, without putting his pen +down, welcomed Lady Silchester with cold, frigid +courtesy, which she seemed determined, however, +not to notice.</p> +<p>“Quite an unexpected visit, this, isn’t it?” she +exclaimed, sinking into an easy chair before the +fire with a little shiver. “I never was so cold! +These autumn mists are awful, and I’ve had a +twelve-mile drive. What a dreary room you have +made of this!” she added, looking round with +a little shrug of her shoulders and putting her +hands farther into her muff. “How can you sit +here in this ghostly light with only one lamp—and +such a fire, too?”</p> +<p>He smiled grimly, but it was not a smile which +heralded any increase of geniality in his manner.</p> +<p>“I am not in the habit of receiving ladies here,” +he remarked, “and I did not expect you. Where +have you come from? I thought you were in +Rome.”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“I wish we were. We came back last week +and I went straight down to the Cedars—Tom’s +place at Melton, you know. I don’t think I’ve +been warm since I landed in England. Just now +I’m nearly frozen to death.”</p> +<p>“I think you would find one of the rooms in +the other wing more comfortable,” he said, after +a short pause; “besides which I am engaged at +present. You dine here, of course?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div> +<p>“By all means,” she answered. “You wouldn’t +send me back to Melton dinnerless, would you, +even if I have come without an invitation? I am +dying for a cup of tea.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Ross shall send you anything you want,” +he said. “I will ring for her.”</p> +<p>She rose and shook out her skirts. Her eyes fell +upon me.</p> +<p>“You have a visitor,” she remarked. “I’m +sorry I disturbed you.”</p> +<p>She looked at me fixedly as I moved a few steps +forward out of the deep shadows which hung about +the further end of the apartment. Then she turned +from me to Mr. Ravenor, who was holding open +the door for her. He met her gaze steadily, with +a calm, inquiring look in his deep eyes, as though +wondering why she lingered.</p> +<p>“Won’t you introduce your visitor?” she asked +slowly.</p> +<p>He appeared wishful for her to go, yet resigned.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he answered, “if you wish it. +Cecilia, let me present to you Mr. Philip Morton, +the son of a former neighbour of mine. You may +be interested to hear that Mr. Morton is about to +complete his education with Dr. Randall. Morton, +this is my sister, Lady Silchester.”</p> +<p>Lady Silchester held up a pair of gold eye-glasses +and looked at me steadily. I was not used to +ladies, but Lady Silchester’s manner did not please +me, and, after a very slight bow, I drew myself +up and returned her gaze without flinching. She +turned abruptly away.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am interested—a little surprised,” she +said, in a peculiar tone. “Let me congratulate +you, my dear brother, on——”</p> +<p>“Did I understand you to say that you would +be ready in a quarter of an hour, Cecilia?” he +interrupted calmly. “Permit me to order your +horses to be put up.” And he moved across the +room towards the bell and rang it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div> +<p>She hesitated, bit her lip, and turned towards +the door without another word. A servant stood +upon the threshold, summoned by the bell.</p> +<p>“Let Mrs. Ross attend Lady Silchester at once,” +Mr. Ravenor ordered. “Her ladyship will take +tea in her room, and will dine with me in the library +at half-past eight.”</p> +<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> +<p>The door was closed and we were alone again. +Mr. Ravenor returned to his letter, with his lips +slightly parted in a quiet smile. I stood still, hot +and uncomfortable, wondering in what possible +manner I could have offended Lady Silchester. +The meaning of the little scene which had just +taken place was beyond my comprehension. But I +knew that it had a meaning, and that I was somehow +concerned in it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</div> +<h2 id="c11">CHAPTER XI. +<br /><span class="small">THE CRY IN THE AVENUE.</span></h2> +<p>The letter which Mr. Ravenor had been writing +to my mother was finished and sealed at last. Then +he leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at +me.</p> +<p>“I shall not see you again before you go, Philip +Morton,” he said, “so I wish to impress upon you +once more what I said to you about my nephew, +who is Lady Silchester’s son, by-the-bye. I know +that he is going on badly, but I wish to know how +badly. Unfortunately, he has no father, and, from +what I can remember of him, I should imagine +that he is quite easily led, and would be very amenable +to the influence of a stronger mind. If yours +should be that mind—and I do not see why it +should not—it will be well for him. That delightfully +Utopian optimism of yours is, at any +rate, healthy,” he added dryly.</p> +<p>I felt my cheeks burn and would have spoken, +but Mr. Ravenor checked me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div> +<p>“Let there be no misunderstanding between us,” +he said. “I desire no gratitude from you and I +deserve none. What I am doing I am doing for +my own gratification—perhaps for my own ultimate +advantage. That you are a gainer by it is purely +a matter of chance. The whim might just as well +have been the other way. I might have taken a +fancy to have you turned out of the place and, if +so, I would have done it. On the whole, it is I +who should be grateful to you for not baulking me in +my scheme and for letting me have my own way. +So understand, please, after this explanation, that +I shall look upon any expression of gratitude from +you as a glaring mark of imbecility, apart from +which it will annoy me exceedingly.”</p> +<p>I listened in silence. What could one reply to +such a strange way of putting a case? Mr. Ravenor’s +manner forbade any doubt as to his seriousness +and I could only respect his wishes.</p> +<p>“As you won’t let me thank you, sir, I think +I’d better go,” I said bluntly. “I’m sure to forget +if I stay here much longer.”</p> +<p>“A good discipline for you to stay, then,” he +answered.</p> +<p>Again the tinkle of the telephone bell rang out +from the corner and interrupted his speech. Mr. +Ravenor motioned me towards it.</p> +<p>“Go and hear what it is and repeat it to me,” +he said.</p> +<p>I put my ear to the tube and repeated the words +as they came:</p> +<p>“A man desires to see you, sir, but refuses to +give his name. I have told him that it is quite +useless my communicating with you without it; +but he is persistent and refuses to go away. He +is respectably dressed, but rather rough-looking.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor shrugged his shoulders and took +up his pen, as though about to resume his writing.</p> +<p>“Tell him to go to the deuce!” he said briefly.</p> +<p>I repeated the message faithfully, but its +recipient was evidently not satisfied. In less than +a minute the bell sounded again.</p> +<p>“His name is Richards, sir—or, rather, he says +he is known to you by that name—and he is very +emphatic about seeing you—and, begging your +pardon, sir, a little insolent. He says that his +business is of the utmost importance.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</div> +<p>I repeated the message and stood as though +turned to stone. Was my fancy playing tricks +with me in the dimly-lit room, or had Mr. Ravenor’s +face really become ghastly and livid, like the face +of a man who sees the phantom shadows of a hideous +nightmare passing before his fixed gaze? I closed +my eyes for a moment’s relief and looked again. +Surely it had been fancy! Mr. Ravenor was writing +with only a slight frown upon his calm, serene face.</p> +<p>“Let Mr. Richards—or whatever the fellow’s +name is—be given to understand that I distinctly +refuse to see him,” he said quietly. “If he has +any business with me he can write.”</p> +<p>I repeated this and then took up my cap to go. +Mr. Ravenor put down his pen and walked with +me to the door. I had expected that he would +have offered me his hand, but he did not. He +nodded, kindly enough and held the door open +while I passed out. So I went.</p> +<p>As I walked across the great hall on my way +out I came face to face with Lady Silchester, who +was thoughtfully contemplating one of a long line +of oil-paintings dark with age, yet vivid still with +the marvellous colouring of an old master. To my +surprise she stopped me.</p> +<p>“Are you a judge of pictures, Mr. Morton?” +she asked. “I was wondering whether that was a +genuine Reynolds.” And she pointed to the picture +which she had been examining.</p> +<p>I shook my head, briefly acknowledging that I +knew nothing whatever about them. I was quite +conscious at the time that the question was only +a feint. What was a farmer’s son likely to know +of the old masters?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div> +<p>“Ah, never mind!” she remarked, shutting up +her eyeglasses with a snap. “I can ask Mr. Ravenor +this evening. I thought, perhaps, that as +you were here so often he might have talked to +you about them. I know that he is very proud +of his pictures.”</p> +<p>“Had I been here often he might have done so,” +I answered. “As it happens, however, this is my +first visit to Ravenor Castle.”</p> +<p>“Indeed? And yet Mr. Ravenor seems to take +a great interest in you. Why?”</p> +<p>I hesitated and wished that I could get away; +but Lady Silchester was standing immediately in +front of me.</p> +<p>“Your ladyship will pardon me,” I said, “but +might not your question be better addressed to +Mr. Ravenor?”</p> +<p>She bit her lip and moved haughtily to one +side. I made a movement as though to pass her, +but she turned suddenly and prevented me.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton,” she said, a little nervously, “my +brother said that you were going to Dr. Randall’s, +I believe?”</p> +<p>I admitted that such was the fact.</p> +<p>“I daresay you know that my son is there,” +she continued, “and I am afraid he’s not behaving +exactly as he should. Of course, we don’t hear +anything definite; but Cecil is very good-natured, +easily led into anything, and I am a little doubtful +about his companions there. Now, Mr. Morton, +you’re not much more than a boy yourself, of +course; but you don’t look as though you would +care for the sort of thing that I’m afraid Cecil +gets led into. I do wish that you and he could +be friends, and that—that—”</p> +<p>She broke off, as though expecting me to say +something, and I felt a little awkward.</p> +<p>“It’s very kind of you to think so well of me, +when you don’t know anything about me,” I said, +twirling my cap in my hands; “but you forget +that I am only a farmer’s son, and perhaps your +son would not care to be friends with me.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div> +<p>“My son, whatever his faults may be, has all +the instincts of a gentleman,” Lady Silchester +answered proudly; “and if he liked you for yourself, +it would make no difference, even if you were +a tradesman’s son. Promise me that, if you have +the opportunity, you will do what you can?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I’ll promise that, with pleasure!” +I assured her.</p> +<p>Lady Silchester smiled, and while the smile +lasted I thought that I had never seen a more +beautiful woman. Then she held out a delicate +little hand, sparkling with rings, and placed it in +mine, which in those days was as brown as a berry +and not very soft.</p> +<p>“Thank you so much, Mr. Morton.”</p> +<p>She looked up at me quite kindly for a moment. +Then suddenly her manner completely—changed. +She withdrew her eyes from my face, with a slight +flush in her cheeks, and turned abruptly away.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Mr. Morton. I am much obliged +to you for your promise,” she said, in a colder +tone.</p> +<p>I drew myself up, unconscious of having said +or done anything which could possibly offend her, +and feeling boyishly hurt at her change of manner.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Lady Silchester,” I answered, +with all the dignity I could command. Then I +turned away and left the Castle.</p> +<p>I walked down the broad avenue slowly, casting +many glances behind me at the vast, gloomy pile, +around which the late evening mists were rising +from the damp ground. Many lights were twinkling +from the upper windows and from the east +wing, where the servants’ quarters were situated, +but the lower part of the building lay in +a deep obscurity, unilluminated, save by one +faint light from Mr. Ravenor’s study. There +seemed something unnatural, almost ghostly, about +the place, which chilled while it fascinated me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div> +<p>What was that? I stood suddenly still in the +middle of the drive and listened. A faint, muffled +cry, which seemed to me at first to be a +human cry, had broken the deep evening stillness. +I held my breath and remained quite +motionless, with strained hearing. There was no +repetition of it, no other sound. I was puzzled; +more than half inclined to be alarmed. It might +have been the crying of a hare, or the squealing +of a rabbit caught by a stoat. But my first impression +had been a strong one, improbable though +it seemed. Poachers, however daring, would +scarcely be likely to invade the closely-guarded +inner grounds, where the preserves were fewer +and the risk of capture far greater than outside +the park. Besides, there had been no discharge +of firearms, no commotion, no loud cries; only +that one muffled, despairing moan. What could it +mean?</p> +<p>A steep ascent lay before me. After a moment’s +hesitation I hurried forward and did not pause +until I reached the summit and had clear view +around through the hazy twilight.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div> +<h2 id="c12">CHAPTER XII. +<br /><span class="small">A DARK CORNER IN THE AVENUE.</span></h2> +<p>Far away below me—for Ravenor Castle stood on +the highest point in the country—a dull-red glow +in the sky, and many twinkling lights stretched +far and wide, marked the place where a great town +lay. On my right hand was a smooth stretch of +green turf, dotted all over with thickly growing +spreading oak trees. On the left was a straggling +plantation, bounded by a low greystone wall, which +sloped down gradually to one of the bracken-covered, +disused slate-quarries, with which the +neighbourhood abounded.</p> +<p>Breathless, I stood still and looked searchingly +around. Save in the immediate vicinity, the fast +falling night had blotted out the view, reducing +fields, woods, and rocks to one blurred chaotic +mass. But where my eye could pierce the darkness +I could see no sign of any moving object. By +degrees my apprehension grew less strong. The +cry, if it had not been wholly a trick of the +imagination, must have been the cry of some +animal. I drew a long breath of relief and moved +forward again.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</div> +<p>Immediately in front of me the avenue curved +through a small plantation of fir trees, which, +growing thick and black on either side, made it +appear almost as though I were confronted with +a tunnel; around its mouth the darkness was intense, +but my eyesight, always good, had by this +time become quite accustomed to the uncertain +light, and just as I was entering it I fancied that +I could see something moving only a few yards in +front of me. I stopped short at once and waited, +peering forwards into the gloom with straining +eyes and beating heart. My suspense, though +keen, was not of long duration, for almost immediately +the dark shape resolved itself into the figure +of a man moving swiftly towards me.</p> +<p>My first impulse was, I am afraid, to turn and +run for it, my next to give the advancing figure +as wide a berth as possible. With that idea I +stepped swiftly on one side and leaned right back +against the ring fence which bordered the drive. +But I was too late, or too clumsy in my movements, +to escape notice. With a quick, startled +exclamation, the man whom I had nearly run into +stopped and, just at that moment the moon, +which had been struggling up from behind a +thick mass of angry clouds, shone feebly out and +showed me the white, scared face of Mr. Ravenor’s +secretary.</p> +<p>“Good heavens!”</p> +<p>It seemed to me as though the ejaculation was +hurled out from those trembling lips. Then, with +a sudden start, he recovered himself, and so changed +was his manner that I could almost have fancied +that his first emotion of terror had been imagination +on my part.</p> +<p>“Am I so formidable that you should leap out +of my way as though you had seen a ghost?” he +said, with a short laugh. “Come, come; a young +man of your size should have more pluck than +that.”</p> +<p>I felt rather ashamed of myself, but I answered +him as carelessly as possible.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</div> +<p>“I don’t think I was any more startled than +you were. We came upon one another suddenly, +and it’s a very dark night.”</p> +<p>“Dark! Dark is not the word. This part of +the drive is a veritable Hades.”</p> +<p>“By-the-bye, Mr. Marx,” I remarked, “I fancied +that I heard a cry a few min——”</p> +<p>“A cry! What sort of a cry?” he interrupted +sharply, in an altered tone.</p> +<p>“Well, it sounded to me very much like the +moan of a man in pain,” I explained, looking half +fearfully around. “Of course, it might have been +a hare, but it was wonderfully like a human voice. +Listen! Can’t you hear something now?” I +cried, laying my hand upon his arm.</p> +<p>We stood close together in silence, listening intently. +A faint wind had sprung up, and was +sighing mournfully through the trees, which +were soaked and weighed down by the heavy +rain. Drip, drip, drip. At every sigh of the breeze +a little shower of rain-drops fell pattering on to +the soddened leaves and the melancholy music was +resumed.</p> +<p>It was altogether very depressing and I was +palpably shivering.</p> +<p>“I can hear nothing,” he said, with chattering +teeth. “It must have been your fancy, or a hare +squealing, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” I admitted, glad enough to be +forced into this conclusion.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t say anything about it at the lodge,” +he remarked, preparing to depart. “Anderson is +as nervous as a cat already.”</p> +<p>“All right, I won’t. Good night.”</p> +<p>“You’re not frightened, are you?” he asked. +“If you like, I’ll walk down to the lodge with +you.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</div> +<p>“Not in the least, thanks,” I answered, a little +indignantly. “I thought that noise was queer, +that’s all. Good night.”</p> +<p>I walked swiftly away, listening all the time, +but hearing no unusual sound. In a few minutes +I reached the gates and found Anderson waiting +about outside. He let me through at once.</p> +<p>“May I go in here for a minute?” I asked, +pointing to the room in which I had been kept +waiting on my way up to the Castle. “I have a +message to give you from Mr. Ravenor.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir,” he answered, opening the door. +I stepped inside, half expecting to see the man +whom Mr. Ravenor had refused to receive; but it +was quite empty.</p> +<p>“So Mr. Richards has decided not to wait, after +all?” I remarked, looking round. “He was wise. +I’m sure Mr. Ravenor wouldn’t have seen him.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” the man answered; “he slipped out +without leaving any message or anything, while +I had gone across the way for some coal. I was +a bit taken aback when I returned and found the +place empty, for he’d been swearing ever so a +minute or two before that he’d see Mr. Ravenor, +or stop here for ever.”</p> +<p>“He can’t have gone on up to the Castle, can +he?” I asked, looking around.</p> +<p>The man shook his head confidently.</p> +<p>“Impossible, sir! The gates were locked and +the keys in my pocket, and there are no windows +to this room, you see, on the Castle side.”</p> +<p>“But there is a door,” I said, pointing to the +upper end of the apartment.</p> +<p>“Go and look at it, sir,” Anderson answered, +smiling.</p> +<p>I did so and examined it closely. There were +no bolts, but it was fastened with a particularly +strong patent lock.</p> +<p>“Who keeps the key?” I inquired.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor, sir. I haven’t got one at all. +You were saying something about a message?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Mr. Ravenor was annoyed with you for +letting Lady Silchester through, but he has decided +to overlook it this time. You need not go +up to the Castle for your money.”</p> +<p>The man was evidently pleased.</p> +<p>“I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” +he said warmly. “That’s good news and no mistake. +It isn’t a place that one would care to lose.”</p> +<p>“Well, good night, Anderson. Oh, I say,” I +added, turning back on a sudden impulse, “how +long is it since Mr. Marx was here?”</p> +<p>Anderson looked puzzled.</p> +<p>“Mr. Marx, sir! Why, I haven’t seen him all +day!”</p> +<p>“What!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen him all day. He hasn’t been +here,” the man repeated.</p> +<p>I stood still, breathless, full of swiftly rising but +vague suspicions.</p> +<p>“Not seen him to-day! Why, I met him in +the avenue just now,” I declared.</p> +<p>“I daresay, sir,” the man remarked quietly. +“He often walks down this way. In fact, he does +most evenings before dinner. Queer sort he is, and +no mistake.”</p> +<p>The man’s words changed the current of my +thoughts, and my half-conceived suspicions faded +away almost before they had gathered shape. I +made some trifling remark and started homewards.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div> +<h2 id="c13">CHAPTER XIII. +<br /><span class="small">THE CLOUD BETWEEN US.</span></h2> +<p>It was late when I reached home and, from the +darkness in all the windows, I concluded that my +mother and the one country domestic who comprised +our little household had already retired. +My hand was raised to rap at the closed door, +when it occurred to me that I might just as well +effect an entrance without disturbing anyone. Our +sitting-room window opened on to the front garden +in which I stood and was seldom fastened, so I +stole softly over the sodden grass and pressed the +sash upwards. It yielded easily to my touch and, +gently raising myself on to the low stone window-sill, +I vaulted into the room.</p> +<p>At first I thought it was, as I had expected to +find it, empty. But it was not so. Through the +open window by which I had just entered the +moonlight was streaming in, casting long, fantastic +rays upon the well-worn carpet and across the +quaint, old-fashioned furniture and on the white +tablecloth, on which my homely evening meal had +been left prepared. But my eyes never rested for +a moment on any of these familiar objects, scarcely +even noticed them, for another and a stranger sight +held me spellbound. At the farther end of the room, +where the shadows hung darkest and the moonbeams +but feebly penetrated, was the kneeling +figure of a woman.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div> +<p>Her perfectly black dress threw the ghastly hue +of her strained, wild face into startling prominence, +and her slender arms were stretched passionately +upwards in a gesture full of intense dramatic pathos. +Her eyes were fixed upon a small ebony crucifix +which hung against the wall, and the words were +bursting from her white, trembling lips, but whether +of prayer or confession, I could not, or, rather, +would not, hear, for I closed my eyes and the +sound of her voice reached me only in an indistinct +moan. It was a sight which has lived in my memory +and will never fade.</p> +<p>Since that awful night in Rothland Wood, my +mother’s behaviour towards me had been a source +of constant and painful wonder. She had become +an enigma, and an enigma which I somehow felt +that it would be well for me not to attempt to +solve.</p> +<p>But even at the times when my loveless surroundings +and her coldness had plunged me into +the lowest depths of depression, it had never been +an altogether hopeless state, for somehow I had +always felt that her coldness was not the coldness +of indifference, but rather an effort of will, and +that a time would come when she would cast it +off and be to me again the mother of my earlier +recollections. But the change was long in coming.</p> +<p>She was a devout Roman Catholic—a religion in +which I had not been brought up—and in all +weathers and at all times of the year, she paid +long and frequent visits to the monastery chapel +over the hills. But to see her as she was now was +a revelation to me. I had seen her pray before, +but never like this. She had always seemed to me +more of a martyr than a sinner and her prayers +more the prayers of reverent devotion than of +passionate supplication. But her attitude at this +moment, her wild, haggard face, and imploring +eyes, were full of revelation to me. Another possible +explanation of her lonely, joyless life and +deep religious devotion flashed in upon me. Might +it not be the dreary expiation, the hard penance +of her church meted out for sin?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div> +<p>Half fearing to disturb her, I remained for a +brief while silent, but, as the minutes went on, +the sight of her agony was too much for me and +I cried out to her:</p> +<p>“Mother, I am here. I did not know that you +were up! I came in through the window!”</p> +<p>At the first sound of my appealing tones her +face changed, as though frozen suddenly from +passionate expressiveness to cold marble. Slowly +she rose to her feet and confronted me.</p> +<p>“Mother, are you in trouble?” I said softly, +moving nearer to her; “cannot I share your +sorrow? Cannot I comfort you? Why am I +shut out of your life so? Tell me this great trouble +of yours and let me share it.”</p> +<p>For many years I had longed to say these +words to her, but the cold impressiveness of +her manner had checked them often upon my +lips and thrust them back to my aching heart. +Now, when a great sorrow filled her face with +a softer light and loosened for a moment its +hard, rigid lines, I dared to yield to the impulse +which I had so often felt—and, alas! in vain—in +vain!</p> +<p>Keener agony, deeper disappointment, I have +never felt. Coldness and indifference had been +hard to bear, but what came now was worse. She +shrank back from me—shrank back, with her +hands outstretched towards me and her head +averted.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div> +<p>“Philip, I did not know that you were here. +I cannot talk to you now. Go to your room. To-morrow—to-morrow!”</p> +<p>Her voice died away, but her sudden weakness +inspired me with no hope, for it was a physical +weakness only. There were no signs of softening +in her face, no answering tenderness in her tones. +So what could I do but go?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div> +<h2 id="c14">CHAPTER XIV. +<br /><span class="small">A MEETING IN THE COFFEE-ROOM.</span></h2> +<p>It was eleven o’clock on the following morning. +I had been reading in the garden for some time, +and was just thinking of starting for a walk, when +a dogcart from the Castle stopped at the gate, +and Mr. Ravenor’s servant—the man who had +conducted me from the lodge to the Castle—was +shown into the house. I went to him at once +and he handed me a note.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor has sent you this, sir,” he said +respectfully.</p> +<p>I tore it open and read (there was no orthodox +commencement):</p> +<p>“Before going to Dr. Randall’s there are a few +things which you are not likely to have which +you will find necessary. Remember that it is +part of the education which I intend for you +that you should associate with the other pupils +on equal terms. Therefore, be so good as to go +into Torchester with Reynolds and place yourself +entirely in his hands. He has my full instructions.—R.”</p> +<p>I folded the note up and put it into my +pocket.</p> +<p>“Am I to come with you now?” I asked.</p> +<p>“If you please, sir.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div> +<p>I went upstairs to get ready and in a few minutes +was prepared to start. The groom offered me the +reins, but I declined them and mounted instead +to the vacant seat by his side, which Reynolds +had silently relinquished to me.</p> +<p>Torchester was scarcely a dozen miles from the +farm, but, nevertheless, this was my first visit to +it. Many a time I had looked down from Beacon +Hill upon the wide-spreading, dirty-coloured cloud +of smoke from its tall factory chimneys, which +seemed like a marring blot upon the fair, peaceful +stretch of country around, and by night at the +dull red glow in the sky and the myriads of twinkling +lights which showed me where it stood. But neither +by day nor night had the scene been an attractive +one for me. I had felt no curiosity to enter it. +I had never even cared to figure to myself what it +would be like.</p> +<p>So now, for the first time in my life, I found +myself driving through the streets of a large manufacturing +town. It was the dinner-hour and on +all sides the factories were disgorging streams of +unhealthy-looking men and women and even +children. The tramcars and omnibuses were +crowded, the busy streets were lined with swiftly +rolling carriages, smart-looking men, and gaily-dressed +girls and women. Within a few yards I +saw types of men and women so different that it +seemed impossible that they could be of the same +species.</p> +<p>“This is the ‘Bell,’ sir, where we generally put +up,” remarked Reynolds, at my elbow. “You +will have some lunch, sir, before we go into the +town?”</p> +<p>I shook my head, but he was quietly though +respectfully insistent. So I let him have his way +and allowed myself to be piloted into a long, dark +coffee-room, where my orders, considerably augmented +by Reynolds in transit, were received by +a waiter whom we discovered fast asleep in an +easy-chair, and who seemed very much surprised +to see us.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div> +<p>Afterwards we went out in the town, Reynolds +and I, and began our shopping. I was measured +at the principal tailor’s for more clothes than +it seemed possible for me to wear out in a +lifetime, from riding-breeches to a dress-coat; and +the quantity and variety of hats, boots, shirts, and +ties which Reynolds put down as indispensable +filled me with half-amused astonishment, although +I had made up my mind to be surprised +at nothing. But our shopping was not finished +even when Reynolds, to my inexpressible relief, +declared my wardrobe to be as complete as could +be furnished by a provincial town. The gunsmith’s, +the sporting emporium, and the horse-repository +were all visited in turn. And when we +returned to the hotel about six o’clock I was the +possessor of two guns, which were a perfect revelation +to me, a cricket-bat, a tennis racquet, a +small gymnasium, a set of foils, and, besides other +things, a stylish, well-built dogcart and a sound, +useful cob.</p> +<p>I sank into an easy-chair in the coffee-room +and, refusing to listen to Reynold’s suggestion as +to the propriety of dining before setting out homewards, +ordered a cup of tea. While the waiter +had left the room to fetch it I strolled to the +window to look out at the weather, which had +been threatening for some time and on my way +I discovered that I was not alone in the apartment. +A man was seated at one of the further-most +tables, dining, and as I passed he looked +up and surveyed me with a cool, critical stare, +which changed suddenly into a pleasant smile of +recognition.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div> +<p>“Mr. Morton, isn’t it?” he said, holding out +his hand. “Mr. Ravenor told me that I should +probably come across you.”</p> +<p>I was so surprised that for a moment I forgot +to accept the offered hand. Mr. Ravenor’s secretary +was the last person whom I should have expected +to find eating a solitary dinner in a Torchester +hotel.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</div> +<h2 id="c15">CHAPTER XV. +<br /><span class="small">A TÊTE-À-TÊTE DINNER.</span></h2> +<p>“What have you been up to in Torchester, eh? +Shopping?” Mr. Marx inquired. I saw no reason +for concealing anything from him, nor did I do +so. Rather awkwardly I told him of Mr. Ravenor’s +note to me, and that I had been with Reynolds +all the afternoon. Perhaps I spoke with a little +enthusiasm of our somewhat elaborate purchases. +At any rate, when I had finished, he laughed softly +to himself—a long, noiseless, but not unpleasant +laugh.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m glad I met you,” he said, his lips +still twitching, as though with amusement. “Sit +down and have some dinner with me.”</p> +<p>I hesitated, for just at that moment Mr. Ravenor’s +words concerning his secretary flashed into +my mind. Besides, I was not at all sure that I +liked him. But, on the other hand, what alternative +was there for me? What excuse could I +find for declining so simple an invitation? In a +few minutes the waiter would appear with the +modest meal which I had ordered, and it would +be impossible for me to order him to set it down +in another part of the room, or to leave it and +walk out of the hotel, just because this man was +there. To do so would be to tell him as plainly +as possible that I had some particular desire for +avoiding him, and he would instantly divine that +I was obeying a behest of Mr. Ravenor’s. No; it +was unavoidable. I had better accept his invitation, +and, briefly, I did so.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</div> +<p>“That’s right,” he said pleasantly. “It’s a +queer fancy of mine, but I hate dining alone. +Waiter, bring some more soup at once. This +gentleman will dine with me.”</p> +<p>During dinner our conversation was interrupted. +Hat in hand, Reynolds was standing before us, +looking at Mr. Marx and then at me and the table +before us with a look on his face which I did not +altogether understand, although it annoyed me +excessively. He spoke to me:</p> +<p>“The dogcart has come round, sir.”</p> +<p>I half rose and threw down my napkin, though +with some reluctance. I held out my hand regretfully +to Mr. Marx, but he refused to take it.</p> +<p>“You needn’t go home with Reynolds unless +you like,” he said. “I have a brougham from +the Castle here, and I can drop you at the farm +on my way home.”</p> +<p>I hesitated, for the temptation to stay was strong. +In fact, I should have accepted at once, only that +Reynolds’s grave, frowning face somehow reminded +me of Mr. Ravenor’s injunction. Reynolds, like a +fool, settled the matter.</p> +<p>“I think Mr. Morton had better return with +me, sir,” he said to Mr. Marx. “If you are ready, +sir,” he added to me. “The mare gets very fidgety +if she’s kept waiting.”</p> +<p>My boyish vanity was wounded to the quick +by the style of his address, and his unwise assumption +of authority, and I answered quickly:</p> +<p>“You’d better be off at once, then, Reynolds. +I shall accept Mr. Marx’s offer.”</p> +<p>He was evidently uneasy and made one more +effort.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div> +<p>“I think Mr. Ravenor would prefer your returning +with me, sir,” he said.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx had been leaning back in his chair, +sipping his coffee somewhat absently, and to all +appearance altogether indifferent as to which way +I should decide. He looked up now, however, and +addressed Reynolds for the first time.</p> +<p>“How the deuce do you know anything about +what your master would prefer?” he said coolly.</p> +<p>Reynolds made no answer, but looked appealingly +at me. I chose not to see him.</p> +<p>“I should imagine,” Mr. Marx continued, leaning +back in his chair again and deliberately stirring +his coffee, “that if Mr. Ravenor has any choice +about the matter at all, which seems to me very +unlikely, he would prefer Mr. Morton’s riding home +in safety with a dry skin. Listen!”</p> +<p>We did so, and at that moment a fierce gust of +wind drove a very deluge of rain against the shaking +window-panes.</p> +<p>“That decides it!” I exclaimed. “I’ll accept +your offer, Mr. Marx, if you don’t mind.”</p> +<p>“By far the more sensible thing to do,” he remarked +carelessly. “Have a glass of wine, Reynolds, +before you start. You’ve a wet drive before +you.”</p> +<p>Reynolds shook his head, and, wishing me a +respectful good evening, withdrew.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx watched Reynolds leave the room +and then shrugged his shoulders slightly.</p> +<p>“Honest, but stupid. Well, now you’re in my +charge, Morton, I must see whether I can’t amuse +you somehow. Ever been to the theatre?”</p> +<p>I could not help a slight blush as I admitted that +I had never even seen the outside of one.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx looked at me after my admission as +though I were some sort of natural curiosity.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div> +<p>“Well, we’ll go if you like,” he said. “There’s +a very good one here, I believe, for the provinces, +and it will be a change for you.”</p> +<p>“It will make us very late, won’t it?” I ventured +to say.</p> +<p>“Not necessarily. I suppose it will be over +about half-past ten and the carriage can meet us +at the door.”</p> +<p>I said no more, for fear that he would take me +at my word and give up the idea of going. In a +few minutes Mr. Marx called for his bill and settled +it, and, glancing at his watch, declared that it +was time to be off. The waiter called a hansom, +and we drove through the busy streets, Mr. Marx +leisurely smoking a fragrant cigarette, and I leaning +forward, watching the hurrying throngs of people, +some pleasure-seekers, but mostly just released +from their daily toil at the factory or workshop.</p> +<p>It was a wet night and the streets seemed like +a perfect sea of umbrellas. The rain was coming +down in sheets, beating against the closed glass +front of our cab and dimming its surface, until +it became impossible to see farther than the horse’s +head. I leaned back by Mr. Marx’s side with a +sigh, and found that he had been watching me +with an amused smile.</p> +<p>“Busy little place, Torchester,” he remarked.</p> +<p>“It seems so to me,” I acknowledged. “I +have never been in any other town except Mellborough.”</p> +<p>“Lucky boy!” he exclaimed, half lightly, half +in earnest. “You have all the pleasures of life +before you, with the sauce of novelty to help you +to relish them. What would I not give never to +have seen Paris or Vienna, or never to have been +in love, or tasted quails on toast! But here we are +at the theatre!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div> +<h2 id="c16">CHAPTER XVI. +<br /><span class="small">MISS MABEL FAY.</span></h2> +<p>The cab pulled up with a jerk underneath a long +row of brightly burning lights. We dismounted, +and I followed Mr. Marx up a broad flight of thickly +carpeted stairs into a semi-circular corridor draped +with crimson hangings and dimly lit with rose-coloured +lights. A faint perfume hung about the +place, and from below came the soft melody of a +rhythmical German waltz which the orchestra was +playing. I almost held my breath, with a curious +mixture of expectation and excitement, as I +followed Mr. Marx and an attendant down the +corridor.</p> +<p>The latter threw open the door of what appeared +to be a little room and we entered. Mr. Marx at +once moved to the front, and, throwing the curtains +back, beckoned me to his side. I obeyed him and +looked around in wonder.</p> +<p>It happened to be a fashionable night and the +place was crammed. On the level with us—we +were in a box—were rows of men and women +in evening attire; above, a somewhat disorderly +mob in the gallery; and below, a dense throng—at +least, it seemed so to me—of seated people +were betraying their impatience for the performance +by a continual stamping of feet and other +rumbling noises.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div> +<p>To a regular playgoer it was a very ordinary +sight indeed; to me it was a revelation. I stood +at the front of the box, looking round, until Mr. +Marx, smiling, pushed a chair up to me and bade +me sit down. Then I turned towards the stage +and remained with my eyes fixed upon the curtain, +longing impatiently for it to rise.</p> +<p>Alas for my expectations! When at last the +time came it was a charming picture indeed upon +which I looked, but how different! A group of +girls in short skirts and picturesque peasant attire +moving lightly about the stage and singing; a +man in uniform making passionate love to one of +them, who was coyly motioning him away with +her hand and bidding him stay with her eyes. A +pretty picture it all made and a dazzling one. But +what did it all mean?</p> +<p>Mr. Marx had been watching my face, and +leaned over towards me with a question upon his +lips.</p> +<p>“What does it all mean?” I whispered. “This +isn’t a play, is it? I don’t remember one like +it.”</p> +<p>“A play? No; it’s a comic opera,” he answered.</p> +<p>I turned away and watched the performance +again. I suppose I looked a little disappointed; +but by degrees my disappointment died away. +It was all so fresh to me.</p> +<p>Towards the close of the first act, in connection +with one of the incidents, several fresh characters—amongst +them the girl who was taking the principal +part—appeared on the stage. There was a +little round of applause and I was on the point +of turning to make some remark to Mr. Marx, +when I heard a sharp, half-suppressed exclamation +escape from his lips and felt his hot breath upon +my cheek.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</div> +<p>I looked at him in surprise. He had risen from +his chair and was standing close to my elbow, +leaning over me, with eyes fixed upon the centre +of the stage and an incredulous look on his pale +face. Instinctively I followed the direction of his +rapt gaze. It seemed to me to be bent upon +the girl who had last appeared, and who, with the +skirts of her dark-green riding-habit gathered up +in her hand, was preparing to sing.</p> +<p>He recovered from his surprise, or whatever +emotion it was, very quickly, and broke into a +short laugh. But I noticed that he pushed his +chair farther back into the box and drew the +curtains a little more forward.</p> +<p>“Is anything the matter, Mr. Marx?” I asked.</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders and frowned a little.</p> +<p>“Nothing at all. I fancied that I recognised +a face upon the stage, but I was mistaken. Good-looking +girl, isn’t she—the one singing, I mean?”</p> +<p>I thought that good-looking was a very feeble +mode of expression, and I said so emphatically. +In fact, I thought her the most beautiful and most +graceful creature I had ever seen; and, as the +evening wore on, I found myself applauding her +songs so vigorously that she glanced, smiling, +into our box, and Mr. Marx, who was still sitting +behind the curtain, looked at me with an amused +twitching of the lips.</p> +<p>“Morton, Morton, this won’t do!” he exclaimed, +laughing. “You’ll be falling head over +ears in love with that young woman presently.”</p> +<p>I became in a moment very red and uncomfortable, +for she had just cast a smiling glance up +at us and Mr. Marx had intercepted it. I was +both ashamed and angry with myself for having +applauded so loudly as to have become noticeable; +but Mr. Marx seemed to think nothing +of it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div> +<p>“There is a better way of showing your appreciation +of that young lady’s talents—Miss Mabel +Fay, I see her name is—than by applause. See +these flowers?”</p> +<p>I turned round and saw a large bouquet of white +azaleas and roses, which the attendant must have +brought in.</p> +<p>“You can give them to her if you like,” Mr. +Marx suggested.</p> +<p>I shook my head immediately, fully determined +that I would do nothing of the sort. But Mr. +Marx was equally determined that I should. It +was quite the correct thing, he assured me; he +had sent for them on purpose and I had only to +stand up and throw them to her. While he talked +he was writing on a plain card, which he pinned +to the flowers and then thrust them into my hand.</p> +<p>How it happened I don’t quite know, but Mr. +Marx had his own way. It was the close of the +act and everyone was applauding Mabel Fay’s +song. She stood facing the house, bowing and +smiling, and her laughing eyes met mine for a +moment, then rested upon the flowers which I +was holding and finally glanced back into mine +full of mute invitation.</p> +<p>I raised my hand. Mr. Marx whispered, +“Now!” And the bouquet was lying at her +feet. She picked it up gracefully, shot a coquettish +glance up towards me, and then the curtain +fell, and I sat back in my chair, feeling quite convinced +that I had made an utter fool of myself.</p> +<p>About the middle of the third act Mr. Marx rose +and walked to the door. Holding it open in his +hand for a moment, he paused and looked round.</p> +<p>“I am going to leave you for a few minutes,” +he said. “I shall not be very long.”</p> +<p>Then he went and I heard him walk down the +corridor.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div> +<p>An hour passed and he did not return. The +last act came, the curtain fell and, with a sigh +of regret, I rose to go. Still he had not come back.</p> +<p>I put on my coat and lingered about, uncertain +what to do. Then there came a knock at the box-door, +but, instead of Mr. Marx, an attendant entered, +and handed me a note. I tore it open +and read, hastily scrawled in pencil:</p> +<p>“I am round at the back of the house. Come +to me. The bearer will show you the way.—M.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div> +<h2 id="c17">CHAPTER XVII. +<br /><span class="small">BEHIND THE SCENES AT THE TORCHESTER THEATRE.</span></h2> +<p>I followed my guide to the end of the corridor, +through a door which he unlocked and carefully +locked again, and past the side of the deserted +stage, on which I paused for a moment to gaze +with wonder at the array of ropes and pulleys and +runners which the carpenters were busy putting +to rights, and at the canvas-covered, unlit auditorium, +which looked now—strange transformation—like +the mouth of some dark cavern. After +picking our way carefully, we reached a door on +which was painted “Manager’s Room.” A voice +from inside bade us enter and I was ushered in.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx was seated in an easy-chair, talking +somewhat earnestly to a slim, dark young man, +who was leaning against the mantelpiece. An +older man was writing at a table at the other end +of the room, with his back to the door.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx welcomed me with a nod, and introduced +me briefly to the young man by his +side:</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton—Mr. Isaacs. Mr. Isaacs is the +manager of the company who are playing here.”</p> +<p>Mr. Isaacs turned an unmistakably Jewish face +towards me and extended his hand.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div> +<p>“Glad to meet you, Mr. Morton! Hope you +liked the performance,” he said, with a smile, +which disclosed the whole of a very white set of +teeth. “Very fair, wasn’t it? Ha, ha, ha!”</p> +<p>I replied that I had enjoyed it exceedingly, +and looked at Mr. Marx, wondering how long he +meant to stay. I had taken a sudden but strong +dislike to Mr. Isaacs.</p> +<p>“Shall you be very long, Mr. Marx?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I have sent for the carriage,” he answered; +“it will be here in ten minutes.”</p> +<p>It seemed to me that there was something a +little strange in Mr. Marx’s manner and the way +in which he kept glancing towards the door.</p> +<p>Just at that moment someone knocked at the +door.</p> +<p>“Come in!” cried Mr. Isaacs.</p> +<p>A lady obeyed his summons and swept into +the room with a most unnecessary rustling of silk +skirts. Mr. Isaacs welcomed her effusively.</p> +<p>“Miss Fay, your most humble servant!” he +exclaimed, bowing low. “Let me introduce two +of my friends, Mr. Morton and Mr. Marx.”</p> +<p>The lady put out her ungloved hand, covered +with a profusion of rings.</p> +<p>“I know this young gentleman by sight,” she +said, in a loud and rather high-pitched tone. +“You threw me those lovely flowers, didn’t you? +So good of you—awfully good! I’ve sent them +home by my young woman.”</p> +<p>I stammered out some incoherent response +and heartily wished myself a hundred miles away. +What a disenchantment it was! I looked at her +thickly pencilled eyebrows, at the smeared powder +and paint which lay thick upon her face: at her +bold, staring eyes, the crow’s-feet underneath, +which art had done what it could to conceal and +failed; at the masses of yellow hair, which intuitively +I knew to be false, and I felt my cheeks +burn with shame that I should have been tricked +into admiring her for a moment. Unfortunately, +she put down my embarrassment to another cause, +for it seemed partly to gratify, partly to amuse +her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div> +<p>“My young friend and I admired your performance +equally, Miss Fay, although, perhaps, +he was the more demonstrative,” said Mr. Marx, +coming forward. “Will you accept the congratulations +and thanks of a provincial who seldom +has the pleasure of seeing such acting or hearing +such a voice?”</p> +<p>She thanked him with an affected little laugh, +which suddenly died away and she looked into +his face intently.</p> +<p>“Haven’t we met before?” she asked +curiously. “There is something about your face +or voice which seems familiar to me.”</p> +<p>He returned her gaze steadily, but shook his +head with a slight smile.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I may not claim that honour,” +he said. “If we had there could not possibly +have been any uncertainty in my mind +about it. It would have been a treasured +memory.”</p> +<p>She looked doubtful, but turned away carelessly.</p> +<p>“I suppose it is my mistake, then,” she remarked. +“You certainly seem to remind me of someone +whom I have known. Fancy, perhaps. Mr. +Isaacs, I came to beg for your escort home.” +(Here she shot a quick glance at me, which made +my cheeks hot again.) “I have sent Julia on, +and I can’t go alone, can I, Mr. Morton?” she +asked, turning to me.</p> +<p>“I—I suppose not,” I answered, devoutly wishing +that Mr. Marx would take his departure. But, +as though on purpose, he had gone to the other +end of the room and had his back turned towards +me.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div> +<p>There was a brief silence. Mr. Isaacs glanced +at me, whistled softly to himself, and then strolled +slowly over to the window, as though to see what +sort of a night it was. Miss Fay glanced at me +impatiently, with a slight contraction in her eyebrows. +I longed desperately to get away, but +for the life of me could think of no excuse.</p> +<p>“You won’t offer your escort, then, Mr. Morton?” +she whispered.</p> +<p>“I can’t. I don’t know the town—never was +here before—and we have a twelve-mile drive +before us. We are expecting the carriage every +moment. Ah, there it is!” I added, with a sudden +sense of relief, as I heard the sound of horses’ feet +stamping and pawing outside and the jingling +of harness. “Mr. Marx, Burdett has come!” +I called out.</p> +<p>He looked up, frowning.</p> +<p>“All right; there’s no hurry!” he said. “If +you’re not ready, pray don’t study me. I should +enjoy a cigar and a brandy-and-soda down at the +‘Bell’ before we start.”</p> +<p>“I’m quite ready, thanks,” I answered slowly, +for his words and manner had given me something +to think about. “If you don’t mind, I should +like to be getting away. It’s a long way, you +know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, pray don’t let me detain you!” Miss +Fay exclaimed, tossing her head. “Mr. Isaacs, +if you’re ready, I am. Good-night, Mr. Marx; +good-night, Mr. Morton!”</p> +<p>She drew me a little on one side—a manœuvre +which I was powerless to prevent—and whispered +in my ear:</p> +<p>“You shy, stupid boy! There!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div> +<p>She shook hands with me again and left something +in my palm. When they were gone and I +was in the passage, I looked at it. It was a plain +card and on it was hastily scribbled an address:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t4"><span class="sc">Miss Mabel Fay</span>,</p> +<p class="t7">15, Queen Street.</p> +</div> +<p>I felt my cheeks flush as I tore it into pieces +and flung them on the ground. Then I followed +Mr. Marx out to the carriage and, leaning back +among the cushions by his side, I began seriously +to consider an idea which every trifling incident +during the latter part of the evening had pointed +to; Mr. Marx had deliberately tried to lead me +into making a fool of myself with Miss Mabel Fay. +Why?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div> +<h2 id="c18">CHAPTER XVIII. +<br /><span class="small">AT MIDNIGHT ON THE MOOR.</span></h2> +<p>We were more than half-way home before Mr. +Marx broke a silence which was becoming oppressive.</p> +<p>“Well, have you enjoyed your evening?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Of course I have, and I’m very much obliged +to you for taking me to the theatre,” I added. +After all, perhaps I was misjudging him. What +possible motive could he have for being my +enemy?</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” he declared, carefully +lighting a cigar and throwing the match out of +the window. “I’m afraid you’ve had more than +one illusion dispelled this evening, though,” he +went on, smiling. “You must have had plenty +of time and opportunity, too, for weaving them, +out here all your life. Have you never been +away to visit your relations, or anything of that +sort?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe I have any relations,” I said. +“I never heard of any. My father used to say +that he was the last of his family.”</p> +<p>“But your mother? Surely you know some +of her people?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div> +<p>“I have never even heard her speak of them,” +I answered shortly.</p> +<p>“Strange! You don’t happen to remember +her maiden name, do you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know that I ever heard it,” I told +him.</p> +<p>I began to wish that Mr. Marx would choose +some other topic of conversation. Doubtless, it +was exceedingly kind of him to take so much interest +in my affairs and his questions proceeded +from perfectly genuine motives, but my inability +to answer any of them was becoming a little embarrassing.</p> +<p>“One more question I was going to ask you +and it shall be the last,” he said, as though divining +my feeling. “Were you born here?”</p> +<p>“I suppose so. I never heard that I was born +anywhere else.”</p> +<p>There was another long silence and it seemed +to me that Mr. Marx was very deep in thought. +I was beginning to feel sleepy and, closing +my eyes, I leaned right back among the soft, yielding +cushions.</p> +<p>It was one of the wildest and roughest nights +of the year. Both the carriage-windows were +streaming with raindrops, and we could hear the +wind howling across the open country, and +whistling mournfully among the leafless trees.</p> +<p>We had accomplished about three-quarters of +our journey and had just entered upon the blackest +part of it. On either side of the road and running +close up to it, without even the division of +hedges, was a stretch of bare, open country, +pleasant enough in summer time, but now a +mere plain, on which were dotted about a few +straggling plantations of sickly, stunted fir trees, +among which the hurricane was making weird +music.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div> +<p>We were in the middle of this dreary region. +Mr. Marx was still smoking his cigar, but +with closed eyes, and was either dozing or deep +in thought. I, with my share of the fur rug +wrapped closely around my knees, was trying in +vain to sleep—in vain, for my head was still in a +whirl, after what had been for me such an exciting +day.</p> +<p>Exciting though it had been, however, its close +was to be more so. Suddenly, without the least +warning, we felt a sharp jerk, and heard the coachman +calling out to his horses, who were plunging +furiously. Mr. Marx and I both leaned +forward, and, just as we did so, there was a +tremendous crash of breaking glass, and, through +the splintered carriage window, on the side nearest +to him, came a heavy piece of rock, followed by +a confused mass of stones and gravel and other +débris.</p> +<p>Mr. Marx leapt to his feet, with his hand on the +door handle and the blood streaming from his +forehead. Before he could open the door, however, +a strange thing happened. Outside, half +visible through the remains of the glass and half +without any intervening obstruction, flashed for +one single second the white, ghastly face of a man +peering in upon us. It came and went so swiftly +that I could gain only the very faintest idea of +the features; but with Mr. Marx it seemed to +be otherwise. Like a flash of lightning, a +look passed across his face which has never +died out of my memory. Every feature seemed +to be dilated and shaken with a spasmodic +agony of horrified recognition. For a moment +he seemed struck helpless, with every power of +movement and every nerve numbed. Then a low +cry, such as I have never before or since heard +from human throat, burst from his shaking lips +and his right hand tore open his coat and sought +his breast-pocket.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div> +<p>The door of the carriage burst open as he sprang +into the road like a wild animal, and long streaks +of fire flashed from the gleaming revolver which +he grasped in his hand—a lurid illumination which +gave me sudden glimpses of his white, bleeding +face as he stood in the road, firing barrel after +barrel into the darkness.</p> +<p>I jumped out and hurried to his side, looking +eagerly around into the dark night and together +we stood and listened in a breathless silence. +Across the wild, open moor the wind came rushing +towards us with a deep booming sound, and among +the bare tree tops of a small plantation before us +we heard it shrieking and yelling like the hellish +laughter of an army of witches. The ink-black +clouds lowering close above our heads were dissolving +in a mad torrent of rain, and the darkness +was so intense that, although we could hear the +frantic plunging of the horses behind us, we could +neither see them nor the carriage. The elements +seemed to have declared themselves on the side +of our mysterious assailant. The blackness of +the night and the roaring of the wind and rain +blotted out all our surroundings and deadened +all sound save their own.</p> +<p>“Wait here!” cried Mr. Marx, in a harsh, unnatural +tone. And before I could open my mouth +he had vanished out of sight and it seemed as +though the black, yawning darkness had swallowed +him up.</p> +<p>For a while I stood without moving. Then a +cry for help from the coachman behind and the +renewed sound of struggling horses reminded me +of their plight, and I groped my way back to the +road again.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div> +<p>I was only just in time. The horses, fine, powerful +creatures, very nearly thoroughbred, were +perfectly mad with fright, and the groom, who +had been holding and striving to subdue them, +was quite exhausted. Between us we managed +to pacify them after a brief struggle, and as soon +as I could find sufficient breath I began to question +Burdett—who had stuck to his place on the box +like an immovable statue—about the first cause +of their alarm.</p> +<p>“What was it they shied at first?” I asked. +“Did you see anyone?”</p> +<p>“Just catched a glimpse of the blackguard, sir, +and that was all,” Burdett answered. “We were +a-spinning along beautiful, for they knew as they +were on their way home, them animals did, when, +all of a sudden like, Dandy shies, and up goes the +mare on her hind legs and as near as possible +pitches me into the road. I slackened the reins +and laid the whip across them, while Tom jumped +down. And just then I saw a figure in the +middle of the road and heard a crash through +the carriage window. Tom, he’d catched hold +of their heads by then, which was lucky; for +when the firing began they was like mad creatures +and I could never have held them. It’s +a mercy we aren’t altogether smashed up, and +no mistake. The Lord save me from ever +being out wi’ my ’osses again on such a night +as this!”</p> +<p>“You didn’t see the face of the man who attacked +us, then?” I asked eagerly.</p> +<p>“Not being possessed of the eyes of a heagle +or a cat, sir, I did not,” Burdett replied. +“Just you look round and see what sort of a +night it is. Why, I can only just make out +your outline, sir; although I’ve been looking at +you this five minutes, I can’t see nothing of your +face.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div> +<p>“Neither did you, I suppose, Tom?” I asked +the groom.</p> +<p>“No, sir; nothing except just a black figure. +Good thing that you was neither of you hurt, sir.”</p> +<p>“I’m not sure that Mr. Marx isn’t,” I answered; +“his face was bleeding a good deal. I wish he’d +come back.”</p> +<p>Never did time pass so slowly as then, when +we waited in the storm and rain for Mr. Marx’s +return. It must have been nearly an hour before +we heard him hailing us in the distance, and soon +afterwards saw his figure loom out of the darkness +close at hand. He was alone.</p> +<p>Splashed from head to foot with mud, hatless, +and with great streaks of blood clotted +upon his forehead and cheeks, he presented at +first a frightful figure. But his face had lost +that dreadful expression of numbed horror +which had made it for a moment so terrible +to me, and, as he sank back breathless and exhausted, +among the cushions, he even attempted +a smile.</p> +<p>“All in vain, you see,” he said. “Couldn’t +find a single trace of anyone anywhere.”</p> +<p>“Are you much hurt, sir?” asked the groom, +who was tying up the broken carriage-door.</p> +<p>“Not at all. Only a scratch. Tell Burdett +to drive home as fast as he can now, Tom, there’s +a good fellow.”</p> +<p>We were left together to talk over this strange +affair. Mr. Marx seemed to have made up his +mind about it already.</p> +<p>“Without doubt,” he said deliberately, “it +was some tramp, desperate with want or drink, +who made up his mind to play the highwayman. +He started well, and then, seeing two of us instead +of one, funked it and bolted. I don’t think I +ever had such a start in my life.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div> +<p>“You came off the worst,” I remarked, pointing +to his forehead.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t that that upset me,” he answered. +“It was a horrible idea which flashed upon me +just for a moment. The face which peered in at +the window—you saw it—was horribly like the +face of a man who is dead—whom I know to be +dead. It gave me, just while the idea lasted, a +sensation which I hope I shall never experience +again as long as I live. It was ghastly.”</p> +<p>The face of the dead! It was not a cheerful +thought. But I looked at the wrecked door and +window of the carriage and felt immediately reassured. +Our assailant, whoever he might have +been, was no ghostly one. There was undeniable +evidence of his material presence and strength +in the shattered glass, the wrenched woodwork, +and the wound on Mr. Marx’s forehead.</p> +<p>The carriage pulled up with a jerk. We had +reached my home.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you better come in and bathe your +forehead, Mr. Marx?” I suggested hesitatingly.</p> +<p>He shook his head and declined.</p> +<p>“No, thanks. I’ll get back to the Castle as +soon as I can and doctor it myself. Good-bye, +Morton. If I don’t see you again before you go, +I wish you every success at Mr. Randall’s.”</p> +<p>I thanked him warmly, shook his offered hand, +and, shutting the carriage-door, called out to Burdett +to drive on. For a moment or two I stood in the +road watching the lights as they rapidly grew +fainter and fainter in the distance. Then I turned +slowly up the path towards the house.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div> +<p>Half-way there I stopped short and, holding +my breath, listened intently. The wind had +dropped and the rain had almost ceased, but the +night was still as dark as pitch. I listened with +strained ears and beating heart and soon I knew +that I had not been mistaken. Coming down the +hill between Rothland Wood gate and where I +was, along the road by which we had just come, +I could hear the faint, but nevertheless unmistakable, +sound of light, running footsteps. Turning +back, I stole softly down the path and stood +in the middle of the road, waiting.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div> +<h2 id="c19">CHAPTER XIX. +<br /><span class="small">A STRANGE ATTACK.</span></h2> +<p>It could not in reality have been more than a +minute or two, although it seemed to me then a +terribly long while, before I again heard the +sound which had attracted my attention. When +I did, it was quite close at hand, just at +the beginning of the range of farm-buildings +which skirted the road. There was no possibility +of any mistake. The situation was sufficiently +plain, at any rate. Scarcely fifty yards away +a man was coming running towards me, either +barefooted or with very soft shoes on; and +it was past midnight, pitch dark, and a lonely +road.</p> +<p>Nearer and nearer the steps came, and my heart +began to beat very fast indeed. At last, peering +earnestly through the gloom, I made out the +shadowy figure of a man only a yard or two away +from me, running in the middle of the road, and a +pair of wild, burning eyes glistened like fire against +the dark background. I felt his warm, panting +breath upon my cheek, heard a low, fierce cry, +and a second later saw the figure give a spring +sideways and vanish in the shade of the barn +wall.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div> +<p>I followed cautiously; but, although I groped +about in all directions, I could see nothing. So +I stood quite still with my back to the wall, and +called out softly:</p> +<p>“Who are you? Why are you hiding from +me?”</p> +<p>No answer. I tried again:</p> +<p>“I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t do you +any harm. I only want to know who you are, +and what——”</p> +<p>I never finished the sentence. I became suddenly +conscious of two glaring eyes looking at me, +like pieces of live coal, from a crumpled heap on +the ground. Then there was a quick, panting +snort, a spring, and I felt a man’s long, nervous +fingers clutching my throat. Gasping and +choking for breath, I flung them off, only to +find myself held as though in a vice by a pair +of long arms. Drawing a deep breath, I braced +myself up for the struggle with my unknown +assailant.</p> +<p>More than once I gave myself up for lost, for +my opponent was evidently a powerful man, and +seemed bent on strangling me. But, fiercely +though he struggled at first, I soon saw that his +strength was only the frenzy of nervous desperation +and that it was fast leaving him. By degrees +I began to gain the upper hand, and at last, with +a supreme effort, I threw him on his back and, +before he could recover himself, I had my +knee upon his chest and drew a long breath of +relief.</p> +<p>I spoke to him, shouted, threatened, commanded; +but he took no notice. Then I peered down close +into his upturned face and fierce eyes, and the +truth flashed upon me at once. I had been struggling +with a madman, a hopeless, raving lunatic, +and it was probably he who had made the attack +upon us in the carriage.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div> +<p>My first impulse was one of deep gratitude for +my escape; then I began to wonder what on +earth I was to do with him. He was lying like +a log now, perfectly quiet; but I knew that I +had only to relax my hold upon him and the +struggle would begin again—perhaps terminate +differently. I could not take him into the house, +for there was no room from which he could +not easily escape. The only place seemed to +me to be the coach-house. It was dry and +clean, with no windows, save at the top, and +with a good strong padlock. The coach-house +would do, I decided, if only I could get him +there.</p> +<p>I drew my handkerchief from my pocket, and, +knotting it with my teeth, secured his hands as +well as I could. Then, seizing him by the collar, +I half dragged, half helped him up the garden +path till we reached the coach-house, and, opening +the door with one hand, I thrust him in. +He made no resistance; in fact, he seemed +utterly cowed; and a pitiable object he looked, +crouched on the floor, with his face turned to +the wall. I struck a match to obtain a better +view of him.</p> +<p>His only attire was a grey flannel shirt and a +pair of dark trousers, both of which were torn in +places and saturated with rain. Of his face I +could see little, for it was half hidden by the hair, +matted with dirt and rain, and by his bushy +whiskers and beard, ragged and unkempt. His +feet were bare and black with a thick coating +of mud; hence his soft, stealthy tread. Altogether, +he was a gruesome object, as he lay a huddled +heap against the wall, muttering to himself some +unintelligible jargon.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div> +<p>Loosing his hands, I left him there, and, softly +entering the house, found some food and rugs and +took them out to him. He eyed the former ravenously, +and before I could set it down he snatched +a piece of bread from my hands and began +eagerly to devour it. I put the remainder down +by his side and, throwing the rugs over him, +stole away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div> +<h2 id="c20">CHAPTER XX. +<br /><span class="small">THE MONASTERY AMONG THE HILLS.</span></h2> +<p>When I awoke in the morning the sun was already +high in the heavens and it was considerably past +my usual hour of rising. I jumped out of bed at +once and began my toilet. I had scarcely finished +my bath when there came a loud tap at the +door.</p> +<p>“Hallo!” I cried out. “Anything the matter?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. Please, sir, John wants to know +whether you locked anything up in the coach-house +last night. There was——”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did,” I interrupted quickly. “Tell +him not to go there till I come down.”</p> +<p>“Please, sir, it’s too late,” the girl answered, +in a frightened tone. “It’s got away, whatever +it is.”</p> +<p>I dropped the towel with which I had been +rubbing myself and hurried on my clothes. In a +few minutes I was down in the yard, where +several men were standing together talking. John +left them at once and came to me.</p> +<p>“Why did you want to go to the coach-house +so early?” I exclaimed, glancing at the wide-open +door and empty interior. “I had an awful job +to get that man in there last night, and now you’ve +let him go.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div> +<p>“Well, sir, it was a fearful row he was a-making,” +explained John. “Soon as I came this morning, +about five o’clock, I was passing through the stack-yard +when I heard an awful thumping at the coach-house +door from the inside. Of course, I knew +nowt about there being anyone theer, so I just +goes straight up and opens the door, to see what +was the matter, like, and, lor, I did ’ave a skeer, +and no mistake! It wur quite dark, and I could +see nowt but a pair o’ heyes a-glaring at me as +savage as a wild animal’s. ‘Coom out o’ this +’ere and let’s ha’ a look at yer,’ I says, for, d’ye +see, I thought as it wur someone who had crept +in unbeknown in the daytime and got locked in +by mistake. There warn’t no answer, and I wur +just about to strike a match and ’ave a look at +’im, when he springs at me like a wild cat. I tried +to hold him and I’m darned if he didn’t nearly +make his teeth meet through my hand.”</p> +<p>He touched his right hand lightly, and I noticed +for the first time that it was bandaged up.</p> +<p>“He got away from you, then?” I remarked.</p> +<p>“Got away from me?” John repeated, in a tone +of utter disgust. “He warn’t such a sweet-looking +object, or sweet-tempered ’un either, that I wur +over-anxious for the pleasure of his company, +he warn’t! I just got my hand out of his jaws +and let him go as fast as he liked, with a jolly +good kick behind to help him on, too. You see, +sir, I didn’t know as you’d anything to do with +putting him in there,” the man added apologetically. +“I thought he’d got in quite promiscuous-like.”</p> +<p>To tell the truth, although I had been alarmed +at first, I did not particularly regret what had +happened. At any rate, it saved me the bother +of going over to the police-station at Mellborough. +Still, the thought that he might even now be lurking +about in the vicinity, with plenty of opportunities +to provide a weapon for himself, was not +altogether a pleasant one.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div> +<p>“Who might he have been, sir?” John inquired +curiously.</p> +<p>“Just what I should like to know,” I answered. +“He’s a lunatic and a dangerous one, that’s certain—escaped +from some asylum, I should think.” +And I told him of my adventure on the previous +night, to which the whole group listened open-mouthed.</p> +<p>“I’m thinking, sir,” John remarked, when I +had finished, “that it’d be as well for Foulds and I +to have a scour round and see if we can’t find him, +or he’ll be doing someone a mischief.”</p> +<p>“If you are not very busy I wish you would,” +I said. “I don’t feel quite easy at the thought +of his wandering about round here. If you do +find him, lock him up and send word to the police-station +at Mellborough.”</p> +<p>After breakfast that morning my mother made +a request which startled me almost as much +it delighted me.</p> +<p>“I am going to walk over to the monastery, +Philip,” she said quietly. “Will you come with +me?”</p> +<p>“Of course I will, mother,” I answered promptly. +“Nothing could give me greater pleasure. When +will you start?”</p> +<p>“I shall be ready in half an hour,” she said, +with a faint smile, as though she were pleased at +my ready acquiescence. Then she left the room +to get ready.</p> +<p>In about the time she had mentioned she came +into the garden to me and we started on our walk. +It was a very uneventful one, but I don’t think +that I shall ever forget it. My mother seemed, +after her brief relapse into comparative kindness, +to have become more inaccessible than ever; and +she walked along by my side, with downcast eyes +and a nervous, thoughtful expression on her pale +face.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div> +<p>I, too, felt somewhat depressed at starting, but +soon the fresh, pure air, becoming stronger and +stronger as we left the road and followed the +footpath by Beacon Hill, had its invariable effect +upon my spirits. All perplexing thoughts and +forebodings of trouble passed away from me like +magic, and my heart beat and the blood flowed +through my veins with all the impetuous ardour +of sanguine youth.</p> +<p>At the top of the hill we paused, I to look round +upon my favourite scene, my mother to rest for +a moment. Then we saw how great had been the +storm of the night before.</p> +<p>Here and there were the bare trunks of trees +and many a cattle-shed and barn stood roofless. +The storm seemed to have worked havoc everywhere, +save where, on the summit of its wooded +hill, Ravenor Castle, with its great range of mighty +battlements, its vast towers, and grey walls of +invincible thickness, frowned down upon the country +at its feet. Looking across at it, it seemed to me +that the place had never seemed so imposing as +then.</p> +<p>My mother stood by my side and noticed my +intent gaze.</p> +<p>“You admire Ravenor Castle very much, +Philip?” she said quietly.</p> +<p>I withdrew my eyes with an effort.</p> +<p>“I do, mother,” I confessed; “very much +indeed. The place has a sort of fascination for +me—and the man who lives there!”</p> +<p>My mother had turned a little away from me +and stood with face upturned to heaven and +mutely moving lips. Out of her eyes I could see +the tears slowly welling, and her tall slim figure +was convulsed with sobs. I sprang to her side +and caught hold of her hand.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div> +<p>“What is it, mother?” I cried. “Tell me!”</p> +<p>She shook her head sadly.</p> +<p>“Not now, Philip—not now. Come, let us go!”</p> +<p>Side by side we began to descend the hill. Our +path wound around several freshly-planted spinneys +and then led through a plantation of pine-trees.</p> +<p>Then we turned with regret, so far as I was +concerned, into the muddy road again and walked +for more than a mile between high, straight hedges. +At last, soon after mid-day, we turned to the left, +passed through a farmyard and along a winding +path, which led us, now by the side of turnip fields, +now across bracken-covered open country, to the +summit of our last hill.</p> +<p>Here again we paused. Below us, close up +against the background of the colourless hills, +drearily situated in the bleakest spot of the austere +landscape, the straight spires and severely simple +buildings of the monastery were clustered together. +A little above it, on an artificial eminence of rock, +a rude cross stood out in vivid relief against the +sky, and on this my mother’s eyes were fixed with +a sort of rapt wistfulness, as we stood side by side +on the top of the hill looking downwards.</p> +<p>It was a fitting spot that these men—who +counted it among their virtues that in their rigid +self-immolation they had cut themselves off even +from the beauties of Nature—had chosen for their +habitation. But although the place had a peculiar +impressiveness of its own, which never failed to +exercise a sort of fascination upon me, I was glad +to-day when my mother moved forward again.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div> +<p>As we neared the end of our journey and turned +in at the long, straight avenue which led to the +monastery doors, the strange agitation which I had +noticed in my mother’s manner during the earlier +part of the day visibly increased. The cold inexpressiveness +which had dwelt for so long in her +face vanished, and into it there crept a look which, +having once seen, I cared not to look upon again. +It seemed as though she were endeavouring to +brace herself up for some tremendous ordeal, and +I would have given anything to have been able +to put into words the sympathy which had risen +up strongly within me.</p> +<p>Unnatural, cold, severe and, at the best of times, +indifferent, as she had lately been to me, she was +still my mother and I loved her. But I dared not +break in with words upon the fierce anguish which +was already beginning to leave its marks upon +her white, strained face. Only when we stood +before the bare stone front of the monastery, and +with feeble fingers she had pulled the great iron +bell, could I speak at all, and then the words were +not such as I wished to speak. Afterwards, when +I thought of them—and I often did think of +them and of every trifling incident of that memorable +walk—they seemed to me weak and ill-chosen.</p> +<p>But, such as they were, I am glad that I spoke +them.</p> +<p>She listened as one whose thoughts were far +away, but when I ceased, breathless, she laid her +hand upon my arm and, with her dim, sad eyes +looking into mine, said simply:</p> +<p>“This is for your sake, Philip—for your sake!”</p> +<p>Then, before I could ask her what she meant, +the great door slowly opened and the guest-master +stood before us. She passed him with a silent +salutation and vanished on her way to the chapel; +and, though I watched her longingly, I dared not +follow. Then, declining Father Bernard’s invitation +to go to his room and rest, I turned away +from the door and wandered into the grounds.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div> +<p>Hour after hour of the brief winter’s day passed +away. Father Bernard came out in search of me +and offered me refreshments; but I shook my head. +I could not eat, nor drink, nor rest. A strange +but powerful apprehension of some coming crisis +in my life—some great evil connected with my +mother’s visit to this place—had laid hold of me, +and all my struggles against it were impotent.</p> +<p>It was late in the afternoon before she came. +I had climbed up to the top of “Calvary” and, +with sick heart and longing eyes, was watching +the door from which she must issue. Suddenly +it was opened and she stood for a moment upon +the threshold looking around for me. To my +dying day I shall think of her as I saw her then.</p> +<p>Her face was the face of a saint—calm, passionless, +and happy, with a gentle, chastened happiness. +I knew, when I looked upon her, that she +had left the burden of her great sorrow behind. +But she had paid a price for it. Pale and fragile +as she had always appeared, she seemed now to +have been wasted by some fierce, scathing ordeal, +which had driven out of her features everything +human and left only a spiritual life. As she moved +slowly forward into the drive and I saw her even +more distinctly, she seemed to me to have gained +a strange, new beauty; but it was a beauty which +made me look upon her with a sudden shuddering +fear.</p> +<p>I hurried down to her side and she welcomed +me with a smile such as I had seldom seen on her +face, and which was altogether in harmony with +her softened expression. Then she took my arm +and we turned towards home.</p> +<p>“You are happier now, mother?” I ventured +to ask her, and she answered me by silently pressing +my arm.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div> +<p>We passed down the avenue, thickly strewn with +decaying leaves, along the winding lane, and +through the gate which led up to Ive’s Head Hill. +Once or twice as we were making the ascent I +fancied that she hung heavily upon my arm and +I asked if she were tired; but she only shook +her head. We had reached the summit before the +terrible fear which had been gnawing at my heart +took definite shape. Then, for the first time since +we had started upon our return journey, I was +able to look into her face, which she had been +keeping averted from me, and when I saw the +ghastly change which had crept into it, my heart +stood still and all my senses seemed numbed with +fear.</p> +<p>“Mother,” I cried, “you are ill! What is the +matter? Oh, speak to me—do!”</p> +<p>She had fallen into my arms, and her hands, +which touched mine as they fell to her side, were +as cold as ice. Her face was like the face of one +who has already triumphed over the shadows of +death. Far away at our feet the Cross of Calvary +was standing out with rugged vividness against +the fast darkening sky and upon it her closing +eyes were steadily fixed. Her lips were slightly +parted in a happy, confident smile, and her +whole being seemed absorbed in the most religious +devotion. Once she whispered my name and +faintly pressed my hand; then her lips moved again +and I heard the dread sound of the solemn prayer, +faltered out in a broken whisper, “<i>In manus Tuas, +Domine</i>!”</p> +<p>In my heart I knew that she was dying, and +that human help would be of no avail. Yet I +was loth to abandon all hope, and setting her gently +down I looked anxiously around. On the summit +of the next range of hills a man was sitting on +horseback, looking down upon the monastery—a +motionless figure against the sky. I cried out +to him, and at the sound of my voice he started +round and looked towards us; then, suddenly +digging the spurs deep into the sides of his great +black horse, he came thundering up the side of +the hill at a pace which made the ground shake +beneath my feet like the tremblings of an earthquake.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div> +<p>“What is wrong?” he cried hoarsely; and, +looking into his face, I recognised Mr. Ravenor.</p> +<p>I pointed to my mother’s prostrate figure, and, +gazing at him with dry eyes, I answered mechanically:</p> +<p>“She is dying!”</p> +<p>The words had scarcely left my lips before he +had leaped from his horse, and, passing his arm +around her, bent over her pallid face.</p> +<p>“Oh, this is horrible!” he murmured. “You +must not die—you must not die! I have——”</p> +<p>His voice seemed choked with emotion and he +did not finish his sentence. She spoke to him, +but so softly that I could not hear the words.</p> +<p>I walked a few yards away and once more looked +wildly round. Far away on the dark hillside I +could see the white-robed figures of the lay brethren +bending over their labour. Nearer there was no +one. The road below was deserted and a deep +stillness seemed brooding over the bare, shadowy +landscape. Sick at heart I turned back and fell +on my knees by my mother’s side.</p> +<p>We remained there, fearing almost to look into +her face, until the twilight deepened upon the hills +and slowly blotted out from our view even the +dark cross standing up against the grey sky. Then +Mr. Ravenor leaned for a moment forward and a +low groan escaped from his lips. It told me what +I dreaded—that my mother was dead!</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div> +<h2 id="c21">CHAPTER XXI. +<br /><span class="small">A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD.</span></h2> +<p>The paroxysm of my grief passed slowly away, +and I rose to my feet and looked around with +streaming eyes. Mr. Ravenor was still by my side, +and together we carried my mother back to the +monastery. The news of our approach had preceded +us, and long before we reached our journey’s end the +solemn minute-bell was tolling out to the silent night, +awakening strange echoes in the hills and finding a +reverberation of its mournfulness in my heart.</p> +<p>Austere and impressive as the great bare front +of the monastery had always appeared to me, +it had never seemed so cold and desolate as when +our melancholy little procession wound round the +Hill of Calvary and slowly approached the entrance. +The gloom of a winter’s evening was hanging around +the building, which, with never a ray of light +from any part, looked like a habitation of the dead—a +gigantic vault.</p> +<p>But suddenly, as we drew near, the front door +was slowly opened and the dark figure of a monk, +holding above his head a lighted taper, stood on the +steps and in a low monotone repeated a Latin prayer. +When he ceased there was a moment’s silence, and +then from the chapel there came the sound of deep +voices chanting slowly in solemn unison the +<i>Miserere</i>.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div> +<p>The remainder of that night seems like a dream +to me now, of which I can recall but little. But +I remember that, long past midnight, when I +had thrown myself down upon the stone floor of +the guest-chamber, I heard soft steps and the +rustle of garments approaching me, and, looking up, +I saw the sweetest face I ever beheld in man or +woman looking down into mine from the deep folds +of a monk’s cowl.</p> +<p>He stayed with me for a while, speaking welcome +words of comfort; then, gathering his robes about +him, he stood up, prepared to leave. But first +he handed me a small packet.</p> +<p>“This was left in my charge for you, Philip +Morton,” he said. “Little did I dream that so +soon I should be called upon to fulfil my trust. +Take it, my son.”</p> +<p>The packet, which I opened with reverent +fingers, was a very small one, and consisted of a +single letter only. That I might see the more +clearly to read it, I pushed open the narrow, +diamond-framed window, and the moonlight filled +the little room with a soft, mellowed light. Then +I read:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“The Barnwood Monastery of St. Clement’s,</p> +<p class="t7">“<i>November 19th, 18—.</i></p> +</div> +<p>“<span class="sc">My dearest Son</span>,—I write these lines to you, +Philip, feeling happier than I have done for many +years, because I have a deep and sure conviction +that my life is drawing fast to a close, and that +the end may come at any minute. Alas! my son, +I feel that I have not been to you all that a mother +should be. It may be that my coldness has +alienated from me the love which I know you +have been willing to give. It may be so; but I +choose rather to believe that you will pity me when +I tell you that the coldness which has grown up +between us was none of my choosing, but +was only part of a terrible punishment which I +have had to bear for many weary years.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div> +<p>“What my sin—or let me be merciful to myself +and call it my error—was, I do not purpose +here to tell you. Some day the person at whose +discretion I have left it may deem it well to tell +you the whole story. For my sake, Philip, for +the sake of the love which I know you bear me—and +which, God knows, I have for you—I beg you +to wait until that time comes and not seek to +hasten it.</p> +<p>“Think of me as kindly as you can, dear. If +the path which I chose to follow was not the wisest, +I have, at least, suffered terribly for it. For many +weary years grief and horror and remorse have +been making my life one long purgatory. Yes, +I have suffered indeed. But at last I have found +peace.</p> +<p>“Do not marvel at what I am going to tell you, +Philip. My will—the little I have to leave is yours—is +drawn up and signed and I have appointed +Mr. Ravenor your guardian. There are reasons +for this which you cannot know, but he will be +only too glad to accept the charge; and in all +things, Philip, even if he should desire you altogether +to change your position in life, follow his +command and submit to his wishes.</p> +<p>“Farewell, my beloved son—farewell! God +grant that your life may be good and happy, and +that your last days may be as peaceful as mine. +I can wish you nothing better. Once more, farewell!—Your +affectionate</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="lr">“<span class="sc">Mother.</span>”</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div> +<h2 id="c22">CHAPTER XXII. +<br /><span class="small">FOR LIFE.</span></h2> +<p>My mother’s death marked an epoch in my life, +for immediately afterwards a great change came +over my circumstances and position. Of the dreary +days just before and after the funeral I shall here +say but little. Their sadness is for me and me +alone.</p> +<p>Until after the ceremony I remained at the +monastery, seeking relief from my thoughts by +rambles over the hills, by watches at dead of +night before the spot where, with many candles +burning round her open coffin, my mother lay, +and by long conversations with Father Alexander, +my comforter. When the time of the funeral came, +Mr. Ravenor stood by my side, the only other +mourner, and I knew that the banks of choice +white flowers, which smothered the coffin and +perfumed the winter air, were his gift.</p> +<p>After it was all over he came to me where I +stood, a little apart, and put his hand upon my +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Philip, my boy,” he said kindly, “will you +come back to the Castle with me? I am your +guardian now, you know.”</p> +<p>I drew a long breath.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div> +<p>“Let me go back to the farm for a week by +myself,” I said; “then I will come to you. Be +ready to go to Dr. Randall’s.”</p> +<p>“Let it be so, then,” he answered. “Perhaps +it is best.”</p> +<p>I said good-bye to the monks, especially to +Father Alexander, with regret, for they had all +been very good to me. Then I accompanied Mr. +Ravenor to his carriage and was driven swiftly +homewards.</p> +<p>The week that followed I spent in solitude, and +as the days passed by the bitterness of my grief +left me. Not that the memory of my mother +grew less dear—rather the reverse; but I began +to recognise that what had happened was best. +Better that she should have died thus, full of +thoughts of holy things and with a conscience at +rest, than that she should still be bearing with +aching heart a burden which she had never deserved.</p> +<p>On the last day of the week I was told that a +visitor had arrived and wished to see me, and +before I could ask his name he had entered the +room. It was Mr. Marx.</p> +<p>The man was surely an admirable actor. Instinct +told me that he cared not a jot for either my +mother or me; but his few words of sympathy +were excellently chosen and gracefully spoken. +Then he at once changed the subject and talked +pleasantly of other things; and as he went on I +suddenly remembered that I had not seen him +since the night of our drive home from Torchester, +and that, therefore, he could know nothing +of the adventure which had befallen me +after his departure. I took advantage, therefore, +of a pause in the conversation to tell him all about +it; and, impassive though his face was, I could +see that it made a great impression.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div> +<p>“Do you remember what the man was like?” +he asked, knitting his brows. “Can you describe +him?”</p> +<p>I did so as well as I could and in the midst of +my narration, making some trivial excuse, he +moved his chair out of the light into the shadows +of the room. But if he wished to escape my scrutiny +he was a little too late, for I had already noticed +his blanched face and trembling hands. Evidently +there was something more in this midnight attack +than I had thought. Who was the lunatic? I +wondered. I felt sure, looking at him closely, +that Mr. Marx knew. No need now for Mr. Ravenor +to warn me against the companionship of this +man. Already my passive dislike had grown into +an active aversion.</p> +<p>Instinctively I felt that he was both unscrupulous +and untrustworthy. I felt that he was seeking +me for ends of his own, and all the time I was half +afraid of him.</p> +<p>Doubtless my manner showed that he was no +welcome visitor, but still he lingered. At last +my housekeeper brought me in my afternoon cup +of tea and I was compelled to ask him to join me. +He did so, drank it thoughtfully, and immediately +afterwards rose to go.</p> +<p>“I have been wondering what can have become +of this poor lunatic,” he said carelessly. “Scarcely +a pleasant person to meet on a dark evening.”</p> +<p>I shrugged my shoulders as I walked out into +the hall with him.</p> +<p>“It is nearly a fortnight ago,” I remarked; +“he can hardly have remained in the neighbourhood +and in hiding all this time.”</p> +<p>“Still, if he had been captured we should +have heard of it,” Mr. Marx objected.</p> +<p>“Probably. And yet I don’t see why. I should +not, at any rate, as I have been away at the +monastery; and you, I don’t know how you +would have heard of it, unless you read the local +papers.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div> +<p>“A weakness of which I am not guilty,” +he answered drily. “Nor have I been outside +the grounds. We have been hard at work.”</p> +<p>“Did you walk here?” I asked.</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“I came down in a trap from the Castle, +but the man was going to Mellborough and I +told him not to wait for me. You won’t walk +across the park with me, I suppose, just to +get an appetite for dinner? It’s a splendid +evening.”</p> +<p>I looked at him furtively, but closely. Yes, +Mr. Marx was a coward, in addition to his other +slight demerits.</p> +<p>“No, thanks,” I answered shortly. “I’ve had +a long walk already today. Good evening!”</p> +<p>I turned back into the sitting-room, but +before I had reached my easy-chair I began +to think that I was scarcely behaving well. +After all, Mr. Marx was a middle-aged man, +and it was possible that his strength might +have been sapped by the brain labour in +which he was constantly engaged and his sedentary +life.</p> +<p>Supposing he were to encounter this lunatic +and suffer at his hands, perhaps even lose +his life, should I not blame myself? I came to +a speedy decision. I would let him have his fright, +but I would follow him at a little distance and see +that he came to no harm.</p> +<p>I took a short, heavy stick from the rack and, +crossing the stackyard, vaulted over the palings +into the park, purposely avoiding the gate. About +a hundred yards in front Mr. Marx was walking +quickly along, with both hands in his ulster pockets, +and looking frequently around him. Men had +been busy in the park on the previous day cutting +the bracken, and along the side of the road were +many stacks of it waiting to be carted away. I +noticed that whenever Mr. Marx drew near one of +these he gave it a wide berth and I smiled to +myself at this evidence of his anxiety.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div> +<p>I was walking on the turf, that he might not +hear my footsteps, and was able to keep him +easily in sight, for it was a clear, frosty evening, +and the full moon was shining in a cloudless sky. +At a sudden bend in the road he came in sight +of a place where stacks of bracken had been left +on either side opposite to each other. I saw +him pause as though hesitating which he should +avoid, and at the same moment I distinctly +saw some dark body crouched down behind one +of them and swaying slightly backwards and +forwards.</p> +<p>I broke at once into a run, but before the +echoes of my warning shout had died away a +figure sprang like a wild cat at Mr. Marx’s throat. +There was a flash and a sharp report, but from the +direction of the former I could see that the revolver +had been knocked up into the air and exploded +harmlessly.</p> +<p>When at last I reached the assailant and +his victim it was a fearful sight I looked upon. +The face of the lunatic was ghastly and his +wild eyes almost started from their sockets in his +rage.</p> +<p>White and emaciated as a skeleton’s, his face +was still capable of expression—and such an +expression. A frenzied desire to kill seemed to be +his sole aim, and his long, skinny fingers clutched +Mr. Marx’s throat as in a vice. The latter’s eyeballs +were protruding from his head and his breath +was coming in short, agonised pants; yet all the +while Mr. Marx was holding the madman in such a +fierce grip that I could hear his ribs snapping like +whalebone.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div> +<p>My arrival saved Mr. Marx from a speedy death +by strangulation. Though I lifted the lunatic up +in my arms and strained every muscle to pull +him away, his fingers never relaxed till I stopped +his breath and rendered him momentarily unconscious.</p> +<p>I waited for Mr. Marx to come to himself, my +foot resting lightly upon the prostrate body of his +assailant. Soon he rose slowly to his feet and +began groping about in the road.</p> +<p>“What do you want?” I asked. “Lost anything?”</p> +<p>“My revolver.”</p> +<p>I pointed to where it lay gleaming in the +moonlight. He picked it up and set it to an +undischarged barrel. I watched him curiously.</p> +<p>“You won’t want that again,” I remarked. +“What are you going to do with it?”</p> +<p><a href="#front">“I am going to put that beast out of his misery,” he answered.</a> +“Stand out of the way!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! You will do nothing of the +sort!” I cried hotly. “What! kill an insensible +man? He has as much right to live as +you. You shall not commit murder in my +presence: and, least of all, shall you kill a +poor insane creature like this. Put that thing +up!”</p> +<p>An awful look flashed into his face, and, as he +suddenly raised his arm, I looked into the dark +muzzle of his revolver.</p> +<p>With a quick spring I wrenched the revolver +from his hand, and, bending backwards, threw it +far away into the bracken.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div> +<p>“I don’t know what you were going to do, Mr. +Marx,” I said, looking at him steadily, “but it +seems to me that you are not a fit person to +be trusted with firearms.”</p> +<p>He stood still, speechless with rage. I turned +my back upon him and found, to my surprise, +that the man whose life Mr. Marx had so much +desired was lying on his side, looking at me with +wide-open eyes.</p> +<p>“Well, have your own way,” Mr. Marx said, +quietly; “I dare say you are right. There was +no need to be violent, or to throw away my favourite +revolver. What do you propose to do with +him?”</p> +<p>Mr. Marx advanced, but at the sight of him +the lunatic, who was leaning heavily upon my +arm, and groaning with pain, shrank down upon +the ground, cowering at my feet like a dog. He +covered his face with his hands and broke into one +of the most pitiful cries of distress that I have +ever heard from human lips. I motioned Mr. +Marx back.</p> +<p>“I can manage him alone, I think; and the +sight of you upsets him. Will you follow us +down?”</p> +<p>Mr. Marx advanced a step or two, his eyes flashing +with anger. Then suddenly he turned his back +upon us, and, without a word, walked rapidly +away. I raised my prisoner, and half carried, half +dragged him back to the farm.</p> +<p>In a few hours the doctor from Rothland had +arrived and speedily set the broken bones. He +seemed much interested in the case and made a +careful examination.</p> +<p>“Do you think he has been a lunatic long?” +I asked.</p> +<p>The doctor shook his head.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div> +<p>“On the contrary,” he replied, “I should +say his madness has come on quite recently—the +effect of some severe shock probably. If he +is treated properly there is no doubt that he will +regain his reason.”</p> +<p>In a few days the lunatic was pronounced well +enough in health to be moved; and as all inquiries +and advertisements about him proved fruitless, +he was consigned to the county asylum at Torchester.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div> +<h2 id="c23">CHAPTER XXIII. +<br /><span class="small">MY GUARDIAN.</span></h2> +<p>On the third day after my adventure in the park +Mr. Ravenor called to see me. He came in splashed +from head to foot and had evidently ridden a long +distance and fast. I offered him a chair and some +refreshment, for he looked pale and tired, but he +declined both, and walked slowly up and down +the room, his hands grasping a long riding-whip +behind his back.</p> +<p>“I can only give you a minute or two now, +Morton,” he said, with some slight return of his +former brusque <i>hauteur</i>; “I am expecting visitors +from London to-night and must get back to receive +them. But there is something I must say to you. +You will be surprised to hear that your mother +has left you a considerable property?”</p> +<p>I was very much surprised.</p> +<p>“Are you quite sure of this, Mr. Ravenor?” +I ventured to ask. “My mother always spoke +to me as though we were poor.”</p> +<p>“I do not make mistakes,” he answered, pausing +in his walk and looking down upon me from his +great height with knitted brows and piercing eyes, +“least of all in matters of such importance. How +much the exact sum will amount to I cannot tell +yet, but it is more than twenty thousand pounds, so +you will be able to choose your own profession. +What will it be, I wonder—the Bar, the Army, +the Church, agriculture? Come, you are a boy +of imagination and have never been in love. You +must have had day-dreams of some sort. Whither +have they led you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div> +<p>“Not to any of the professions which you have +mentioned,” I answered promptly.</p> +<p>“Then where? Tell me. I am curious to +know.”</p> +<p>“My ideas have always been very vague,” I +said slowly. “I should like to live quite away +from any town, to read a good deal, and to spend +the rest of my time out of doors; and then, perhaps, +after a time, I might try to think something out +and put it into words.”</p> +<p>“In short, you would like to be an author,” +Mr. Ravenor broke in, with a slight smile.</p> +<p>“Yes; but I should not want to write to amuse +people, or to become famous,” I went on, encouraged +by Mr. Ravenor’s gravity. “I should +like to make people think. I should like to make +them turn aside from the groove of their daily life +and realise that the world is full of greater and +higher things than mere material prosperity. Men +seem to me to find their daily work and pleasure +too absorbing. They think of themselves and others +only as individuals, never as limbs of a great +common humanity with a mighty destiny. The +world grows narrower and narrower for them as +they grow older, instead of broader and broader. It +is because they neglect the use of their imagination—at +least, so it seems to me.”</p> +<p>“Have you read Hibbet’s little pamphlets?” +Mr. Ravenor asked.</p> +<p>“Both of them,” I answered. “I like his +ideas.”</p> +<p>“Have your clothes come from Torchester?” +he inquired, with apparent irrelevance.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div> +<p>“Yes; they came last week,” I told him, wondering.</p> +<p>“Very well; put on your dress-suit and come +up to the Castle at eight o’clock to-night. You +shall dine with me and meet Hibbet.”</p> +<p>Meet Sir Richard Hibbet! Dine at the same +table! My cheeks flushed and my heart beat fast. +Life was opening out for me.</p> +<p>“Yes; he and Marris and Williams, the publisher, +you know, are all staying at the Castle. +There will be some more of them down to-night. +Don’t be late. I will find time, if I can, to have +some talk with you, for I want you to go to Dr. +Randall’s next week.”</p> +<p>He nodded and took his departure. I watched +him mount his horse and gallop away across the +open park. Then I started for a solitary walk, +to ponder my altered prospects.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div> +<h2 id="c24">CHAPTER XXIV. +<br /><span class="small">MY FIRST DINNER PARTY.</span></h2> +<p>At a quarter to eight I stood in the great hall of +Ravenor Castle. On my first visit its vastness +and gloom had somewhat chilled me; now it was +altogether different. A small army of servants +in picturesque livery and with powdered hair +were moving noiselessly about. Soft lights were +burning on many brackets, dispelling the deep +shades which had hung somewhat drearily about; +and there was a fragrant perfume of flowers and +a pleasant sense of warmth in the air. I began +to understand at once the stories I had heard of the +luxury and magnificence with which Mr. Ravenor +entertained his guests on the rare occasions when +he threw open his doors.</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor was in his private rooms, I was +told, and his own groom of the chambers, who had +been summoned to take my name, ushered me, +after a moment’s hesitation, into the library. I +walked to the fire, for I was cold, probably through +being unused to wearing such thin clothes; and, +standing there with my hands behind my back, +looked around with a feeling almost of awe at the +vast collection of books with which I was surrounded.</p> +<p>“And who are you, please?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div> +<p>I started and looked in the direction from which +the voice—a sweet, childish treble—came. Seated +demurely in the centre of a large armchair, with +tumbled hair, and a book upon her lap, was a very +young lady. Her clear blue eyes were fixed calmly +but inquiringly upon me, as though expecting an +immediate answer, and there was a slight frown upon +her forehead. Altogether, for such a diminutive +maiden, she appeared rather formidable.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know that you were there,” I said, +in explanation of my start. “My name is Morton—Philip +Morton.”</p> +<p>She looked me over gravely and critically, and +succeeded in making me feel uncomfortable. +Apparently, however, the examination ended in +my favour, for the frown disappeared and she closed +her book.</p> +<p>“Philip is pretty,” she said condescendingly. +“I don’t think much of Morton. I rather like +Philip, though.”</p> +<p>“I—I’m glad of that,” I answered lamely. +It was very ridiculous, but I could think of nothing +else to say. I wanted to say something brilliant, +but it wouldn’t come; so I stood still and looked +at her and got rather red in the face.</p> +<p>“Do you know who I am?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Haven’t the least idea,” I admitted.</p> +<p>She leaned her small, delicate head upon her +hand and began swaying her feet slowly backwards +and forwards.</p> +<p>“I am Lady Beatrice Cecilia—my mother is Lady +Silchester,” she said. “Do you think it is a pretty +name?”</p> +<p>“Very,” I answered, biting my lip; “much +prettier than mine.”</p> +<p>“Do you know, I think you are a nice boy!” +she proceeded. “I rather like you.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div> +<p>“I’m so glad!” I answered, feeling unreasonably +delighted. “I’m sure that I like you,” I added +fervently.</p> +<p>“It’s very good of you to say so, when you’ve +only just seen me,” she remarked; “but you +can’t be quite sure. You don’t know anything +about me, you see. I might be dreadfully disagreeable.”</p> +<p>“But I’m sure you’re not,” I answered, feeling +that I was getting on.</p> +<p>She was good enough to seem pleased at my +confidence; but she made no further remark for +a minute or two, during which I racked my brains +in vain for some effective remark, with my eyes +fixed upon her. She certainly made a very charming +picture, curled up in the great black oak chair, +with the firelight playing upon her ruddy golden +hair and glistening in her bright eyes.</p> +<p>“You’ve been reading, haven’t you?” I asked, +pointing to the book which lay in her lap.</p> +<p>“It’s not a nice book at all!” she said decidedly. +“I don’t like any of the books here. Oh!”</p> +<p>I turned round quickly, for I saw that she was +looking behind me. Standing on the threshold of +his inner room was the tall, dark figure of Mr. +Ravenor, handsomer than ever, it seemed to me, +in his plain evening dress.</p> +<p>Slowly he advanced out of the shadows, with a +faint smile upon his pale face, and laid his hand +upon her shoulder, looking first at my little hostess +and then at me.</p> +<p>“So you’ve been entertaining one of my guests +for me, Trixie, have you?” he said. “Rather +late for you to be up, isn’t it? Your nurse has +been looking for you everywhere.”</p> +<p>“Then I suppose I must go,” Lady Beatrice +Cecilia remarked deliberately. She rose, shook her +hair out, and, replacing the book which she had been +reading upon the shelf, prepared to depart. But +first she came up to where I was standing on the +hearthrug and held out her little white hand.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div> +<p>“Good-night, Philip Morton,” she said, looking +up at me with a grave smile. “I am very glad +that you came in here to talk to me. I was so +dull.”</p> +<p>I made some reciprocative speech, which, if it +was somewhat awkwardly expressed, had at least +the merit of earnestness, and my eyes followed +her admiringly as she walked to the door and disappeared +with a backward glance and a smile. +Then I started and coloured, to find that Mr. Ravenor +was watching me.</p> +<p>“I don’t know why they should have brought +you here,” he said. “Come this way.”</p> +<p>I followed Mr. Ravenor across the hall into a +suite of rooms hung with satin, opening out one +from another, and seeming to my inexperience +like a succession of brilliantly-lit fairy chambers. +In the smallest and most remote room three men +were standing talking together, and in a low chair +by their side reclined Lady Silchester, holding a +dainty screen of peacock feathers between her face +and the fire, and listening to the conversation with +a slightly bored air. She was in full evening +toilette, and several rows of diamonds flashed +and sparkled with every rise and fall of her snow-white +throat. Afterwards I grew to look upon +Lady Silchester as a good type of the well-bred +society woman; but then she was a revelation to +me—the revelation of a new species.</p> +<p>My appearance seemed at first to surprise +and then slightly to discompose her, but both +emotions passed away at once and she welcomed +me with a charming little smile as she languidly +raised her hand and placed it within mine for a +moment.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div> +<p>At our entrance the conversation ceased for a +moment. Mr. Ravenor laid his hand upon my +shoulder and turned towards the little group.</p> +<p>“Sir Richard, let me introduce to you a young +ward of mine and a disciple of yours. Sir Richard +Hibbet—Mr. Morton; Professor Marris—Mr. +Morton; Mr. Later—Mr. Morton.”</p> +<p>They all shook hands with me, and, widening +their circle a little, continued the conversation.</p> +<p>This was interrupted presently by the announcement +of dinner, the Professor taking in our hostess, +the others following, Mr. Ravenor and I bringing +up the rear.</p> +<p>There was no lack of conversation during dinner, +though gradually it turned towards purely literary +matters and remained there. To me it was altogether +fascinating, although it was often beyond +my comprehension.</p> +<p>Long after Lady Silchester had departed we sat +round the small table glittering with plate and +finely-cut glass, and loaded with choice flowers +and wonderful fruits; and my senses were almost +dazed by the brilliancy of my material surroundings, +and the ever-flowing conversation, which +seemed always to be teaching me something new +and opening up fresh fields of thought. At times +I scarcely knew which most to admire—the dry, +pungent wit and caustic remarks of the Professor; the +perfectly expressed, classical English of Mr. Later; +the sound, good sense of Sir Richard, seasoned +with an apparently inexhaustible stock of anecdotes +and quotations culled from all imaginable sources; +or the brilliant epigrams, the trenchant criticisms, +and the occasional flashes of genuine eloquence by +means of which Mr. Ravenor, with rare art, continually +stimulated the talk.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div> +<p>Almost unnoticed, Mr. Marx, still in his morning +coat, with pale face and dark rims under his eyes, +had entered and sank wearily into a seat; but, +although he listened with apparent interest, he +took no part in the war of words which was flashing +around him. Suddenly it all came to an end. +Mr. Ravenor glanced at his watch and rose.</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “I must ask you to excuse +me for an hour. If you care to see the library, +Mr. Marx will show it you, or the smoking-room +and billiard-room are at your service. Or if you +care to remain here there is plenty more of the +yellow-seal claret and the cigars are upon the +table. Philip, I want you.”</p> +<p>I rose and followed him towards the door. As +I did so I had to pass Mr. Marx, who had left his +seat on some pretext. He leaned over towards +me, haggard and pale, and pushed a slip of paper +into my fingers.</p> +<p>“Read it at once,” he muttered, in a quick, +low tone. Then he moved up and took Mr. Ravenor’s +place at the head of the table.</p> +<p>I felt inclined to throw it back to him; but I +did not. Passing across the hall, I unfolded it +and read these few words, scrawled in a large, +shaking hand:</p> +<p>“You must not go to Dr. Randall’s. Mr. Ravenor +will give you a choice. Go anywhere but +there. If you neglect this warning you will repent +it all your life. I swear it. Tear this up,”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div> +<h2 id="c25">CHAPTER XXV. +<br /><span class="small">MR. MARX’S WARNING.</span></h2> +<p>My first impulse, on glancing through Mr. Marx’s +brief note, was to show it to Mr. Ravenor; but, +after a second’s consideration, I changed my mind. +Mr. Marx was a complete mystery to me. At +times it seemed possible that the interest which +he undoubtedly showed in me was genuine and +kindly, and I struggled against my dislike of the +man. Then I remembered his brutal conduct to +the lunatic and the other inexplicable parts of his +behaviour, and the darkest suspicions and doubts +began to take shape in my imagination.</p> +<p>There was something altogether mysterious about +him—his connection with Mr. Ravenor and his +manner towards myself. I was puzzled and more +than half inclined to decide against the man whom +personally I had grown to detest. But, on the +other hand, I was young and still an optimist with +regard to my fellow-men.</p> +<p>What harm had I done Mr. Marx, and why should +he seek to injure me? It seemed improbable, +almost ridiculous. So in the end a certain sense +of fairness induced me to respect his postscript, +and I said nothing to Mr. Ravenor about his secretary’s +warning.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div> +<p>My interview with him was a very short one +indeed. He led the way into the study in which +I had first seen him and, closing the door, turned +round and faced me upon the hearthrug. The +room was dimly lit, but where he stood the fast-dying +fire cast a faint glow around his tall, straight +figure, and showed me a face cold and resolute as +marble, but not unkind.</p> +<p>“Philip Morton,” he said slowly, “it has occurred +to me that in wishing you to go to Lincolnshire, +I may have been influenced to a certain extent +by selfish considerations. If you have the slightest +preference for a public school——”</p> +<p>I knew instinctively whence that idea had come +and I interrupted him.</p> +<p>“Nothing should induce me to go anywhere +else but to Dr. Randall’s!” I exclaimed firmly.</p> +<p>“In that case,” he continued, “I wish you to +leave tomorrow. You will be ready?”</p> +<p>I assented at once.</p> +<p>“I, too, am leaving here—it may be for a very +long while,” he went on. “In two months’ time +I hope to start for Persia, and between now and +then my movements will be uncertain. I cannot +settle down here. It is useless.”</p> +<p>A great weariness shone out of his dark blue +eyes and he stifled a sigh. Some thought or +memory coloured with regret had flashed across +his mind; but what it was I could not tell.</p> +<p>“You remember your mother’s letter to you +and her dying request?” he continued, in a changed +tone. “I cannot explain it now, although I must +remind you of it. This packet”—and he passed +me a large, sealed envelope—“contains a chequebook, +the address of the lawyer who will manage +your affairs, and a letter which you will not open +unless you have certain news and proof of my +death. You will find that you are, comparatively +speaking, rich. How this comes about I cannot +tell you now, and you must remember your mother’s +dying injunction not to seek to find out until the +time comes, when you will know everything. At +present, I can only assure you that the money +is yours by right, that it is not a gift, and that no +one else has any claim to it. That is all I can say +upon the subject. Are you satisfied?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div> +<p>Curiosity seemed a mean thing to me as I listened +to my guardian’s words and looked into +his sad, stern face. All the old fascination which +I had felt from the first in his presence was strong +upon me that night. Whatever he had bidden +me to do I should have done it. And so I answered:</p> +<p>“I am satisfied. What you tell me is mine I +will take and ask no questions.”</p> +<p>“That is well,” he said quietly. “And now, +one word about your future, Philip, for to-morrow +you will take up some of the responsibilities of +early manhood. A great man once said that the +best adviser of youth was the man whose own life +had been a failure. If this be anything more than +a paradox, then there can be no one better fitted +for that post than I. Already the flavour of life +has become like dead ashes between my teeth; +and the fault is my own. Mr. Marris was talking +a great deal of nonsense in the drawing-room before +dinner this evening. I want to say just one or +two words to you on the same subject, and remember +that I speak as an outsider, impersonally.</p> +<p>“Before I was twenty-one years old, I had +studied in most of the schools of modern philosophy, +and had thrown off my religion like an old rag. +I was inflated with a sense of my own intellectual +superiority over other men. It was philosophy +which taught men to live, I declared, and philosophy +which taught them to die. With that motto before +me, I carefully set myself to annihilate every vestige +of faith with which I had ever been endowed. I +succeeded—too well. It is dead; and sometimes +I fear that it will never reawaken. And what am +I? As miserable a man as ever drew breath upon +this earth. It seems to me as though I had crushed +a part of my very life and the sore will rankle for +ever.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div> +<p>“There is a part of man’s nature, Philip—that +is to say, of such men as I have been and you will +be—the sympathetic, emotional, reverential part, +which cries out for some belief in a higher, an infinite +Power, for some sort of religion which it can +cling to and entwine with every action of daily +life. You must satisfy that craving if you desire +to know happiness. For me there is no such knowledge. +I have deliberately committed spiritual +suicide; I have torn up faith by the roots and +have made a void in my heart, which nothing else +can ever fill. Frankly, I tell you, Philip, that +there are times when religion of any sort seems +to me no better than a fairy-tale. It need not +seem so to you. Shape out for yourself any form +of belief—that of the Christian is as good as any +other—and resolutely cling to it. It is my advice +to you—mine who believe in no God and no future +state. Follow it and farewell!”</p> +<p>He held out his hand and clasped mine for a +moment. I would have spoken, but before I could +find words he had disappeared through a curtained +door into his inner apartment. So I turned away +and went.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div> +<h2 id="c26">CHAPTER XXVI. +<br /><span class="small">A LOST PHOTOGRAPH.</span></h2> +<p>It was about five o’clock on as dreary an afternoon +as I ever remember, when the slow train, which +crawls always at a most miserable pace from Peterborough +across the eastern counties, deposited +me at Little Drayton. Besides the station-master +there were but two people on the wet platform—one +a porter, who made for my bags with almost +wolflike alacrity after a moment’s amazed stare, +at me, presumably at the rare advent of a passenger +with luggage; the other was a thin, dark young +man, clad in a light mackintosh with very large +checks, and smoking a long cigar. Whilst I was +collecting my things he came leisurely up and +accosted me.</p> +<p>“Your name Morton?” he inquired, without +removing his cigar from his teeth.</p> +<p>I assented.</p> +<p>“Have you come down to meet me?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Yes; old Randall’s gone out to dinner, so he +asked Cis and me to come and fetch you. Cart’s +outside; but we can’t take all the luggage. Just +look out what you want, will you, and we’ll send +for the rest to-morrow.”</p> +<p>I selected a portmanteau and followed him out +of the station. A light, four-wheeled brown +cart was waiting, drawn by a pair of small, +clever-looking cobs, altogether a very smart turnout.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div> +<p>“Pitch that bag in behind, porter,” ordered my +new acquaintance. “Now, then, Mr. Morton, if +you’re ready we’ll be off. Your train’s half an +hour late, and Cis will be wondering what’s become +of us.”</p> +<p>“Is Cis Mr. Ravenor’s nephew, Silchester?” I +asked, as I clambered up beside him.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! By the bye, I ought to have introduced +myself, oughtn’t I? My name is de Cartienne—Leonard +de Cartienne.”</p> +<p>“And are you Dr. Randall’s other pupil?” I +inquired.</p> +<p>“Yes; I’m doing a grind there. Beastly slow +it is, too. You’ll be sorry you’ve come, I can tell +you, before very long.”</p> +<p>Looking around me, I was inclined to think that +that was not improbable. It was too dark to see +far, but what I could see was anything but promising. +The country was perfectly flat, dreary, +and barren, and the view was unbroken by tree, +or hedge, or hill. By the side of the road was a +small canal, over the sullen waters of which, and +across the road, brooded spectral-like clouds of mist. +The rain still fell rapidly, and the wheels of our +cart ran noiselessly in the sandy, paste-like mud.</p> +<p>“Ghastly night, isn’t it?” remarked my companion, +breaking the silence again.</p> +<p>“Rather!” I assented vigorously. “What a +flat, ugly country, too! I never saw anything +like it.”</p> +<p>“Beastly country! beastly place altogether!” +de Cartienne agreed. “I’m jolly sick of it, I can +tell you! Steady, Brandy! steady, sir!” giving +the near animal a cut with the whip.</p> +<p>“What do you call your horses?” I asked +curiously.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div> +<p>“Brandy and Soda. Jolly neat name for a pair. +Don’t you think so?”</p> +<p>“Uncommon, at any rate,” I answered ambiguously. +“Didn’t you say that we were to call +for Silchester somewhere?”</p> +<p>“Mean Cis? Oh, yes; we’ve got to pick him +up at the Rose and Crown.”</p> +<p>“A hotel?”</p> +<p>“Well, hardly. Fact is,” de Cartienne continued, +dropping his voice a little, and glancing +behind to see whether the groom was listening—“fact +is, Cis is a bit inclined to make a fool of +himself. There’s a pretty girl at this place and +he puts in an uncommon lot of time there. Awfully +pretty girl she is, really,” he added confidentially. +“Won’t stand any nonsense, either. The place +is only a pub., after all, but everyone who goes +there has to behave himself. She won’t have a +lot of fellows dangling about after her, though she +might have the whole town if she liked. Makes +her all the more dangerous, I think.”</p> +<p>“And Lord Silchester——”</p> +<p>“Hang the ‘lord’!” interrupted my companion, +whipping his horses.</p> +<p>“Well, Silchester, then! I suppose he admires +her very much?”</p> +<p>“Admires her! I should think he does! He’s +awful spoons on her! It’s quite sickening the way +they go on sometimes. There’s a regular stew on +there to-night, though, tremendous scene.”</p> +<p>“What about?”</p> +<p>“Well, it seems that Milly’s father—he’s the +landlord of the place, you know—left home about +a month ago, saying he was going up to London +on some business. He was expected back in a +fortnight or three weeks; but he’s never turned +up and he hasn’t written. So at last Milly sent +up to the place where he always stops in town +and also to some friends whom he was going to +see. This morning a reply comes from both of +them. Nothing has been seen or heard of him at +all. Of course, Milly imagines the worst at once, +goes off into hysterics, and, when we called this +evening on our way down, was half out of her +mind.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div> +<p>“And so Silchester stopped with her to console +her?”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” assented de Cartienne, with a queer +smile. “Shouldn’t wonder if he succeeded, +either!”</p> +<p>We entered the street of an old-fashioned, straggling +town, the glimmering lights of which had +been in sight for some time. de Cartienne, sitting +forward a little, devoted his whole attention to +the horses, for the stones were wet and slippery, +and Brandy seemed to shy at everything and anything +which presented itself, from the little pools +of water glistening in the lamplight, which lay in +the hollows of the road, down to his own shadow. +I looked round curiously. The old-fashioned +market-place, the quaintly built houses, the dimly +lit shops, and little knots of gaping rustics, whom +our rapid approach scattered right and left, were, +at any rate, more interesting and pleasanter to +look upon than the damp, miserable country outside. +Suddenly we pulled up with a jerk outside +a small, but clean-looking inn, and the groom +leaped down from behind and made his way to +the horses’ heads.</p> +<p>“Take them up the street a little, John,” said +de Cartienne, as he descended. “No need to +advertise Cis’s folly to the whole town,” he added, +in a lower tone. “Come on, Morton, we’ll go and +rout him out.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</div> +<p>I stepped across the wet pavement after him +and, stooping low down, crossed the threshold of +the “Rose and Crown.” We passed by a room in +which several labouring men were drinking mugs +of beer, and entered the bar, in which a rosy-cheeked +country damsel was exchanging noisy and not too +choice badinage with one or two young men who +hung about her. From here another door led into +an inner room and at this de Cartienne somewhat +ostentatiously knocked. There was a second’s +pause; then a clear, pleasant voice sang out +“Come in!” and we entered.</p> +<p>It was a small, cosy room, not ill-furnished, +and with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. Leaning +against the mantelpiece, with his face towards +us, was Cis, whose likeness to Lady Beatrice was +so remarkable that I liked him heartily before +we had exchanged a word. Standing by his side, +with her head suspiciously near his shoulder, was +a very fair girl, with nice figure and complexion +and large blue eyes. Her face was certainly pretty, +but it was not of a very high type of prettiness. +The features, although regular of their sort, were +not in any way refined or <i>spirituelle</i>, nor was there +anything in her expression to redeem her from the +mediocrity of good looks.</p> +<p>Still, she was undoubtedly a nice-looking girl, +quite pretty enough to be the belle of a country +place, and, on the whole, I was rather relieved to +find her attractions of so ordinary a kind. There +could scarcely be anything dangerous, I thought, +in this good-humoured doll’s face; she did not +appear to have the daring or character to lead +her boyish admirer over the borders of a spooning +sentimentality. At any rate, that was not written +in her face. A blunt physiognomist would probably +have declared that there was not enough of the +devil in her to fire the blood even of an impetuous, +generous boy and urge him on to recklessness. It +seemed so to me and I was glad of it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div> +<p>Just at present there were traces of tears in +her face and a generally woe-begone expression. +Her companion, too, looked upset and sympathetic; +but he glanced up with a bright smile when we +entered.</p> +<p>“You’re Philip Morton, I suppose?” he exclaimed, +holding out his hand. “Glad to see +you! Heard of you from my uncle, you know!” +I shook hands with him and he introduced me +formally to the young woman at his side, calling +her Miss Hart. Then he turned to me again.</p> +<p>“I quite meant to have been at the station to +meet you,” he said; “but we called here first +and I—I was detained.”</p> +<p>“It’s of no consequence at all,” I assured him. +“Mr. de Cartienne was there.”</p> +<p>“And Mr. de Cartienne having had to wait +half an hour in the rain at that infernal old shed +they call a station, requires a little refreshment,” +chimed in the person named. “Will the fair +Millicent condescend, or shall I ring?”</p> +<p>She rose and, crossing the room, opened the +door into the bar.</p> +<p>“Brandy-and-soda for me,” ordered de Cartienne. +“Cis is drinking whisky, I see, so he’ll have +another one, and we’ll have a large bottle of +Apollinaris between us. Morton, what’ll you +have?”</p> +<p>I decided upon claret and hot water, never having +tasted spirits. de Cartienne made a wry face, but +ordered it without remark.</p> +<p>“I say, Morton, I don’t know what you’ll think +of us shacking about in a public-house like this, +and bringing you here, your first night, too!” +exclaimed Silchester, dragging his chair up to mine. +“Bad form, isn’t it? But it is so dull in the +evenings and Milly’s no end of a nice girl. No one +could help liking her. Besides, she’s in dreadful +trouble just now,” he continued, dropping his voice. +“Her father has disappeared suddenly. Awfully +mysterious affair and no mistake. We can’t make +head or tail of it.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div> +<p>“It is uncommonly queer,” admitted de Cartienne, +who was lounging against the wall beside us. +“I should have said that he’d gone off on the spree +somewhere, but he couldn’t have kept it up so long +as this.”</p> +<p>“Besides, he’d only a few pounds with him,” +Cecil remarked.</p> +<p>“Seems almost as though he’d come to grief in +some way,” I said.</p> +<p>“I daren’t tell Milly, but I don’t know what +else to think,” Cecil acknowledged.</p> +<p>A wild idea flashed for a moment into my mind, +only to die away again almost as rapidly. It was +too utterly improbable. Nevertheless, I asked +Cecil a question with some curiosity:</p> +<p>“What sort of looking man was he?”</p> +<p>Cecil and de Cartienne both began to describe +him at once, and, as de Cartienne modified or +contradicted everything Cecil said, I was soon in +a state of complete bewilderment as to the personality +of the missing man. It seemed that he +was short, and of medium height; that he was +fair, and inclined to be dark, stout and thin, pale +and ruddy. Milly put in a word or two now and +then; and, what with de Cartienne dissenting +from everything she said, and Cecil, a little perplexed, +siding first with one and then with the +other, the description naturally failed to carry to +my mind the slightest impression of Mr. Hart’s +appearance. At last, rather impatiently, I stopped +them.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I am guilty of a somewhat unreasonable +curiosity,” I said, “for I haven’t any +real reason for asking; but haven’t you a photograph +of your father, Miss Hart? I can’t follow +the description at all.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div> +<p>I happened to be looking towards de Cartienne +while I made my request, and suddenly, from no +apparent cause, I saw him start, and a strange +look came into his face. At first I thought he +must be ill; but, seeing my eyes fixed upon him, +he seemed to recover himself instantly, though he +was still deadly pale.</p> +<p>“Why, what the mischief are you staring at, +Morton?” asked Cecil.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing!” I answered. “I thought that +de Cartienne was ill, that’s all.”</p> +<p>Cecil glanced at him curiously.</p> +<p>“By George! he does look rather white about +the gills, doesn’t he? Say, old chap, are you +ill?”</p> +<p>de Cartienne shook his head.</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s nothing!” he said carelessly. “Don’t +all stare at me as though I were some sort of natural +curiosity, please. I feel a bit queer, but it’s passing +off. I think, if Miss Milly will allow me, I’ll go +and sit down in the other room by myself for a +few minutes.”</p> +<p>“I’ll come with you!” exclaimed Cecil, springing +up. “Poor old chap!”</p> +<p>“No, don’t, please!” protested de Cartienne. +“I would rather be alone; I would indeed. I +shall be all right directly.”</p> +<p>He quitted the room by another door, and we +three were left alone. Cecil and Miss Milly began +a conversation in a low tone, and I, feeling +somewhat <i>de trop</i>, took up a local newspaper and +affected to be engaged in its contents. After a +few minutes, however, Cecil remembered my existence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div> +<p>“By the bye, Milly,” he said, “Morton was asking +you whether you had not a photograph of your +father. There’s one in the sitting-room, isn’t +there?”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“Well, we’ll go and look at it and see how +Leonard is. He looked uncommonly seedy, didn’t +he? Come along, Morton.”</p> +<p>We crossed a narrow passage and entered a +small parlour. Miss Hart walked up to the mantelpiece +and Cecil and I remained looking round.</p> +<p>“Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Leonard isn’t here; +I wonder where——”</p> +<p>He was interrupted by a cry of blank surprise +from Miss Hart.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter now? How you startled +me, Milly!” he exclaimed, hurrying to her side. +“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Why, the photograph!”</p> +<p>“What about it?”</p> +<p>“It’s gone!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div> +<h2 id="c27">CHAPTER XXVII. +<br /><span class="small">LEONARD DE CARTIENNE.</span></h2> +<p>We all three stood and looked at one another for +a moment, Milly Hart with her finger still pointing +to the vacant place where the photograph had been. +Then Cecil broke into a short laugh.</p> +<p>“We’re looking very tragical about it,” he said +lightly. “Mysterious joint disappearance of Leonard +de Cartienne and a photograph of Mr. Hart. +Now, if it had been a photograph of a pretty girl +instead of a middle-aged man, we might have connected +the two. Hallo!”</p> +<p>He broke off in his speech and turned round. +Standing in the doorway, looking at us, was Leonard +de Cartienne, with a slight smile on his thin lips.</p> +<p>“Behold the missing link—I mean man!” exclaimed +Cecil. “Good old Leonard! Do you +know, you gave us quite a fright. We expected +to find you here and the room was empty. Are +you better?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thanks! I’m all right now,” he answered. +“I’ve been out in the yard and had a blow. What’s +Milly looking so scared about? And what was it I +heard you say about a photograph?”</p> +<p>“Father’s likeness has gone,” she explained, +turning round with tears in her eyes. “It was +there on the mantelpiece this afternoon and now, +when we came in to look at it, it has gone!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div> +<p>“I should think that, if it really has disappeared,” +de Cartienne remarked incredulously, “the servant +must have moved it. Ask her.”</p> +<p>Miss Hart rang the bell and in the meantime +we looked about the room. It was all in vain. +We could find no trace of it, nor could the servant +who answered the summons give us any information. +She had seen it in its usual place early +in the morning when she had been dusting. Since +then she had not entered the room.</p> +<p>“Deuced queer thing!” declared Cecil, when +at last we had relinquished the search. “Deuced +queer!” he repeated meditatively, with his hands +thrust deep down in his trousers’ pockets and his +eyes resting idly upon de Cartienne’s face. “But +we can’t do anything more, that’s certain. We +really must be off, Milly. We’ve been here almost +an hour already, and Brandy and Soda must be +getting restless, and you must be famished, I’m +sure, Morton. Come along! Good-bye, Milly! +Keep your spirits up, old girl! The governor’ll +be bound to turn up again in a day or two. And +don’t you worry about the photograph. It must +be somewhere.”</p> +<p>“But it isn’t!” she declared tearfully. “We’ve +looked everywhere! Oh, what shall I do?”</p> +<p>Cecil assumed a most lugubrious expression and +looked down sympathetically into her tear-stained +face. She certainly was uncommonly pretty.</p> +<p>“You go on, you fellows,” he said. “I’ll be +out in a minute. I’ll drive, Leonard. Don’t think +you’re quite up to it.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne nudged my arm and we went off +together and made our way up the street to the +inn, under the covered archway of which the trap +was drawn up. In a few minutes Cecil joined us.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div> +<p>“Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he said, +as he lighted a cigarette and clambered up to the +box-seat. “No, you come in front, Morton. That’s +right. Very odd about that photograph, isn’t it? +It’s gone and no mistake. We’ve been having +another look round.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” exclaimed de Cartienne impatiently. +“What a fuss about a trifle! A girl +has no memory at all! I expect she moved it +herself. Bet you it turns up by the morning.”</p> +<p>“I think not,” Cecil replied quietly, as he +gathered up the reins. “Now then, hold on behind!”</p> +<p>We rattled off down the street and out into +the open country again at a pace which precluded +any conversation. The low hedges and stunted +trees by the roadside seemed to fly past us, and a +sudden turn, which almost jerked me from my +seat, brought us in sight of a wide semi-circle of +twinkling lights, which seemed to stretch right +across the horizon.</p> +<p>“What are they?” I asked, pointing forward.</p> +<p>“Those? Oh, fishing-smacks!” answered Cecil.</p> +<p>“Is that the sea, then?” I asked eagerly.</p> +<p>He burst out laughing.</p> +<p>“Why, what else do you suppose it is?” he +exclaimed. “Can’t you hear it?”</p> +<p>I bent my head and listened. The faint night +breeze was just sufficient to carry to our ears the +dull, monotonous roar of an incoming tide.</p> +<p>“Not a very cheerful row, is it?” observed Cecil.</p> +<p>“Cheerful! I call it the most infernally miserable +sound I ever heard!” growled de Cartienne, +from the back seat, “enough to give a fellow the +horrors any day!”</p> +<p>“See that bright light close ahead?” said Cecil, +pointing with his whip. “That’s Borden Tower, +where we hang out, you know. We shall be there +in a minute or two.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div> +<p>“Perhaps!” growled de Cartienne from behind, +making a nervous clutch at the side of the trap, +“Cis, my dear fellow, you’re not driving a fire-engine, +and there’s nothing to be gained by this +confounded hurry. George! I was nearly out that +time.”</p> +<p>We had turned round a sharp corner into a +winding drive, devoid of trees, and planted only +with stunted shrubs. On one side, between us +and the shore, was a long, irregular plantation of +small fir trees, through which the night wind was +moaning with a sound not unlike the more distant +roar of the sea. Directly in front loomed a high +dark building, standing out with almost startling +abruptness against a void of sky and moor.</p> +<p>“Here we are!” exclaimed Cecil, pulling up +with a flourish before the front entrance. “John, +help down the poor, nervous invalid behind, and +take Brandy and Soda round to the stable at once. +They’re too hot to stand still in this damp air a +second.”</p> +<p>We passed across a large but somewhat dreary +hall into a warm, comfortable dining-room. A +bright fire was blazing in the grate, and a table in +the centre of the room was very tastefully laid for +dinner.</p> +<p>“Make yourself at home, Morton!” exclaimed +Cecil, standing on the hearthrug and stretching +out a numbed hand to the blaze. “Draw an easy-chair +up to the fire while James unpacks your traps +and sees to your room. Leonard, ring the bell, +there’s a good fellow, and let them know we’re +ready for dinner.”</p> +<p>“Thanks; I think I’ll go upstairs at once,” I +remarked.</p> +<p>“All right! Here’s James; he’ll show you your +room. One servant between three of us now. +Good old James! I say, Morton, no swallow-tails, +you know.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div> +<p>I nodded and followed the man, who was waiting +in the doorway, to my room.</p> +<p>After my bare-floored, low-ceilinged attic at the +farm, the apartment into which I was ushered +seemed a very temple of luxury. There was a +soft carpet upon the floor, many easy chairs, an +Oriental divan, mirrors, and solid, handsomely +carved furniture. Leading out of it on one side +was a bath-room and on the other a small, cosy +sitting-room, or study.</p> +<p>“Is there anything more I can do for you, +sir?” inquired the man, after he had poured out +my hot water and set out the contents of my +portmanteau.</p> +<p>I shook my head and dismissed him. After a +very brief toilet I hastened downstairs.</p> +<p>The dinner was remarkably good and I was +very hungry; but I found time to notice two +things. The first was that Cecil drank a great +deal more wine than at his age was good for him; +and the second, that de Cartienne, who drank +very little himself, concealed that fact as far +as he was able and passed the bottle continually +to Cecil. This did not much surprise me, +for I had already formed my own opinion of de +Cartienne.</p> +<p>After dinner the man who waited upon us brought +in some coffee and withdrew. Cecil, whose cheeks +were a little flushed, and whose eyes were sparkling +with more than ordinary brightness, rose and +stretched himself.</p> +<p>“I say, Leonard,” he exclaimed, “let’s adjourn +to your room and have a hand at cards! Shall +we?”</p> +<p>de Cartienne shrugged his shoulders, but did not +offer to move.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div> +<p>“I’m not particularly keen on cards to-night,” +he remarked, with a yawn. “I believe, if you +had your own way, you’d play from morning to +night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, hang it all, there’s nothing else to be done!” +Cecil answered. “If we stay down here we can’t +smoke, and we shall have old Grumps back bothering +presently.”</p> +<p>“I forgot we couldn’t smoke,” de Cartienne said, +rising. “Come along, then!”</p> +<p>“You don’t mind, Morton, do you?” Cecil +asked, turning towards me. “It’s awfully cosy +up in Len’s room.”</p> +<p>“Certainly not,” I answered, finishing my coffee. +“I’ll come, but I can’t play.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that doesn’t matter! You can watch us +for a bit, and you’ll soon pick it up. Hi, James!” +Cecil sang out, as that worthy showed himself at +the door for a minute, “bring us up some whisky +and half a dozen bottles of seltzer water into Mr. +de Cartienne’s room, will you? Look sharp, there’s +a good fellow!”</p> +<p>de Cartienne’s rooms, especially his study, were +furnished far more luxuriously than mine and in +excellent taste. The walls and chimney-piece were +covered with charming little sketches, a few foreign +prints, photographs, and dainty little trifles of +bric-a-brac. Except for the photographs, some +of which were a little <i>risque</i>, it was more like a +lady’s boudoir than a man’s sitting-room.</p> +<p>de Cartienne and Cecil seated themselves at a +small round table and began to play almost immediately. +I drew an easy chair up to the fire, and +closed my eyes as though I intended going to sleep. +As a matter of fact, I meant to watch the game, +and closely, too. But Fate decided otherwise. I +was really very sleepy, and, though I struggled +against it, I was obliged to yield in the end. I +fell asleep, and it must have been nearly two hours +before I was awakened by a touch on my arm.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div> +<p>“Wake up, Morton, old chap! It’s time we +were off to our rooms.”</p> +<p>I sat up and looked at my watch. It was past +midnight.</p> +<p>Cecil was leaning against the table, with his +hands in his pockets, looking pale and weary, but +exultant.</p> +<p>“I’ve been in rare luck to-night!” he exclaimed. +“Won a couple of ponies from poor old Len, and +a whole hatful of I O U’s. Here they go!” And +he swept a little pile of crumpled papers into the +fire.</p> +<p>I glanced at de Cartienne to see how losing had +affected him. Not in the ordinary way, at any +rate. He was sitting back in his chair, with his +arms crossed, a cigarette between his teeth and +an inscrutable smile upon his thin lips. Somehow +I did not like his expression. There was something +a little too closely approaching contempt +in it as he watched Cecil’s action and listened +to the exultant ring in his tone—something which +seemed to express a latent power to reverse +the result with ease at any time he thought proper.</p> +<p>It was rushing to conclusions, no doubt; but as +I glanced from Cecil’s boyish, handsome face, a +trifle dissipated just now, but open and candid, +to the pale, sallow countenance, the large black +eyes, and cynical, callous expression of his friend, +it seemed to me that I was looking from the face +of the tempted to the face of the tempter. The +one seemed like the evil genius of the other.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div> +<h2 id="c28">CHAPTER XXVIII. +<br /><span class="small">“AS ROME DOES.”</span></h2> +<p>I awoke on the following morning with that vague, +peculiar sense of having entered upon an altogether +new phase of life. By degrees my semi-somnolent +faculties reasserted themselves and I remembered +where I was. My new life had indeed begun in +earnest.</p> +<p>I sprang out of bed and pulled up the blind. +It was a very strange prospect I looked out upon, +after the luxuriant hilly scenery of the home where +I had lived all my life. Before me was a flat, uncultivated +common, dotted here and there with a +few stunted gorse-bushes and numerous sand-heaps. +Farther away a long stretch of shingle +sloped down to the foam-crested sea which, under +the grey, sunless sky of the early winter’s morning, +had a dull, forbidding appearance. Though it +was not an inviting prospect, there was something +attractive in its novelty, and, dropping the +blind, I hastened into the bath-room and began +dressing.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div> +<p>It was past eight o’clock when I got downstairs, +but I saw no one about, so I let myself out by the +front door and walked down the drive. The grounds +were small and soon explored, and, having exhausted +them, I passed through a wicket-gate into +a little plantation of pine-trees and thence out +on to the common. Then, for the first time +in my life, I felt a strong sea-breeze, and, +with my cap in my hand and my face turned +seawards, I stood for a few moments thoroughly +enjoying it.</p> +<p>“Glad to see that you’re an early riser, Mr. +Morton. It’s a habit which, I’m sorry to say, my +other pupils have not acquired.”</p> +<p>I turned round with a start. A tall, thin man, +somewhat past middle age, with iron-grey hair and +thin, regular features, was standing by my side. +His eyes were the eyes of a visionary and a poet, +and his worn, thoughtful face bore the unmistakable +stamp of the student. I liked his appearance, +careless and dishevelled though it was in point of +attire, and knowing that this must be Dr. Randall, +I felt a keen sense of relief.</p> +<p>For, bearing in mind the evident habits and +last night’s occupation of Silchester and de Cartienne, +I had begun to wonder somewhat apprehensively +what manner of man the master of such +pupils might be. Now I felt sure that the idea +which had first occurred to me had been the correct +one, and that the doings of the night before were +carried on altogether under the rose. The man +James had all the appearance of a servant whom +it would be easy to bribe. This without doubt had +been done.</p> +<p>“Perhaps they haven’t lived all their lives in +the country, sir, as I have,” I answered. “I have +always been used to getting up early.”</p> +<p>“So you are my new pupil?” he said. “Well, +Mr. Morton, I’m very pleased to see you, and I +have an idea that we shall get on very well together. +I was going to walk down to the sea. Will you +come with me?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div> +<p>I followed him along the tortuous path to the +shore, and on the way he questioned me about +my acquirements, putting me through a sort of +<i>vivâ-voce</i> examination, the result of which appeared +to satisfy him.</p> +<p>“This is quite a pleasant surprise to me,” he +said, as we turned back to the house. “You are +almost as advanced as de Cartienne and far more +so than Silchester. I suppose you mean to matriculate?”</p> +<p>I told him that I thought so, but he scarcely +seemed to hear. Apparently his mind had +wandered to some other subject and for nearly +a quarter of an hour he remained absorbed. I +learned afterwards that this was a habit of his.</p> +<p>With a start he came to himself, and, apologising +for his absent-mindedness, led the way back to +the house and into the breakfast-room. The +cloth was laid for four and the urn was hissing +upon the table; but there was no one else +down.</p> +<p>“Is neither Lord Silchester nor Mr. de Cartienne +up yet, James?” inquired Dr. Randall.</p> +<p>James believed not, but would ascertain. In a +few moments he returned.</p> +<p>“Lord Silchester desires me to say that he was +reading late last night, sir, and has overslept himself; +but he will be down as soon as possible,” +James announced solemnly.</p> +<p>Remembering that James had been in attendance +upon us in de Cartienne’s rooms last night, +I thought that this was rather cool. But it was +no concern of mine and I held my peace.</p> +<p>Dr. Randall frowned slightly and looked vexed.</p> +<p>“It appears to me that Silchester does most of +his reading at night,” he remarked. “I could wish +that the results of it were a little more apparent. +And Mr. de Cartienne, James? Has he overslept +himself, too?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div> +<p>“Mr. de Cartienne will be here immediately, sir,” +the man announced.</p> +<p>We began breakfast. When we were about +half-way through the meal, the door opened and +de Cartienne appeared. He cast an apprehensive +glance at me, and then, seeing that Dr. Randall +greeted him as usual, looked relieved.</p> +<p>Presently the doctor left the table, bidding us +join him in the study in half an hour. Directly +the door had closed de Cartienne leaned back in +his chair and laughed softly to himself.</p> +<p>“Whatever made you get up so early?” he +asked, looking at me curiously. “Gave me quite +a turn when I heard that you were down and alone +with Grumps; and Cis was in an awful funk. We +were afraid that you might let out something about +last night—accidentally, of course; and then there +would have been the deuce to pay and no mistake. +James, take my plate and bring me a brandy-and-soda. +Take care the doctor doesn’t see you.”</p> +<p>“Whose servant is James?” I asked, as he disappeared—“yours +or the doctor’s?”</p> +<p>“The doctor imagines that he’s his, I suppose; +but he gets a lot more from Cis and me than Grumps +pays him,” de Cartienne explained carelessly. “I +knew him before he came here, and got him to +apply for the situation by promising to double his +wages.”</p> +<p>“And the advantages?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Obvious enough, I should think. You’ve seen +some of them already, and you’ll see some more +before you’ve been here long.”</p> +<p>“I daresay. Perhaps it would be as well for +me to tell you, de Cartienne, that what I have +seen I don’t like.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div> +<p>“Very likely not,” he answered carelessly. “I +thought directly I saw you that you were a bit of +a prig—I beg your pardon, I should say, rather +strait-laced. Still, I don’t suppose you’ll think it +worth your while to interfere. You can go your +way and Cis and I can go ours.”</p> +<p>“That would make it a little dull for me,” I +said slowly. “Perhaps I am not quite so strait-laced +as you seem to think. I suppose you would +teach me how to play cards, if I desired to learn?”</p> +<p>“Oh, certainly! And how to use this also,” he +remarked, drawing a latchkey from his pocket and +swinging it carelessly backwards and forwards.</p> +<p>“I think I will learn, then,” I answered. “After +all, this place would be ghastly dull if I didn’t do +as you fellows do.”</p> +<p>He looked at me searchingly out of his keen +dark eyes, but I sipped my coffee leisurely and +seemed to be quite unconscious of his scrutiny. +Apparently he was satisfied, for I saw the hard +lines of his mouth relax a little and he smiled—a +disagreeable smile of contemptuous triumph.</p> +<p>“I’ve no doubt you’ll prove an apt pupil,” he +remarked. “Have you finished? If so, we’ll go +and have a cigarette in my room before we start +work with Grumps.”</p> +<p>“Does the doctor allow smoking?” I asked.</p> +<p>“To tell you the truth, Morton, we’ve never +asked him. What the eye doesn’t see, the heart +doesn’t grieve over, you know. We go on that +principle, and smoke in our rooms with the doors +shut and windows open. Come along!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div> +<h2 id="c29">CHAPTER XXIX. +<br /><span class="small">A DINNER-PARTY SUB ROSA.</span></h2> +<p>In less than a week’s time I was master of the +state of affairs at Borden Tower. Dr. Randall, +with the best possible intentions, was the worst +possible man that could have been chosen for the +guardianship of two such pupils as Lord Silchester +and Leonard de Cartienne. He was a +scholar and a pedant, utterly unsuspicious and +ignorant of the ways of the world, himself so +truthful and honourable that he could scarcely +have imagined deceit possible in others, and certainly +not in his own wards. Of the servants, +James and his wife were the only ones in authority, +and they were the tools of de Cartienne.</p> +<p>The latter I could not quite understand. The +only thing about him perfectly clear was that +he was just the worst companion possible for +Silchester. For the rest, he was so clever that +his presence here at all as a pupil seemed unnecessary. +He appeared to be rich and he took a +deep interest of some sort in Cecil. Seemingly it +was a friendly interest, but of that I did not feel +assured. At any rate, it was an injurious association +for Cecil, and I determined to do everything in +my power to counteract it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div> +<p>To strike at once, to attempt to show him the +folly of the courses into which he was being +led, I saw would be futile. I must have time +and opportunity. Any violent measures in such +a case would be worse than useless. My only +course, obnoxious though it was, was to join them +in their pursuits and try to gain some sort of influence +over Cecil, while I kept him as far as possible +from falling into further mischief.</p> +<p>Accordingly, on the first evening after my arrival +at Borden Tower, I was initiated into the mysteries +of poker and Prussian bank, and on subsequent +occasions I either joined them or looked on. The +result in the main was pretty much as I had expected. +de Cartienne won always when the stakes +were very large, and Lord Silchester when they +were scarcely worth having.</p> +<p>The earlier part of the day was by far the +pleasanter to me. In the morning we worked with +Dr. Randall; in the afternoon we always walked +or rode—in either case, a visit to the “Rose and +Crown” was an invariable part of the programme—and +in the evening, after dinner, we were supposed +to read until ten o’clock, although the manner in +which we really spent that portion of the day was +far less profitable.</p> +<p>I had intended paying a special visit to Miss +Milly Hart on my own account; but either by +accident or design—at the time I was not sure +which—de Cartienne always seemed to frustrate +my plans. Even to myself I would not acknowledge +that I had any other motive save pure curiosity; +but I was still determined by some means +or other to see a photograph of the missing Mr. +Hart. The strange disappearance of the one in +the sitting-room at the inn—it had never been +found—puzzled me, and whenever I caught myself +thinking of the incident, it was always in connection +with Leonard de Cartienne. It seemed very absurd, +when I considered the matter calmly, but nevertheless +I could not escape from it. It haunted +me, as ideas sometimes will.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div> +<p>One afternoon, about two months after my +arrival at Borden Towers, Cecil and I were reading +together in the study—or, rather, I was endeavouring +to encourage one of his rare fits of industry by +helping him through a stiff page of Livy—when +the door opened suddenly and de Cartienne entered +with an open telegram in his hand. Seeing me, he +stopped short and frowned.</p> +<p>“Hallo, Len! What’s up?” Cecil exclaimed. +“What have you got there? A telegram?”</p> +<p>de Cartienne nodded and, after a moment’s +hesitation, handed it over.</p> +<p>“It’s from Fothergill,” he explained. “He is +coming over to-night, and wants us to dine with +him.”</p> +<p>“Should like to awfully,” Cecil said, “but I +don’t see how we can. Old Grumps wouldn’t let +us go, of course, and I don’t see how we can manage +it without his knowing.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you? Well, I do,” de Cartienne remarked +drily. “Grumps is going over to Belscombe +this evening to take the chair at the literary +society there. He’ll have to dine at six and leave +at a quarter to seven. I know that, because I +heard him give his orders. That will leave us +plenty of time to get down into the town by eight +o’clock; and we shall be all right for coming back, +of course.”</p> +<p>“That’s capital!” declared Cecil, shutting up +his Livy with a bang. “We will have our revenge +on old Fothergill to-night. Just what I’ve been +looking forward to.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I +fancy. Fothergill is a bit too good for us. I shan’t +be very keen on cards to-night, I can tell you. I +lost more money than I cared about last time he +was here.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div> +<p>Cecil laughed carelessly.</p> +<p>“You didn’t lose as much as I did,” he remarked. +“But, then, Fothergill had all the luck. I never +remember such a run of trumps as he held in that +last deal; and you played villainously, you know—gave +him no end of tricks.”</p> +<p>The very faintest suspicion of a smile—an evil +smile it was—trembled on de Cartienne’s lips, and +he turned away towards the window as though +to hide it.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t in very good form that night,” he +acknowledged. “I must make up for it to-night, +if we can get Fothergill to give us our revenge.”</p> +<p>Cecil drummed upon the table with his fingers +and raised his eyebrows slightly.</p> +<p>“He can’t very well refuse if we ask for it, can +he?”</p> +<p>“I suppose not,” de Cartienne answered, lounging +across the room towards the door. “I’ll go +and see James and let him know that we shall +want the latchkey.”</p> +<p>“All right. And I say, Len,” Cecil continued, +“we must take Morton with us, of course.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne turned round with an angry frown +upon his dark face.</p> +<p>“I scarcely see how that would be possible,” +he said stiffly. “I think it would be taking rather +a liberty with Fothergill. He only asks us two.”</p> +<p>In other circumstances I should promptly have +refused to be one of the party, especially as the +invitation appeared to come from a friend of de +Cartienne’s. But the darkening shade which I +had seen flash across de Cartienne’s face reawakened +all my suspicions with regard to him and I instantly +determined that, by some means or other, I would +go. His evident reluctance to invite me only +strengthened my intention, so, although he looked +at me as if expecting to hear me express my +indifference as to whether I went or not, I purposely +refrained from doing anything of the sort.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div> +<p>“Oh, that’s all rot!” Cecil protested. “We +can’t go off and leave Morton boxed up here by +himself.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose Morton would care much +about it,” said de Cartienne sullenly.</p> +<p>“On the contrary, I should enjoy it very much +indeed,” I interposed; “although, of course, I +don’t wish to go if you think that your friend would +object,” I added blandly. “It’s rather dull here +by oneself.”</p> +<p>“Of course it is! Morton, old chap, you shall +go with us, never fear!” Cecil declared vigorously. +“Tell you what, Len, if you won’t do the agreeable +and make things right with Fothergill—as +you can, if you like, of course—I shan’t go, so there! +Which is it to be—both or neither?”</p> +<p>“Both, of course,” de Cartienne answered, +with as good grace as possible. “I shouldn’t +have thought Morton would have cared about it, +that’s all. Be ready punctually at half-past seven, +you men.”</p> +<p>“All right!” exclaimed Cecil, delighted at +getting his own way for a change. “Good old +Len! Morton, pitch that beastly Livy into the +drawer and come and change your things. We’ll +have some fun to-night!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div> +<h2 id="c30">CHAPTER XXX. +<br /><span class="small">ECARTÉ WITH MR. FOTHERGILL.</span></h2> +<p>At a little before eight o’clock de Cartienne, Cecil, +and I presented ourselves at the bar of the “Bull” +Hotel, and inquired for Mr. Fothergill. We were +shown at once by a waiter into a small private +sitting-room, brilliantly illuminated and unmistakably +cosy. Under the chandelier was a small +round table glittering with plate and flowers; and, +standing upon the hearthrug, critically surveying +it, was a middle-aged, dapper-looking little man, +in well-cut evening clothes, with a white camellia +in his buttonhole.</p> +<p>His hair was slightly tinged with grey, but his +moustache was still jet-black and elaborately curled +and waxed. His forehead was low and his full +red lips and slightly hooked nose gave him something +of a Jewish appearance. He had just missed +being handsome, and, similarly, had just missed +being good form; at least, so it seemed to me +from my first rapid survey, and I did not afterwards +change my opinion.</p> +<p>Directly we entered the room he moved forward +to meet us, with a smile which revealed a very +fine set of teeth. I watched him closely as he +noted the addition to the party, but he betrayed +no surprise or annoyance. On the contrary, when +Cecil had introduced me as his friend and fellow-pupil +at Borden Tower, he welcomed me with a +courtesy which was a little effusive. On the whole, +I decided that his manners were in his favour.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div> +<p>There was some casual conversation, an explanation +rather more elaborate than seemed to +me necessary of his flying visit to Little Drayton, +and then dinner was announced. Everything had +evidently been carefully ordered and prepared +and was of the best. Mr. Fothergill, whatever +his shortcomings, made a capital host; and his +talk, though a trifle slangy and coarse at times, +was amusing in the extreme. Altogether, the +dinner was a success in every respect save one. For +four men, two of whom were under twenty, there +was a great deal too much wine drunk.</p> +<p>I think I scarcely noticed it until the cloth was +removed and dessert placed upon the table. Then +a curious sense of exhilaration in my own spirits +warned me to be careful and I looked round at +once at the others.</p> +<p>Cecil sat directly opposite to me and I saw at +a glance how it was with him. His hair, which +he always kept rather long, but carefully parted, +was disarranged and untidy; his neat tie had +become crumpled and had slipped up on one +side; his eyes were sparkling, as though with +some unusual excitement, and there was a glow +of colour in his cheeks almost hectic in its intensity.</p> +<p>At the head of the table our host was still smiling +and debonair, looking as though he had been drinking +nothing stronger than water; and opposite +to him de Cartienne was leaning back in his chair +with a faint tinge of colour in his olive cheeks +and a peculiar glitter in his dark eyes which was +anything but pleasant to look upon. Altogether, +the appearance of the trio was like a cold douche +to me and brought me swiftly back to my former +watchfulness. I felt instinctively there was mischief +brewing.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div> +<p>“I say, Fothergill, let’s have a hand at cards!” +Cecil exclaimed, breaking a momentary silence. +“You owe us a revenge, you know! George! +didn’t you clean us out last time we played! +We’ll clean you out to-night, hanged if we won’t! +What shall it be?”</p> +<p>Mr. Fothergill shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.</p> +<p>“Cards—cards! It’s always cards!” he +answered lightly. “Can’t you think of something +else to do?”</p> +<p>“Yes; hang cards!” muttered de Cartienne.</p> +<p>“All right, I’m agreeable! But what the mischief +else is there to do in this dull hole?” asked +Cecil discontentedly.</p> +<p>“Oh, let’s have a chat and a few more glasses +of wine!” suggested Mr. Fothergill. “I’m so +lucky that I hate to play at cards. I always +win.”</p> +<p>“Do you?” remarked Cecil, a little pettishly. +“Well, look here, Fothergill! I’ll play you at +any game you like to-night and beat you—so +there! I challenge you! You owe me a revenge. +I want it!”</p> +<p>Mr. Fothergill looked a little bored.</p> +<p>“Of course, if you put it in that way,” he said, +“you leave me no alternative. But, mind, I +warn you beforehand, Silchester, I’m bound to +win! I don’t want to win your money—I had +enough last time I was here—but if we play I shall +win, whether I care about it or not. I’m in a +tremendous vein of luck just now.”</p> +<p>“We’ll see about that,” Cecil answered doggedly. +“Let’s ring for some cards.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div> +<p>“Or, rather, don’t let’s play here at all,” interrupted +de Cartienne. “The people are awfully +old-fashioned and particular and may want to turn +as out at eleven o’clock.”</p> +<p>“By George! we’ll go round to the ‘Rose and +Crown!’” exclaimed Cecil. “I haven’t been there +for two days. It’s a decent little place and we +can do what we like there,” he added, turning to +Mr. Fothergill. “You don’t mind, do you?”</p> +<p>“Not the least in the world!” declared our +host, rising and stretching himself. “Any place +will do for me. The sooner the better, if we are +going, though. I don’t want to be particularly +late.”</p> +<p>We all rose, despatched the waiter for our overcoats +and sallied out into the cool night air. After +the heated atmosphere of the room in which we +had been dining, the wintry breeze came as a sudden +swift tonic. At the corner of the street, looking +seaward, Cecil and I stopped simultaneously and +bared our heads.</p> +<p>“By George! how delicious a walk would be!” +he exclaimed, fanning himself with his cap. “I +say, Phil, old chap, suppose we bolt and do the +seashore as far as Litton Bay?”</p> +<p>“A splendid idea!” I exclaimed, taking him +at his word and linking his arm in mine. “Let’s +do it!”</p> +<p>He burst out laughing.</p> +<p>“Why, Phil, you know we can’t!” he said. +“I was only joking. Why, what on earth would +Fothergill think of us serving him such a trick +as that?”</p> +<p>“Oh, hang Fothergill!” I cried. “He only +wants to win your money. I wouldn’t play with +the fellow if I were you, Cecil. Can’t you see he’s +a cad?”</p> +<p>He looked at me, confounded.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div> +<p>“Why, hang it all,” he said, “how can you +refuse to play with a man after you’ve eaten his +dinner? Besides, can’t you see that it isn’t he +who wants to play at all? It was I who proposed +it and even then he wasn’t keen.”</p> +<p>“All beastly cunning!” I muttered angrily. +But I could say no more, for de Cartienne and +Mr. Fothergill had retraced their steps to look for +us and Cecil had started off towards them.</p> +<p>In a few moments we reached the “Rose and +Crown” and walked straight into the little parlour +at the back. Miss Milly was sitting there by herself +in semi-darkness, with a very disconsolate +face. She brightened up, however, at our entrance.</p> +<p>“All by yourself, Milly?” exclaimed Cecil, +letting go my arm and moving to her side. “In +tears, too, I believe! No news, I suppose?”</p> +<p>She shook her head sadly.</p> +<p>“None! I have almost lost hope,” she added.</p> +<p>Then she glanced questioningly at Mr. Fothergill, +and Cecil introduced him in an informal sort +of way and explained our visit.</p> +<p>“We’ve come to drink up all your wine and +have a quiet game at cards instead of staying all +the evening at the ‘Bull.’ You can put us in the +sitting-room out of the way, can’t you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” she answered eagerly. “How good +of you to come here! We’ve been dreadfully +quiet the last few days—scarcely anyone in at all, +and I have been so dull. Come this way, please. +I’m so glad I had the fire lit.”</p> +<p>She led us into the little sitting-room, where +we had gone to look for Mr. Hart’s photograph +on my first visit to the place. I pointed to the spot +where it had been.</p> +<p>“You haven’t found the portrait yet?” I remarked.</p> +<p>She shook her head and looked distressed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div> +<p>“Please don’t talk about it,” she said. “It +seems as though it must have been spirited away +and it makes me feel uncomfortable even to think +about it.”</p> +<p>We seated ourselves around the table and Mr. +Fothergill, producing two packs of cards from his +pocket, began to deal. At the end of an hour +Cecil had won nearly fifty pounds, I was as I had +started, and de Cartienne and Mr. Fothergill were +about equal losers.</p> +<p>“I’m getting sick of this!” I declared. “Leave +me out of this deal, will you?”</p> +<p>They assented and I crossed the room to where +Milly was sitting. Pretending to examine the +fancy-work upon which she was engaged, I bent +close over her.</p> +<p>“Miss Milly, I want to ask you a question, without +letting the others hear,” I said softly. “Do +you understand?”</p> +<p>She nodded. Her large blue eyes, upturned +to mine, were filled with innocent wonder.</p> +<p>I glanced towards the table. As I had expected, +de Cartienne was watching us, and I could see +that he was straining every nerve to overhear our +conversation.</p> +<p>“I think I’m about tired of it, too!” he exclaimed, +suddenly throwing down his cards and +rising; but Cecil laid his hand on his shoulder +and forced him down.</p> +<p>“Nonsense, man! You must play out your +hand, at any rate. Then you may leave off as +soon as you like.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne resumed his seat with evident +reluctance. I bent over Milly again.</p> +<p>“Has anyone else one of those photographs +of your father?” I asked. “Is there anyone +from whom you could borrow one?”</p> +<p>She shook her head and looked towards the +empty frame.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div> +<p>“That was the only one,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Where did he have them taken?”</p> +<p>“At Lawrence’s, just across the way.”</p> +<p>“And when?”</p> +<p>“About nine months ago, I think it was. Why +do you ask, Mr. Morton?” she added anxiously.</p> +<p>“I will tell you another time,” I answered, in +a low tone.</p> +<p>I glanced towards the table as I said this and +was just in time to see de Cartienne bend over +towards Cecil and whisper something in his ear. +The latter looked round at us at once.</p> +<p>“You two seem to have found something interesting +to talk about,” he remarked, glancing +towards Milly as though requiring an explanation.</p> +<p>“We haven’t,” she answered, with a sigh.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton was just asking me—— Oh, Mr. +Morton, you’re treading on my foot!”</p> +<p>I withdrew my foot and tried the effect of a +warning glance, but it was of no avail.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton was asking me,” she continued, +“whether I had not another of those photographs.”</p> +<p>“And have you—has anyone?” interrupted +de Cartienne, fixing his piercing black eyes upon +her.</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“No; but perhaps I can get some. They were +taken at Lawrence’s and I suppose he has the +negative.”</p> +<p>I glanced quickly at de Cartienne. He seemed +profoundly uninterested and was trying to build +a house of the cards he had thrown down. Either +he must be a perfect actor, or my vague suspicions +were very ill-founded at that moment. I could +not decide which.</p> +<p>“Had enough cards, Cis?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“Not I. We’ll leave you out for a bit, though. +Fothergill and I are going to play ecarté.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div> +<p>de Cartienne shrugged his shoulders and threw +himself on the sofa.</p> +<p>“I pity you, then,” he said drily. “You’ll +soon see the back of that little pile of winnings. +Fothergill’s a bit too good for you.”</p> +<p>“Well, we shall see,” Cecil answered, laughing +confidently. “I’m not a bad hand at ecarté +myself.”</p> +<p>They began to play. Presently de Cartienne +left the room and returned with two glasses in +his hand.</p> +<p>“Have a lemon-squash, Morton?” he asked +carelessly. “There’s only a drop of whisky in it.”</p> +<p>I accepted, for I was thirsty, and half emptied +at a draught the tumbler which he handed me. +As I put down the glass I caught a grim smile on +de Cartienne’s sallow face. But what it meant +I could not tell, although it made me strangely +uneasy.</p> +<p>I watched the play for a few minutes and, to +my surprise, Cecil was still winning. Then gradually +a powerful, overmastering sleepiness crept +over me. I tried to stave it off by walking +about, by talking to Milly, by concentrating my +thoughts upon the play. It was useless. I felt +my eyes closing and the sounds and voices in the +room grew dimmer and less distinct. For a while +I remained in a semi-conscious state—half awake +and half asleep—by sheer force of will. But in +the end I was conquered. A mist hung before +my eyes and all sound died away. I fell asleep.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div> +<h2 id="c31">CHAPTER XXXI. +<br /><span class="small">A STARTLING DISCOVERY.</span></h2> +<p>When I awoke it was with the dulled senses and +aching head which usually follow either a drugged +sleep or an unnaturally heavy one. I sat up on +the sofa, rubbing my eyes and staring around +in blank surprise. Daylight was streaming in +through the chinks of the drawn blinds, but the +gas was still burning with a dull, sickly light.</p> +<p>The table betrayed all the signs of an all-night +orgie. Several packs of cards were lying strewn +over the crumpled, ash-scattered cloth. There +were half-a-dozen tumblers—one nearly full, another +broken into pieces—and several empty soda-water +bottles lay on the floor.</p> +<p>But the most ghastly sight of all was Cecil’s +face. He sat on a chair drawn up to the table, +his chin fallen upon his folded arms, dark rims +under his eyes, and without a single vestige of +colour in his ashen face. There was no one else +in the room.</p> +<p>I sprang to my feet and hurried to his side.</p> +<p>“Cecil! Cecil!” I cried. “What’s the matter, +old chap? Wake up, for Heaven’s sake, and +tell me what has happened!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div> +<p>He pulled himself together and struggled to his +feet. Then he looked round the room and finally +into my anxious face, with an odd little laugh, +strained and unnatural.</p> +<p>“I’ve about done it this time,” he said. “By +George! Let’s clear out of this before Milly comes +down. I shouldn’t like her to know that we’ve +been here all night. Poor little girl! She’d never +forgive herself for letting us play here at all.”</p> +<p>“Where are the others?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Fothergill has gone back to his hotel and +Leonard went with him. I said I’d wake you and +we’d follow directly, but I think I must have been +dozing.”</p> +<p>“We must go, and at once,” I said, “or we +shall never be back before the doctor gets down. +Come, Cecil! Don’t tell me anything yet.”</p> +<p>I linked my arm in his and drew him out of the +room. We crept softly down the passage and +out at the back door. I was afraid to ask him +questions and he seemed in no hurry to disclose +what had happened, so we hurried along in silence, +Cecil baring his head to the strong sea-breeze +which blew in our teeth when we had left the town +behind us and had all the effect of a strong, invigorating +tonic.</p> +<p>At every step I felt my head grow clearer, and, +glancing at Cecil, I saw the colour creeping back +into his cheeks with every breath he took of the +salt air which came sweeping across the sandy, +barren country between us and the sea.</p> +<p>When at last we reached our destination and +had cautiously made our way up to the back entrance, +he hesitated. Opposite to us was the pine-plantation, +which led down to the sea, and between +the thickly growing black trunks a curious light +shone and glistened. I had lived all my life in the +country and knew well what it was, but Cecil +turned round and watched it with amazement.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div> +<p>“Look, Phil!” he whispered. “What’s that +light? It seems as though the plantation were +on fire!”</p> +<p>“It’s the sunrise,” I answered. “Shall we go +and see it?”</p> +<p>He nodded, and we stole across the lawn, through +the wicket-gate and along the narrow, winding +path, thickly strewn with dried leaves and fir-cones, +down towards the shore. We were just in +time to see the final effect. A rim of the sun had +already crept into sight, casting brilliant, scintillating +reflections upon the dancing waves, and +the eastern sky was tinged from the arc of the +heavens to the horizon with streaks of brilliantly-hued, +fantastically-shaped cloudlets, strewn upon a +background of the lightest transparent blue.</p> +<p>Far off the sails of a few fishing-smacks glittered +like gossamer wings upon a fairy ocean; and farther +away still, where the banks of orange and azure +clouds seemed to sink into a blazing sea of polished +glass, the white funnel of a passing steamer shone +like a pillar of fire.</p> +<p>It was a sight so new to Cecil that he stood spellbound, +with a look of wondering awe upon his +pale face. And it was not until we had gazed to +the full and were retracing our steps in silence +through the plantation that I cared to speak of +the events of the night.</p> +<p>“Philip,” he said solemnly, when I mentioned +the subject, “there’s no one to blame for this +night’s work but myself. To do Leonard and +that fellow Fothergill justice, they both continually +urged me to leave off playing, but I wouldn’t. It +seemed as though the luck must change at every +deal and so I went on, and on, and on. What a +fool I was!”</p> +<p>“And the result?” I asked anxiously.</p> +<p>“I owe Fothergill between six and seven hundred +pounds and I haven’t as many shillings.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div> +<p>I stopped short and looked at him in horror.</p> +<p>“Seven hundred pounds! Why, Cis, how on +earth came you to play up to that figure and with +a man you know so little of?”</p> +<p>“Oh, the man’s all right—at least, he’s no +sharper, if you mean that!” Cecil answered +doggedly. “It was my own fault altogether. +He’s a better player than I am, and, of course, +won.”</p> +<p>“But he ought not to have gone on,” I protested. +“I don’t know much about such matters, +but I feel sure that a gentleman wouldn’t sit down +and win seven hundred pounds from a boy of your +age. You’re not eighteen yet, you know, Cis.”</p> +<p>“I don’t quite see what age has got to do with +it,” he answered gloomily. “As regards Fothergill, +I don’t feel particularly sweet on him just +now, as you may imagine; but it wasn’t his fault +at all. I made him go on, and, you know, the +winner is a great deal in the hands of the loser in +a case of that sort. He kept on wanting to go +and he went at last. I should have gone on playing +till now, I think, if he hadn’t.”</p> +<p>“When does he expect you to settle up?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“I’ve got to see him this afternoon. I say, +you’ll come down with me, old chap, won’t you?” +he pleaded. “I shall have to ask for a little time, +of course.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ll go with you,” I promised. “How +shall you try to raise the money?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he acknowledged +gloomily. “I’ve overdrawn my allowance already +several hundreds. The mater is as poor as a church +mouse and I simply daren’t ask my Uncle Ravenor, +though he’s as rich as Crœsus. He might +disinherit me.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</div> +<p>We reached the house and stole softly up the +back stairs to our rooms. Cecil threw himself, +dressed as he was, upon the bed. But I was in no +humour for sleep, and after a cold bath I dressed +and got downstairs in time for breakfast. To my +surprise, de Cartienne was in the morning-room, +carefully dressed as usual and with no sign in his +appearance or manner of having been out all night. +He was chatting lightly with Dr. Randall about +some trivial matter connected with the meeting +which the latter had attended the previous evening.</p> +<p>“Cecil is late again,” remarked the doctor, +with a frown, as we began breakfast. “James, go +to Lord Silchester’s room and ask him how long +he will be.”</p> +<p>James retired and reappeared in a few minutes +with a grave face.</p> +<p>“Lord Silchester desires me to beg you to excuse +him this morning,” was the message which he brought +back. “He has a very bad headache and has +had no sleep.”</p> +<p>Dr. Randall, who was one of the kindest-hearted +men breathing, looked compassionate.</p> +<p>“Dear me!” he said. “I’m very sorry to hear +that! Certainly we will excuse him. Will he +have anything sent up?”</p> +<p>“A cup of tea, sir, only. I have ordered it in +the kitchen.”</p> +<p>“Poor fellow! It’s strange how he suffers +from these attacks! I’m afraid he can’t be very +strong,” remarked the doctor absently, as he buttered +himself a piece of toast.</p> +<p>de Cartienne and I exchanged glances, but we +said nothing.</p> +<p>Directly after breakfast the doctor took us into +the study and we began the morning’s labours. +It happened that, in working out a series of algebraic +questions, de Cartienne and I used a great +deal of paper, and when the doctor looked for a +piece to explain the working of a rather stiff quadratic, +the rack was empty.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div> +<p>“Have either of you a piece of wastepaper in +your pockets?” he asked. “The back of an +envelope, or anything will do. I see it is lunch-time, +so it is scarcely worth while sending for any.”</p> +<p>I felt in all my pockets, but they were empty. +de Cartienne drew an envelope from his pocket +and handed it to the doctor. The moment he had +parted with it, however, I saw him give a sudden +start and he seemed as though about to make an +effort to regain possession of it. But he was too +late, for the doctor was already fast covering it +with figures.</p> +<p>de Cartienne quitted his seat and stood looking +over his shoulder, probably hoping that I should +do the same. But I remained where I was, taking +care to manifest my interest in the problem by +asking frequent questions. The moment the doctor +had finished his rapid figuring and solved the +equation, I stretched out my hand for it eagerly.</p> +<p>“May I see it, sir?” I begged. “I fancy you’ve +made a mistake in the values.”</p> +<p>He handed it across the table at once, with a +quiet smile.</p> +<p>“I think not, Morton,” he said. “Examine it +for yourself.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne moved round to my side, with +nervously twitching lips and an ugly light in his +eyes.</p> +<p>“One moment, Morton,” he said. “I won’t +keep it longer.”</p> +<p>I laid a hand upon it, and pushed him back +with the other.</p> +<p>“My turn first, please. Isn’t that so, Dr. +Randall?”</p> +<p>He nodded genially, not noticing the suppressed +excitement in de Cartienne’s manner.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div> +<p>“Certainly. I’m glad to find you both so interested +in it. Let me know about this mistake +at lunch-time, Morton,” he added, smiling. “I’m +going for a stroll round the garden now, and I +should advise you to do the same. We’ve had a +close morning’s work.”</p> +<p>He rose and left the room. de Cartienne +watched the door close and then turned to me.</p> +<p>“Morton,” he said quickly, “I want that envelope. +There are some memoranda on the reverse +side which concern my private affairs. I +need not say more, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Keep your hands to yourself, de Cartienne!” +I answered, shaking him off. “I shall not give +you the envelope till I have examined it.”</p> +<p>“You cad!” he hissed out, his voice shaking +with fury. “How dare you attempt to pry into +my private affairs? Give me the envelope, or +I’ll——”</p> +<p>“You’ll what?” I answered, standing up, putting +the envelope in my pocket and facing him. “Look +here, de Cartienne, I’m not going to attempt to +justify my conduct to you. On the face of it, it +may seem to be taking a mean advantage, but I +don’t care a fig about that. I’ve made up my +mind what to do, and all the blustering in the world +won’t make me alter it. I am going to look at the +reverse side of this envelope. You——”</p> +<p>I ceased and with good reason, for, with a sudden, +panther-like spring, he had thrown himself upon +me, and his slender white fingers were grasping +at my throat. It was a brief struggle, but a desperate +one, for he clung to me with a strength +which seemed altogether out of proportion to his +slim body and long, thin arms.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div> +<p>I was in no mood for trifling, however, and, +suddenly putting forth all my strength, I seized +him by the middle, and sent him backwards, with +a crash of fallen furniture, into a corner of the +room. Before he could recover himself, I drew +out the envelope from my pocket and looked +at it.</p> +<p>There was nothing on the reverse side but the +address and the postmark. They were quite sufficient +for me, however. The postmark was Mellborough +and the handwriting was the peculiar, +cramped handwriting of Mr. Marx.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div> +<h2 id="c32">CHAPTER XXXII. +<br /><span class="small">FORESTALLED.</span></h2> +<p>For a full minute neither of us moved. Then +de Cartienne rose slowly to his feet and walked +to the door.</p> +<p>“Here, take this!” I said, holding out the +envelope towards him. “The private memoranda +upon it may be useful to you.”</p> +<p>He snatched it from my fingers and tore it into +atoms. Then he walked quietly away, with an +evil look upon his face.</p> +<p>At luncheon Cecil appeared, white as a ghost, +and looking anxious and disturbed, as well he +might. Dr. Randall was quite uneasy at his appearance, +and acquiesced at once when I asked for permission +to take him for a drive during the afternoon. +de Cartienne sat silent throughout the meal, +except for a few sympathising sentences to Cecil, +and left the room at the first opportunity.</p> +<p>At three o’clock my dog cart was brought round +and Cecil and I drove away. We scarcely spoke +until we were in the streets of Drayton, and then, +rousing myself, I bade him pluck his spirits up, +and assured him vaguely that I would see him +through it somehow. He thanked me, but seemed +very despondent.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div> +<p>We went to the “Bull,” and inquired for Mr. +Fothergill. He was in the coffee-room, we were +told, and there we found him lunching.</p> +<p>“So good of you fellows to come and look me +up!” he exclaimed, welcoming us cordially. +“Waiter, a bottle of Pommery. Don’t shake your +head now, Lord Silchester. It’ll do you good. +I can see you’re a bit seedy this morning.”</p> +<p>Cecil smiled feebly.</p> +<p>“I’m not quite up to the mark,” he admitted, +“Just a bit of a headache—that’s all. I say, +Mr. Fothergill,” he went on, plunging at once +<i>in medias res</i>, “I’m awfully sorry, but I shan’t +be able to settle up with you to-day.”</p> +<p>“Settle up with me!” repeated Mr. Fothergill, +putting down his glass untasted, and looking surprised. +“I don’t understand you. Settle what +up?”</p> +<p>“Why, the money I lost last night,” Cecil explained.</p> +<p>Mr. Fothergill leaned back in his chair and +looked into Cecil’s white, anxious face with an +astonishment which, if simulated, was certainly +admirably done. Then he broke into a little laugh.</p> +<p>“My dear Lord Silchester,” he said energetically, +“you can’t for one moment suppose that I expected +anything of the sort. Why, I scarcely +took our play seriously at all, and I should very +much prefer that we said no more about it. Pray +don’t be offended,” he added, hastily, for the sensitive +colour had flushed into Cecil’s cheeks. “I’ll +tell you how we’ll arrange it. You shall give me +your I O U’s and pay them just as it is convenient. +Any time within the next five or six years will do. +But as to taking a sum like that from a b—a man +who is not of age—why, it’s absurd! I feel rather +ashamed of myself for having been so fortunate.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div> +<p>A look of intense relief had stolen into Cecil’s +face, but the reaction was a little too sudden. He +left us abruptly and stood looking out of the window +for a minute or two. Then he returned, smiling, +and held out his hand to Mr. Fothergill.</p> +<p>“Mr. Fothergill, you’re a brick!” he declared +emphatically.</p> +<p>“Not another word, please!” Mr. Fothergill +answered, smiling. “Now, look here, Lord Silchester,” +he added. “Drink this glass of wine.”</p> +<p>Cecil obeyed him promptly.</p> +<p>“And now you’ll be so good as to have some +luncheon with me,” Mr. Fothergill continued. +“I don’t care what you say. I don’t believe you’ve +eaten anything to-day. Waiter, bring me those +other cutlets I ordered and the game-pie, and—yes, +I think we might venture on another bottle +of wine.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton, you must join us. Clever animal +of yours—that one outside,” he rattled on lightly; +“but I’d have her taken out for an hour, if I were +you. It’s too cold for her to be standing about. +Shall I ring the ostler’s bell and tell him? And +then, if you will, you might drive me down to the +station, when you’re ready to go. My train leaves +a little before five.”</p> +<p>Whatever my former opinion of Mr. Fothergill +had been, I felt bound to change it now. He was +showing tact, good-nature, and a decidedly gentlemanly +spirit. I had, in truth, eaten very little +lunch at Borden Tower and Cecil none at all; +and we proceeded to make good the omission.</p> +<p>When, an hour or two later, we left Mr. Fothergill +at the station, we were both of one mind concerning +him, and we had both promised to accept +his cordial invitation to run up to town and see +him before long.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div> +<p>On our way home Cecil stopped at the “Rose and +Crown,” and went in to make his peace with Milly. +I promised to call for him and went on to the photographer’s +up the street. Mr. Lawrence appeared +at once from a back-room, which, I presume, was +the studio, wiping his hands upon a not particularly +clean-looking towel.</p> +<p>I paid him in advance for a dozen photographs, +promising to come in and have them taken next +time I was in the town. Then I explained what +was really the purport of my visit: Had he preserved +the negative of the photograph which he +had taken of Mr. Hart?</p> +<p>Certainly he had, he assured me. I told him +about the date and his head and shoulders disappeared +into a cupboard. In a few minutes he +withdrew them and called out sharply for his +assistant.</p> +<p>“Fenton,” he exclaimed angrily, “you’ve been +at this cupboard!”</p> +<p>Fenton, who was a tall, ungainly lad of most +unprepossessing appearance, shook his head.</p> +<p>“I haven’t been near it, sir!” he declared.</p> +<p>Mr. Lawrence looked incredulous.</p> +<p>“There is a negative missing!” he said sharply; +“No one else could have meddled with it!”</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything about it,” the boy +answered doggedly. “Perhaps it’s upstairs.”</p> +<p>Mr. Lawrence abandoned his search.</p> +<p>“If you’ll excuse me a moment, sir,” he said, +“I’ll have a look among the old ones.”</p> +<p>I nodded and he closed the door and disappeared. +Fenton would have gone, too, but I stopped him.</p> +<p>“Look here!” I said quickly; “see this?”</p> +<p>I held out a five-pound note.</p> +<p>He opened his eyes wide and looked at it +longingly.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s yours if you’ll tell me what you’ve +done with the negative of Mr. Hart’s photograph. +Quick!”</p> +<p>He hesitated.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</div> +<p>“Should you split to the governor?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I sold it for a sovereign to a young +gentleman what inquired for it a few minutes ago. +A thin, dark chap he is. I don’t know his name, +but I’ve seen him driving with you.”</p> +<p>I threw him the note and left the place. I had +now no doubt about the matter at all. de Cartienne +had stolen the photograph of Mr. Hart +from the “Rose and Crown,” and had bought the +negative. Why?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div> +<h2 id="c33">CHAPTER XXXIII. +<br /><span class="small">A GLEAM OF LIGHT.</span></h2> +<p>After leaving the photographer’s shop, I walked +slowly across the little market-place and down +the narrow street towards the “Rose and +Crown.” My recent discovery had given me a +good deal to think about, or rather, had afforded +me matter for a variety of wild conjectures, but +I could follow none of them to a very satisfactory +conclusion. I was like a man groping +in the dark. I had stumbled upon several +very extraordinary and inexplicable facts; but +what connection, if any, they had with one +another, or how to link them together, I could +not tell.</p> +<p>I have always been somewhat absent-minded +and, with my brain in such a whirl, it was +not a very remarkable thing that I took a +wrong turning. The moment I had discovered +it I stopped short and looked round. I was in +a little street that led past the back entrance of +the “Rose and Crown.” It was scarcely a public +thoroughfare.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div> +<p>I had already turned on my heel to retrace my +steps, when I saw two figures standing talking at +the back door of the inn. One I knew at a glance +to be Milly Hart. Her companion was standing +with his back to me, a muffler round his neck +and his cap slouched over his eyes. In the gloom +of the fast-falling twilight I did not at first recognise +him; but when he turned round with a +start at the sound of my approaching footsteps +and withdrew his arm with a sudden movement +from around his companion’s waist, something +in the motion and figure seemed familiar +to me.</p> +<p>My approach seemed to discompose them not +a little. Milly stepped back at once into the doorway +and disappeared; her companion, without +waiting to make any adieu, turned round and +walked swiftly away. As he crossed the street +to make use of the only exit from it—a narrow +passage leading through a court—I had a +better view of him. He kept his back to me as +much as possible and seemed to be using every +endeavour to escape recognition. But although +I could not be quite certain, I was pretty +sure that it was Leonard de Cartienne—de +Cartienne, who never missed an opportunity of +sneering at Milly’s innocent blue eyes and baby +face.</p> +<p>I turned back, and hurried round to the front +entrance of the “Rose and Crown.” In the parlour +I found Cecil and Milly sitting very close together +upon a sofa.</p> +<p>“Hallo, old chap, you haven’t been long!” +remarked Cecil, rising reluctantly.</p> +<p>“I should have been here before,” I answered, +looking steadily at Milly, “but I took a wrong +turning and got round the back of this place +somehow. Saw you, didn’t I, Miss Milly?” I +remarked.</p> +<p>She raised her eyebrows and looked at me wonderingly +out of her placid blue eyes.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div> +<p>“Me? Oh, no! I have only just come downstairs, +have I not, Cecil? It must have been one +of the maids.”</p> +<p>Milly and I exchanged a steady gaze, her eyes +meeting mine without drooping and her manner +betraying only a mild surprise. It was a revelation +to me, a lesson which I did not easily +forget.</p> +<p>“Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” I said, turning +away. “It was rather dark and no doubt I +was mistaken. Strange, too; I thought it was de +Cartienne with whom you were talking.”</p> +<p>Cecil laughed carelessly.</p> +<p>“My dear fellow, you must have been dreaming,” +he said; “de Cartienne has not been here +at all.”</p> +<p>“Ready, Cecil?” I asked, abandoning the +subject. “I think we’ve kept Bess waiting about +long enough.”</p> +<p>“I’ll come,” he replied, drawing on his gloves. +“I’ve scarcely had a moment with you, Milly, +though, have I? No news?”</p> +<p>She shook her head sadly and the big tears +stood in her eyes. There was no mistaking her +earnestness now.</p> +<p>“None about my father. My uncle and aunt +are coming to stay here. I expect them tonight.”</p> +<p>“Horrid nuisance that is!” remarked Cecil, +<i>sotto voce</i>. “Never mind, you won’t be so lonely, +little woman, will you? And you won’t have +so much to look after. I must take you for +a drive as soon as we get a fine, clear day; +that’ll bring some colour into your cheeks. Good-bye!”</p> +<p>She came to the door and watched us drive off. +Cecil took the reins and I climbed to his side, and, +folding my arms, sat for a while in gloomy silence. +Then suddenly a gleam of light, or what I hoped +might prove so, broke in upon me and I laid my +hand upon Cecil’s arm.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</div> +<p>“Pull up, old chap—quick!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>He did so, and looked at me wonderingly.</p> +<p>“Turn round and drive back again as fast as +you can,” I said, my voice trembling a little +with excitement; “I want to ask Milly Hart a +question.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div> +<h2 id="c34">CHAPTER XXXIV. +<br /><span class="small">DR. SCHOFIELD’S OPINION.</span></h2> +<p>In ten minutes we were in the streets of Little +Drayton again, and Cecil had brought the dog cart +to a standstill outside the “Rose and Crown.” He +would have gone in with me, but I begged him not +to. I jumped down and walked straight into the +little parlour. Milly was sitting there alone, gazing +absently into the fire. She looked up in surprise +at my sudden entrance, and half rose.</p> +<p>“Milly, I want to ask you a question,” I said, +going up to her side. “It’s about your father’s +disappearance.”</p> +<p>“Yes!” she exclaimed eagerly. “What is it? +Oh, do tell me quickly!”</p> +<p>“It’s only an idea. Did Mr. Hart ever suffer +from any brain disorder at any time? That’s all +I want to know. Has his mind always been quite +strong?”</p> +<p>She did not answer for a moment and my heart +beat fast. Looking at her closely, I could see that +the colour had flushed into her cheeks and there +was a troubled light in her eyes.</p> +<p>“He has had one or two severe illnesses,” she +admitted slowly; “brain fever once; and I’m +afraid he used to drink too much now and then. +The doctor told him that he must be very careful +not to excite himself.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div> +<p>“Who was the doctor and where does he live?” +I asked quickly.</p> +<p>“Dr. Schofield. He lives on the Lincoln Road, +about a mile away. Why have you asked me +this?” she added anxiously.</p> +<p>I evaded a direct reply.</p> +<p>“Never mind now,” I said. “If anything comes +of it, I will let you know.”</p> +<p>She tried to detain me with further questions, +but I hurried away and she did not follow me out +of the door.</p> +<p>“Cis,” I said, as I scrambled up to his side, “I +want you to go home by the Lincoln Road and +call at Dr. Schofield’s. It isn’t far out of the way.”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>“All right. You haven’t found out anything +about old Hart, have you? What was the question +you went back to ask Milly?”</p> +<p>“Only about her father’s health. No; I haven’t +found out anything. It’s only an idea of mine I +want to clear up.”</p> +<p>Cecil looked as though he thought I might have +told him what the idea was, but he said nothing. +In a few minutes he pulled up outside a neat, red-brick +house, which, as a shining brass plate indicated, +was Dr. Schofield’s abode.</p> +<p>The doctor was in and disengaged. He came +at once into the waiting-room, where I had been +shown—a respectable family practitioner, with intelligent +face and courteous manner.</p> +<p>I explained my position as an acquaintance of +Miss Hart’s, interested in the mysterious disappearance +of her father. It had occurred to me to make +inquiries as to the state of his health, or, rather, +his constitution, I added. Perhaps his prolonged +absence might be accounted for by sudden and +dangerous illness. Could Dr. Schofield give me any +information?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div> +<p>His manner was encouraging. He bade me take +a seat and went into the matter gravely.</p> +<p>“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I am rather +surprised that I have not been appealed to before. +In an ordinary case I should feel bound to maintain +a strict secrecy with regard to the ailments of my +patients, but this is different. As you have asked +me this question, I feel bound to tell you what I +would not otherwise divulge. Mr. Hart was my +patient on two several occasions during the last +two years for delirium tremens, and once within my +recollection he had a distinct touch of brain fever.”</p> +<p>“His mind would not be very strong, then?” I +remarked.</p> +<p>Dr. Schofield hesitated.</p> +<p>“He had a wonderful constitution,” he said +slowly—“a constitution of iron. In ordinary circumstances +I cannot bring myself to think that +he could suddenly and completely have lost his +reason. But supposing he had received some +severe shock, such as a railway accident, or something +of that sort, why, then it would be possible, +even probable, he might become a raving lunatic +in a moment.”</p> +<p>“And would his madness be incurable?”</p> +<p>“If properly treated, with a knowledge of his +past ailment—no,” answered Dr. Schofield; “but +if he were treated just like an ordinary madman +in a pauper lunatic asylum, he would probably +never recover. He would become worse and worse +and finally be incurable. I see two objections to +accepting any theory of this sort as accounting +for his disappearance,” the doctor continued, after +a short pause. “In the first place the shock would +have to be violent and unexpected, and this seems +improbable; in the next place, he would surely +have had some letter or something about him +which would have led to his identification!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_202">[202]</div> +<p>“If the shock were the result of foul play, these +would be destroyed,” I suggested.</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly; but whence the foul play? +Hart is known to have had only a few pounds +with him when he left.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he had something in his keeping more +valuable than money,” I remarked.</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“A secret.”</p> +<p>“Have you any grounds for such a belief?” the +doctor asked curiously.</p> +<p>I hesitated. In my own mind I believed that I +had; but for the present, at any rate, this was +best kept to myself. I answered quite truthfully, +however.</p> +<p>“I have made a few inquiries here and there,” +I said, “and I have heard it hinted that he had +some secret means of replenishing his purse. He has +been known more than once to leave here with +only a few sovereigns in his pocket and to come +back with his sovereigns turned into banknotes.”</p> +<p>“I remember hearing some such tale,” the doctor +remarked. “I’m afraid it is all rather vague, +though.”</p> +<p>“I’m very much obliged to you, Dr. Schofield,” +I assured him, rising to take my leave.</p> +<p>He followed me to the door and then returned +to his interrupted dinner. I mounted into the +dog cart and we were soon bowling through the +darkness towards Borden Tower.</p> +<p>“Get anything out of the old chap?” Cecil +asked.</p> +<p>“Not much. I’m just a little wiser than I was +before, that’s all. Beastly sorry to keep you waiting +so long!”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right! But I say, Phil,” he +added, “what is this idea of yours? You can +tell me, can’t you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div> +<p>“If it comes to anything, I will,” I assured him. +“But at present it is altogether too vague and +you would only laugh at it. Don’t ask me anything +more about it yet, there’s a good fellow.”</p> +<p>“You’re very close, all of a sudden,” he grumbled. +“Why can’t you tell me?”</p> +<p>“Because I’m afraid of your letting it out to +someone whom I don’t want to know anything +about it,” I answered.</p> +<p>He laughed.</p> +<p>“Ah, well, perhaps you’re right!” he said. +“I couldn’t keep anything back from Milly.”</p> +<p>I echoed his laugh, but held my peace. It was +not Milly alone from whom I wished my present +idea to be kept a secret. In fact, I had not +thought of Milly at all. I was only anxious that +de Cartienne should remain altogether in the dark +as to my clue; and for a remarkably good reason.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</div> +<h2 id="c35">CHAPTER XXXV. +<br /><span class="small">AN INVITATION.</span></h2> +<p>We drove straight into the courtyard, having no +groom with us and entered the house from the +back. As we passed the little room on the ground +floor given up for our sole use as a repository for +cricket-nets, fishing-tackle, guns, spare harness, +and such like appliances, I opened the door, intending +to hang my whip up. To my surprise +de Cartienne was there in an old coat, with his +sleeves turned up, cleaning a gun. He looked up +and greeted us as we entered.</p> +<p>“What a time you men have been! What have +you been up to in Little Drayton?”</p> +<p>“Oh, we had lunch with your friend Fothergill +and shacked about,” Cecil answered. “Tell you +what, Len, he’s a very decent fellow.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne was examining the lock of his gun +with great attention, and in the dusk I could not +catch his expression.</p> +<p>“Oh, Fothergill’s all right!” he answered. “You +didn’t find him very hungry for his winnings, did +you?”</p> +<p>“I should think not,” Cecil replied enthusiastically. +“Why, I believe he was actually annoyed +with himself for having won at all. I’ve given +him my I O U’s.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</div> +<p>“He’ll most likely tear them up,” de Cartienne +remarked. “He’s beastly rich and he can’t want +the money.”</p> +<p>“Where did you drop across him, Len?” asked +Cecil, seating himself upon a chest and lighting a +cigarette.</p> +<p>“He’s a friend of my governor’s. I’ve known +him ever since I was a kid,” de Cartienne answered +slowly. “There, I think that’ll do!” critically +looking at the gleaming muzzle which he held in +his hand.</p> +<p>“Why this sudden fit of industry?” inquired +Cecil, yawning. “Going to do any shooting?”</p> +<p>de Cartienne nodded and began deliberately +pulling the gun to pieces.</p> +<p>“Yes; I’ve had a long day indoors to-day +and I mean to make up for it by potting some +wild duck to-morrow. Hilliers told me that +he’d heard of some very fair sport round by +Rushey Ponds last week. You’d better come with +me.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, I’ll see,” Cecil answered. “I’m not +very keen on wild duck potting.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you been out all day, then, de Cartienne?” +I asked—“not even to Drayton?”</p> +<p>“Not outside the house,” he answered. “Do I +look like it?”</p> +<p>He pointed to his slippered feet, his old clothes, +and held up his hands, black with oil and grease, +I took in the details of his appearance, feeling a +little bewildered. It seemed barely possible that +he could have been in Little Drayton an hour +ago.</p> +<p>The dressing-bell rang out and we hurried off +to our rooms, for Dr. Randall, easy-going enough +in some things, was strictness itself with regard to +our punctuality at dinner-time. But no sooner +had I seen de Cartienne safely in his room than +I softly made my way downstairs again and crossed +the yard to the stables.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div> +<p>It was as I had expected. The stall in which +de Cartienne kept his mare was carefully closed, +but through the chinks I could see that a lamp +was burning inside.</p> +<p>I tried the door softly, but it was locked. Then +I knocked. There was no answer. Turning away, +I entered the next stall and, mounting a step-ladder, +looked over the partition.</p> +<p>I saw very much what I had expected to see—de +Cartienne’s thoroughbred mare splashed all +over with mud and still trembling with nervous +fatigue, and by her side Dick, the stable-boy, holding +a wet sponge in his hand and looking up at me +with a scared, disconsolate expression.</p> +<p>“Oh, it be you, be it, Muster Morton?” he exclaimed +rather sullenly.</p> +<p>I looked down at Diana.</p> +<p>“How came she in that exhausted condition?” +I asked. “And why have you locked the +door?”</p> +<p>Dick hesitated, and I tossed him a half-crown.</p> +<p>“The truth now, Dick,” I said. “And I won’t +let Mr. de Cartienne know that I’ve seen her.”</p> +<p>He brightened up at once and pocketed the half-crown.</p> +<p>“That’s kind o’ yer, sir!” he exclaimed, evidently +much relieved. “All I know, sir, is that +Muster de Cartienne he come in riding like mad +along the Drayton Road ’bout ’arf an hour ago, +and he says to me, ‘Dick, take Diana, lock her up +in the stable and don’t let no one know as she’s +been out. Just attend to her yourself and rub +her down carefully, for I’ve been obliged to ride +fast.’ And with that he guv me summut and hoff +he went into the ’ouse.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div> +<p>“Thank you, Dick,” I said, getting down from +the ladder, “that’s all I wanted to know.” And I +crossed the yard to the house again and hurried +upstairs to change my things.</p> +<p>We had two deliveries of letters at Borden Tower, +and just as we were leaving the dinner-table that +evening the late post arrived. There was a letter +for me, a somewhat unusual occurrence, and a +single glance at the arms and the bold, characteristic +handwriting set me longing to open it, for it was +from Mr. Ravenor. As soon as the cloth was +cleared I did so.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“My dear Philip,” it commenced, “I am thinking +of travelling for several years, perhaps for longer, +and should like to see you before I go. Come and +stay here for a few days. I am writing Dr. Randall +and also Cecil, who will accompany you. You +will leave Borden Tower to-morrow and I will +send to Mellborough to meet the 5.18. Bring some +clothes, as there will be some people stopping here.—Yours,</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="lr">“<span class="sc">Bernard Ravenor</span>.”</p> +</div> +<p>I looked up from the letter with a great sense of +relief and met Cecil’s delighted gaze.</p> +<p>“Hurrah, old chap!” he exclaimed, only half +under his breath. “Won’t we have a rare old +time?”</p> +<p>“Cave!” I whispered, for the doctor was looking +our way.</p> +<p>“More vacation,” he remarked, in a grumbling +tone, which was made up for, however, by a good-natured +smile. “Upon my word, I don’t know +how Mr. Ravenor imagines you’re ever going to +learn anything! However, I suppose you must +go.”</p> +<p>de Cartienne looked up inquiringly.</p> +<p>“We’re going to stay at Ravenor Castle for a +week,” Cecil explained. “We’re off to-morrow.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div> +<p>I leaned forward and watched de Cartienne’s +face intently. There was an expression in it which +I could not analyse. It might have been pleasure, +or apprehension, or indifference. Though I watched +him narrowly, I could not make up my mind whether +he was more dismayed or gratified at the prospect +of our visit.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div> +<h2 id="c36">CHAPTER XXXVI. +<br /><span class="small">A METAMORPHOSIS.</span></h2> +<p>It seemed almost as though some magical metamorphosis +had taken place within the walls of +Ravenor Castle. Directly we came in sight of it +we had the first intimation of its altered aspect. +Instead of the one or two solitary lights shining +above the dark woods, it seemed a very blaze of +illumination, and when we drew up at the great +front door the change was still mere apparent. +Liveried servants with powdered hair were moving +about the hall. From open doors there came the +sound of laughing voices, and even Mr. Ravenor’s +manner, as he came out to meet us, seemed +altered.</p> +<p>“Come in and have some tea here,” he said, +leading the way to one of the smaller rooms. “Your +mother is here, Cecil.”</p> +<p>We followed him into Lady Silchester’s favourite +apartment. Several ladies and one or two men +were lounging on divans and in easy chairs around +a brightly-blazing fire. Lady Silchester, who was +presiding at a green-and-gold Sèvres tea-service, +welcomed us both with a languid smile.</p> +<p>“My dear Cis, how you have grown!” she said, +leaning back in her chair and leisurely sipping her +tea. “I declare I had no idea that I had a son +your height, sir! Had you, Lord Penraven?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div> +<p>Lord Penraven, who was lounging by her side +with his elbow upon the mantelpiece, stroked a +long, fair moustache vigorously and answered with +emphasis:</p> +<p>“’Pon my word, I hadn’t the slightest idea. +Seems almost impossible!”</p> +<p>“Let me give you boys some tea!” Lady Silchester +said, in her sweetest tone.</p> +<p>“None for me, thanks, mother,” replied Cecil. +“Why, Ag—Miss Hamilton, is that really you +over in the corner?” he exclaimed, rising and +crossing the room. “How awfully jolly!”</p> +<p>Lady Silchester shrugged her shoulders and +turned to me.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton?”</p> +<p>I took the cup which she had filled and the +conversation which our entrance had interrupted +flowed on again. Presently Mr. Ravenor, who +had been standing on the hearthrug talking to a +stately, grey-haired lady who occupied the seat +of honour—a black oak arm-chair drawn up to +the fire,—moved over to my side and dropped +into a vacant seat between Lady Silchester and +myself.</p> +<p>“Well, Philip,” he said softly, “you seem lost in +thought. Are you wondering whether a magician’s +wand has touched Ravenor Castle?”</p> +<p>“It all seems very different,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Of course. Nothing like change, you know. +It is only by comparison that we can appreciate. +Stagnation sharpens one’s appetite for gaiety, and +one must go through a course of overwork before +one can taste the full sweetness of an idle country +life.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div> +<p>Then Mr. Ravenor was silent for a minute, leaning +back in his chair and looking steadily into the +fire, and by the dancing, fitful light of the flames +I could see that the old weariness and deep indefinable +sadness had stolen into his pale face and +dark eyes. It was only a passing change. The +sound of the laughing voices around seemed suddenly +to galvanise him into consciousness of the +<i>rôle</i> which he was playing and the expression +faded away. Someone asked him a question and +he answered it with a light jest. Once more he +was the courteous, smiling host, whose sole thought +appeared to be the entertainment of his guests. +But I knew that there was a background.</p> +<p>The dressing-bell rang and the gossiping assembly +broke up. Mr. Ravenor, standing with the opened +door in his hand, exchanged little happy speeches +with most of the ladies as they swept out. When +they were all gone he turned to Cecil and me and +looked at us critically, with a faint smile upon his +lips.</p> +<p>“Well, are you ready for your matric., Cecil?” +he asked.</p> +<p>Cecil made a wry face.</p> +<p>“Shall be soon, uncle!” he declared hopefully, +“I’m getting on now first rate. Morton here +makes me work like a Trojan.”</p> +<p>“That’s right! And you, Philip? I hope my +lazy nephew doesn’t keep you back.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Morton’s all right for his matric. whenever +he likes to go in for it!” broke in Cecil.</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor nodded.</p> +<p>“Good! You’d better go and dress now, both +of you; Richards is waiting to show you your +rooms.”</p> +<p>We passed up the great oak staircase, and on +the first corridor we came face to face with a slim +little figure in a white frock, walking demurely by +the side of her maid, with her ruddy, golden hair +tumbled about her oval face and an expectant +light in her dancing blue eyes.</p> +<p>Directly she saw us she flew into Cecil’s arms.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div> +<p>“Oh, Cis, Cis, Cis, how delightful! How glad +I am that you have come! They only just told +me! And how do you do, Mr. Morton?”</p> +<p>She held out a very diminutive palm and looked +up at me with a beaming smile.</p> +<p>“I’m quite well, thank you, Lady Beatrice,” I +answered, looking down with keen pleasure into +her sweet, childish face, and repressing a strong +desire to take her up in my arms, as Cecil had done, +and give her a kiss.</p> +<p>“You remember me, then?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” she answered; “I remember you +quite well! Your name is Philip, isn’t it? You +told me that I might call you by it.”</p> +<p>“Well, we must go now, dear,” Cecil said, stroking +her hair. “We’ve got to dress for dinner, you +know.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” The exclamation was drawn out and +the little face fell. Suddenly it brightened.</p> +<p>“Cecil, what do you think? I’ve got a pony, +a real pony of my own. Will you come for a ride +with me to-morrow? Please, please, do!”</p> +<p>“All right!” he promised carelessly.</p> +<p>She clapped her hands and looked up at me.</p> +<p>“Will you come too, Philip?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I should like to very much indeed,” I answered +unhesitatingly.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s delightful!” she exclaimed gleefully. +“We will have such a nice ride! You shall see +Queenie canter; she does go so fast! Good-bye +now!”</p> +<p>She tripped away by the side of her maid, turning +round more than once to wave her hand to us. +Then we hurried along to our rooms, which were +at the end of the wide, marble-pillared corridor +and opened one into the other. Our portmanteaux +had been placed in readiness, so dressing was not +a tedious business. I had finished first and lounged +in an easy chair, watching Cecil struggle with a +refractory white tie.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div> +<p>“How pretty your sister is, Cis!” I remarked.</p> +<p>“Think so? She’s rather an odd little thing,” +declared her brother, absently surveying himself +at last with satisfaction in the long pier-glass. +“Didn’t know you’d ever seen her before. I say”—with +sudden emphasis—“isn’t Aggie Hamilton a +jolly good-looking girl?”</p> +<p>“I’ve scarcely seen her yet,” I reminded him. +“Rather a chatterbox, isn’t she?”</p> +<p>“Chatterbox? Not she!” Cecil protested indignantly. +“Why——”</p> +<p>The rumble of a gong reached us from below. +Cecil stopped short in his speech and hurried +me out of the room.</p> +<p>“Come along, sharp!” he exclaimed. “That +means dinner in ten minutes, and I promised to +get down into the drawing-room first and introduce +you to Aggie. Come on!”</p> +<p>We descended into the hall and a tall footman +threw open the door of the long suite of drawing +and ante-rooms in which the guests at the Castle +were rapidly assembling. To me, who had seen +nothing of the sort before, it was a brilliant sight. +Four rooms, all of stately dimensions and all +draped with amber satin of the same shade, were +thrown into one by the upraising of heavy, clinging +curtains, and each one seemed filled with groups +of charmingly-dressed women and little knots of +men. A low, incessant buzz of conversation floated +about in the air, which was laden with the scent +of exotics and dainty perfumes. The light was +brilliant, but soft, for the marble figures around +the walls held out silver lamps covered with gauzy +rose-coloured shades.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div> +<p>We passed through two of the rooms before we +found the young lady of whom Cecil was in search. +Then we came upon her suddenly, sitting quite +alone and idly turning over the pages of a book +of engravings. Cecil jogged me excitedly with +his elbow in a manner which elsewhere would have +brought down anathemas and possibly retribution +upon his head. As it was, however, I had to bear +the pain like a Spartan.</p> +<p>“I say, isn’t she stunning?” he whispered.</p> +<p>I answered in the affirmative, carefully removing +myself from the range of his elbow. Then we +approached her, and she closed the book of engravings +with a comical air of relief and made room for +us beside her.</p> +<p>She was even prettier than I had expected, with +dark hair and eyes, dazzling complexion, a perfect +figure of the <i>petite</i> order, and faultless teeth, which +she was by no means averse from showing. She +wore a black lace gown, with a good deal of scarlet +about it and a deep red rose in her bosom. Altogether, +I was scarcely surprised at Cecil’s captivation.</p> +<p>If not actually a chatterbox, she was certainly +possessed of the art of talking nonsense very volubly, +and making others talk it. Before dinner was +announced by a dignified-looking functionary we +had got through quite an amazing amount of conversation. +It fell to Cecil’s lot to take in his inamorata, +whilst I was far away behind with the +middle-aged wife of a country clergyman. She +was very pleasant, though, and I was quite content +to do but little talking throughout the long banquet, +for it was all new to me and interesting.</p> +<p>The vast dining-hall—it was really the picture-gallery—the +many servants in rich liveries, the +emblazoned plate, the glittering glasses, and the +brilliant snatches of conversation which floated +around me, all were a revelation. Very soon the +effect of it passed away and I was able to choose +my wines and select my dishes, and was free to +take part if I chose in the talk. But for that first +evening I was content to remain silent and, as far +as possible, unnoticed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div> +<p>Dinner, which had seemed to me to be growing +interminable, came to an end at last. Lady Silchester, +at the head of a long file of stately women, +swept down the polished floor, and the procession +departed with much rustling of robes. Some of +the vacant chairs were taken possession of by +men, and already delicate blue clouds of smoke +were curling upwards to the vaulted ceiling. It +was the short period dearer to the heart of man +than any during the day. Every one stretched +out his stiff limbs, filled his glass and assumed +his favourite attitude. Voices were raised and +a sudden change of tone crept in upon the conversation. +Only Mr. Ravenor and a few of the +older guests appeared to be still engrossed in the +discussion of some abstruse scientific controversy +then raging in the reviews. Everyone else seemed +to be talking lightly of the day’s sport, the arrangements +for the morrow, and his own and other +men’s horses.</p> +<p>It was getting a little slow for me. Cecil had +found some friends, and the sound of his hearty +boyish laugh came to me often from the other end +of the table. My immediate neighbours were a +bishop, who was deep in discussion with a minor +canon concerning the doings of some recent diocesan +conference, at which things seemed to have been +more lively than harmonious; and on my other side +Lord Penraven was quarrelling with the lord lieutenant +of the county about the pedigree of a racehorse. +Both disputes were utterly without interest +to me, and it was no small relief when, as I +caught Mr. Ravenor’s eye, he beckoned me to +a vacant chair by his side.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div> +<p>The conversation, which had been for a moment +interrupted, was soon renewed. I sat silent, +listening with ever-increasing admiration to the +play of words, the subtle arguments, and the epigrammatic +brilliancy of expression which flashed +from one to another of the four disputants. Had +I known anything of the social or literary life of +London I might have been less astonished, for +Mr. Ravenor and two of his antagonists, Mr. +Justice Haselton and Professor Clumbers, were +reckoned among the finest talkers of their day.</p> +<p>At last Mr. Ravenor, very much to my regret, +brought the conversation to an abrupt close by +proposing an exodus to the drawing-rooms. A few +of the younger men looked eager to depart, but the +majority rose and stretched themselves with the +sad faces of martyrs before forming themselves into +little groups and quitting the room. Mr. Ravenor +remained until the last and motioned me to stay +with him.</p> +<p>“Well, Philip,” he said, when everyone had gone, +“how are you getting on at Dr. Randall’s? Do +you like being there?”</p> +<p>“Very much for some things,” I answered.</p> +<p>He looked at me closely.</p> +<p>“There is something you have to tell me,” he +said. “What is it?”</p> +<p>I glanced around at the little army of servants +moving noiselessly about on all sides.</p> +<p>“There is something,” I acknowledged, “but I +would rather tell it you when we are quite alone. +Besides, it is rather a long story. It has mostly +to do with Mr. Marx.”</p> +<p>The calm, stately serenity of Mr. Ravenor’s face +underwent a sudden change. His dark brows almost +met into his eyes, which I could not read. +The change strengthened the impression which +had lately been growing upon me. There was +some deep mystery connected with the personality +of Mr. Marx in which Mr. Ravenor was somehow +concerned.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div> +<p>“What about Mr. Marx? What can you have +to say to me about him?” he asked coldly.</p> +<p>“More than I should care to say here,” I answered, +glancing around. “It is rather a long——”</p> +<p>“Come into the library to me the last thing tonight,” +he said quickly. “I must know what this +story is that you have got hold of. We will go into +the drawing-room now.”</p> +<p>In a few moments the cloud had vanished from +his face and he was again the polished host. And +I, under protest, was inveigled into a corner by Miss +Agnes Hamilton, and given my first lesson in the +fashionable art of flirting.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div> +<h2 id="c37">CHAPTER XXXVII. +<br /><span class="small">MR. MARX IS WANTED.</span></h2> +<p>It was long past midnight before the last little +knots of guests had wished one another good +night, and even then Lord Penraven and a +few chosen companions only adjourned to a +smaller smoking-room in the back regions of +the Castle. I knew that Mr. Ravenor was not +with them, however, for I had seen him, after +having outstayed all save this handful of his guests, +cross the hall and enter the library. In about half +an hour I followed him.</p> +<p>I had expected to find him resting after the +great strain which the multitude and importance +of his guests must have imposed upon him during +the day. But I found him very differently employed. +He was bending low over his writing-table, +with a cup of tea by his side, and already +several sheets of closely-written foolscap were +scattered about the table. At the sound of my +entrance he looked up at once and laid down his +pen.</p> +<p>“Sit there,” he said, pointing to an easy-chair +opposite to him. “I want to see your face while +you are talking. Now, what is this tale which you +have to tell me?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div> +<p>His manner was far from encouraging and his +face wore a severe expression. Altogether I felt +a little nervous. But it had to be done, so I +began.</p> +<p>First I told him all about Leonard de Cartienne, +his bad influence over Cecil, and his correspondence +with Mr. Marx. He listened without remark. +Then I paused to take breath.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you’ll say about the rest +of my story,” I went on. “I scarcely know what +to think of it myself. But here it is. There is an +inn in Little Drayton kept by a man named Hart, +and Cecil and de Cartienne go there—sometimes. +About a month before I went to Borden Tower +the man Hart disappeared. He left home on a +journey, the nature of which he kept secret even +from his daughter, and has never returned or been +heard of. All the information which his daughter +can give is that he has left home before on a similar +errand and invariably returned with money after +three or four days.”</p> +<p>I paused and glanced at Mr. Ravenor. He was +looking a little puzzled, but not particularly interested.</p> +<p>“About a month before I left here for Borden +Tower,” I went on, “I met Mr. Marx in Torchester +and drove home with him late at night. On the +moor we were furiously attacked by a man who +seemed to be mad and Mr. Marx was slightly injured. +Two days afterwards Mr. Marx was assaulted +by the same man in the park, and if I had not +turned up he would probably have been killed. +The man was a lunatic in every respect, save one. +He recognized Mr. Marx as his enemy and made +deliberate attempts upon his life.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor softly pulled down the green lampshade +on the side nearest to him, and in the subdued +light I could scarcely see his face, but I felt +that his interest in my story was growing.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div> +<p>“Well, of course, when Cecil began talking about +this man Hart’s disappearance,” I continued, “and +I heard a good deal about it at Little Drayton, +I began to think about this lunatic whom no +one knew anything about. I put down the exact +dates, and I found that Hart must have left Little +Drayton about a week before the first attack on +Mr. Marx by the unknown madman. Of course, +this by itself was scarcely worth thinking about, +but the strangest part of it is to come. More out +of curiosity than anything, I asked to see a photograph +of Mr. Hart. His daughter took us into +the sitting-room to look at one and to her amazement +found it gone. All search was unavailing. +Someone had taken it away. Well, I found out +where it had been taken and went to order a copy. +It was no use. The negative had been sold to the +same person who alone could have entered Miss +Hart’s sitting-room and abstracted the photograph. +That person was Leonard de Cartienne, and he +has been in communication with Mr. Marx, the +man whom the lunatic tried to murder. Can you +make anything of that, sir?”</p> +<p>Apparently Mr. Ravenor had made something +of it. He was leaning a little forward in his chair +and at the sight of his face a great fear came upon +me.</p> +<p>A ghastly change had crept into it. His eyes +were burning with a dry, fierce fire, and the pallor +extended even to his lips.</p> +<p>He sat forward, with his long, wasted fingers, +stretched out convulsively before his face, like a +man who sees a hideous vision pass before his sight +and yet remains spellbound, powerless to speak, or +move, or break away from the loathsome spectacle.</p> +<p>Sickly beads of perspiration stood out upon his +clammy forehead and his dry lips were moving, +although no sound came from them.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div> +<p>I gazed at him in a speechless horror, and as I +looked the room and all its contents seemed to swim +around me. What could Mr. Ravenor have found +so awful in the story which I had told and how +could it concern him?</p> +<p>Suddenly he rose from his seat and stood over +me. I was more than ever alarmed at his strange +expression.</p> +<p>“There is a third connection,” he said hoarsely. +“Do you remember that a man called to see me, +whom I declined to admit, on the night of your +first visit here? When I changed my mind he had +disappeared.”</p> +<p>I gave a little cry and felt my blood run +cold.</p> +<p>“Mr. Marx had something to do with that,” I +faltered out. “I met him under the trees in the +avenue and he was horribly frightened to see me. +I had heard a cry. I was listening.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor stretched out his hand to the bell +and rang it violently. We sat in silence, dreading +almost to look at one another until it was +answered.</p> +<p>“Go to Mr. Marx’s room and bid him come here +at once,” Mr. Ravenor commanded.</p> +<p>The man bowed and withdrew. When he reappeared +he carried in his hand a letter.</p> +<p>“Mr. Marx left this on his desk for you, sir,” he +said.</p> +<p>“Left it! Where is he? Is he not in the +Castle?” questioned Mr. Ravenor sharply.</p> +<p>“No, sir. He had a dog cart about half-past four +to catch the London express at Mellborough.”</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor tore open the note and then threw +it across to me. There were only a few words:</p> +<p>“Dear Mr. Ravenor,—Kindly excuse me for +a day or two. Important business of a private +nature calls me hurriedly to London. If you +are writing me, my address will be at the <i>Hotel +Metropole</i>. M.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div> +<p>There was a silence between us. Then I looked +into Mr. Ravenor’s colourless face.</p> +<p>“We must find that lunatic,” I whispered.</p> +<p>Mr. Ravenor turned from me with a shudder.</p> +<p>“We must do nothing of the sort.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div> +<h2 id="c38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. +<br /><span class="small">I ACCEPT A MISSION.</span></h2> +<p>There was a silence which threatened to last for +ever.</p> +<p>At length Mr. Ravenor turned his head slightly +and looked towards me. The eagerness which he saw +in my face seemed to strike some grim vein of +humour in him, for his lips parted a dreary, +fleeting smile.</p> +<p>“Are you expecting to hear a confession?” he +asked, as it passed away.</p> +<p>A confession from him! God forbid! From him +who had ever seemed to me so far above other men, +that none other were worthy to be classed with him! +All the old fire of my boyish hero-worship blazed +up at the very thought. A confession from him! +The bare idea was sacrilegious.</p> +<p>He read his answer in the mute, amazed protest +of my looks, and did not wait for the words which +were trembling upon my lips.</p> +<p>“It would do you little good to tell you all that +your story has suggested to me,” he said quietly. +“Some day you will know everything; but not yet—not +yet.”</p> +<p>He paused and walked slowly up and down the +room, with his hands behind him and his eyes fixed +upon the floor. Suddenly he stopped and looked +up.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div> +<p>“Marx must come back at once,” he said, with +something of his old firmness. “I shall send him a +telegram to-morrow to return immediately.”</p> +<p>“And if he doesn’t come?”</p> +<p>“I must go to him. This matter must be cleared +up as far as it can be and at once.”</p> +<p>“Your guests,” I reminded him. “How can you +leave them?”</p> +<p>“I forgot them,” he exclaimed impatiently. +“Philip, will you go?” he asked suddenly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered quietly, although my heart +was beating fast. “Yes, I will go. Perhaps it +would be best.”</p> +<p>He let his hand rest for a moment upon my +shoulder, and, though he did not say so, I knew that +he was pleased. Then he glanced at the clock.</p> +<p>“Two o’clock!” he exclaimed. “Philip, you +must leave me now.”</p> +<p>I looked towards his writing-table, at which he +was already seating himself, and hesitated.</p> +<p>“You are not going to write now?” I ventured +to protest.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>I pointed to the clock; but he only smiled.</p> +<p>“I am no slave to regular hours,” he said quietly. +“An hour or two’s sleep is enough for me at a time.”</p> +<p>So I left him.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div> +<h2 id="c39">CHAPTER XXXIX. +<br /><span class="small">MY RIDE.</span></h2> +<p>It was a few minutes past nine when I descended +into the long, oaken gallery where breakfast was +served, and at the head of the principal table sat +Mr. Ravenor in hunting costume. Everyone who +was down was evidently bound for the meet. The +men were nearly all in scarlet coats, and the women +in riding-habits and trim little hats, with their +veils pushed back. There was a great clatter of +knives and forks, and a good deal of carving going +on at the long, polished sideboard, and above it +all, a loud hum of cheerful talk; altogether it was a +very pleasant meal that was in progress.</p> +<p>I was making my way towards a gap in the table +at the lower end when I heard my name called, +and looked down into Miss Hamilton’s piquant, upturned +face.</p> +<p>“Come and sit by me,” she exclaimed, moving +her skirts to make room. “See. I’ve hidden a chair +here—for somebody.”</p> +<p>I took it with a laugh.</p> +<p>“Well, as somebody is so very lazy this morning,” +I said, “he doesn’t deserve to have it; so I will. +Can I get you anything?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div> +<p>“No, thanks. Look after yourself, do, for we +shall have to start presently. And now tell me, +how did you know for whom I was saving that +chair?”</p> +<p>“Well, I supposed it was for Cis,” I remarked, +making a vigorous attack upon an adjacent ham.</p> +<p>“Indeed! And supposing I were to say that it +wasn’t—that it was for someone else?”</p> +<p>“Poor Cis!” I said, with a sigh. “Don’t tell +me who the someone else was, Miss Hamilton, +please.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because I shall hate him.”</p> +<p>“For Lord Silchester’s sake?”</p> +<p>“No; for my own.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton, you’re talking nonsense.”</p> +<p>“Well, didn’t you undertake to teach me how +last evening?”</p> +<p>“Teach you! Oh!”—a little ironically—“you’re +a very apt pupil, Mr. Morton.”</p> +<p>I looked at her in mute remonstrance.</p> +<p>“With such a tutor, Miss Hamilton——”</p> +<p>She stopped me, laughing.</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re a dreadful boy! Let me give you +some tea to keep you quiet.”</p> +<p>I drew a long sigh and attacked my breakfast +vigorously. Presently she began again.</p> +<p>“Do you know Nanpantan, Mr. Morton, where +the meet is this morning?”</p> +<p>“Very well,” I answered, cutting myself some +more ham. “Do you mind giving me another cup +of tea, Miss Hamilton? It was so good!”</p> +<p>She nodded and drew off her thick dogskin glove +again.</p> +<p>“You thirsty mortal!” she remarked. “I’m +afraid you must have been smoking too much last +night.”</p> +<p>“One cigarette,” I assured her. “No more, upon +my honour.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div> +<p>“Really! Then you won’t get any more tea +from me to unsteady your nerves. Now tell me, +Mr. Morton, do you know this country?”</p> +<p>“Every inch of it. No one better.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how nice! And you’ll give me a lead to-day, +won’t you? I do so want to do well.”</p> +<p>“I should be delighted,” I answered; “but, +unfortunately, I’m not going to hunt.”</p> +<p>“Not going to hunt! Then what are you going +to do, pray?”</p> +<p>“Going for a ride with a young lady,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!”—with a toss of the head.</p> +<p>There was a short silence. Then curiosity conquered +the fit of indignation which Miss Hamilton +had thought well to assume.</p> +<p>“May I ask the name of the fortunate young +lady?”</p> +<p>“You may,” I answered calmly, helping myself +to toast. “It is little Lady Beatrice.”</p> +<p>She burst into a peal of laughter, but stopped +suddenly.</p> +<p>“What nonsense! Are you going to take the +groom’s place, then, and hold the leading-rein?”</p> +<p>“If she rides with one, very likely,” I answered.</p> +<p>There was a short silence. Then Miss Hamilton +returned to the charge.</p> +<p>“How old is your inamorata?” she inquired. +“Seven or eight?”</p> +<p>“Twelve next birthday,” I answered promptly.</p> +<p>“It’s quite too ridiculous!” she declared, tossing +her head. “I really wanted you to come with me +this morning, because you know the country,” she +added, with a sidelong glance from her dark eyes.</p> +<p>“Nothing would have given me greater pleasure,” +I declared; “but a promise is a promise, you know, +and we made this one before we knew any thing +about the meet.”</p> +<p>“We! Who are we?” she asked quickly.</p> +<p>“Cis and I.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div> +<p>“Cecil won’t go if I ask him to come with me,” +she said confidently.</p> +<p>I shrugged my shoulders.</p> +<p>“Perhaps not. The more reason why I should.”</p> +<p>She turned away from me half amused, half vexed. +Just then Cecil appeared, and she beckoned him +eagerly to her side.</p> +<p>“Cecil, Mr. Morton tells me that you have promised +to ride with Beatrice this morning,” she said.</p> +<p>“So we did,” he exclaimed. “Awfully sorry to +disappoint her, but, of course, I didn’t know anything +about the meet.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I am glad that you are not going to desert +me, then,” she said, laughing. “Mr. Morton declares +that he is going to keep his engagement.”</p> +<p>“Very good of him, if he is,” remarked Cecil, +stirring his tea with great cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“Don’t pity me,” I said, rising. “I’m sure I +shall enjoy it. <i>Au revoir</i>, Miss Hamilton.”</p> +<p>And I did enjoy it. Many a time afterwards I +thought of that slim little figure in the long riding-habit, +her golden hair streaming in the breeze, and +her dainty, flushed face aglow with excitement and +delight, and of the pleasant prattle which her little +ladyship poured into my willing ears. I remembered, +too, her quaint, naïve ways, and the grave +way in which she thanked me for taking care of her—little +mannerisms which soon yielded to familiarity +and vanished altogether. And, strange though it +may seem, I found always more satisfaction in +recalling these things than the winged look and +merry speeches of Miss Agnes Hamilton.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div> +<h2 id="c40">CHAPTER XL. +<br /><span class="small">MY MISSION.</span></h2> +<p>For the first time in my life I was in London—and +alone. There had been no reply from Mr. Marx +to the telegrams commanding his instant return, +and so on the third morning after my arrival at +Ravenor Castle I quitted it again to go in search of +him. Accustomed though he was to conceal his +feelings, and admirably though he succeeded in +doing so in the presence of his guests, I could see +that Mr. Ravenor was deeply anxious to have the +suspicions which my story had awakened either +dispelled or confirmed. Nor, indeed, although their +purport was scarcely so clear to me, was I less so.</p> +<p>I suppose that no one, especially if he had never +before been in a great city, could pass across London +for the first time without some emotion of wonder. +To me it was like entering an unknown world. The +vast throng of people, the ceaseless din of traffic, +and the huge buildings, all filled me with amazement +which, as we drove through the Strand to Northumberland +Avenue, grew into bewilderment. Only +the recollection of my mission and its grave import +recalled me to myself as the cab drew up before +the Hotel Metropole.</p> +<p>My bag was taken possession of at once by one +of the hall-porters and I engaged a room. Then I +made inquiries about Mr. Marx.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div> +<p>The clerk turned over two or three pages of the +ledger and shook his head. There was no one of +that name stopping in the hotel, he informed +me.</p> +<p>“Can you tell me whether anyone of that name +has been staying here during the last week?” I +asked.</p> +<p>He made a further search and shook his head.</p> +<p>“We have not had the name of Marx upon our +books at all, sir, during my recollection,” he declared. +“Quite an uncommon name, too; I should certainly +have remembered it.”</p> +<p>“There have been letters addressed to him here +by that name,” I said; “can you tell me what has +become of them?”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“That would not be in my department, sir; you +will ascertain by inquiring at the head-porter’s +bureau round the corner.”</p> +<p>I thanked him and made my way thither across +the reception hall. The answer to my question was +given at once.</p> +<p>“There are letters for a Mr. Marx nearly every +morning, sir, and telegrams,” said the official; “but +I don’t think that Mr. Marx himself is stopping at +the hotel; another gentleman always applies for +them and sends them on.”</p> +<p>“And is the other gentleman staying here?” I +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir; No. 110.”</p> +<p>“Has he any authority to receive them from +Mr. Marx?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“I believe so. He showed us a note from Mr. +Marx, asking him to receive and forward them, and +he has to sign, too, for every one he receives. It is +a rule with us that anyone receiving letters not +addressed to himself should do so, whether he has +authority or not.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div> +<p>“Can you tell me his name?” I asked. “I am +sorry to give you so much trouble, but I particularly +wish to ascertain Mr. Marx’s whereabouts, and +this gentleman knows it.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir. John, what is No. 110’s name?” +he asked an assistant.</p> +<p>“Count de Cartienne,” was the prompt reply.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div> +<h2 id="c41">CHAPTER XLI. +<br /><span class="small">THE COUNT DE CARTIENNE.</span></h2> +<p>My surprise at this last piece of information could +not pass unnoticed. Both the hall-porter and his +assistant were evidently well-trained servants, but +they looked curiously at me and then exchanged +rapid glances with one another. I recovered myself, +however, in an instant.</p> +<p>“This Count de Cartienne,” I asked, “is he +young? I think I know him. Rather dark and +thin and short? Is that he?”</p> +<p>The man shook his head.</p> +<p>“No, sir. Count de Cartienne is a tall, aristocratic-looking +gentleman, middle-aged. You are +certain to see him about the hotel. He is in and +out a great deal.”</p> +<p>I thanked him and moved away, for the people +were beginning to flock in, inquiring for their keys. +As it was nearly dinner-time, I followed their example +and went to my room to change my travelling +clothes for more conventional attire.</p> +<p>The lift was almost full when I entered it; but +as we were on the point of starting, a lady, followed +by an elderly gentleman, stepped in. I rose at once, +being nearest the gate, to offer my seat, but the +words which I had intended to speak died away +upon my lips.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div> +<p>Something in the graceful figure, the soft, sweet +eyes, and the delicately-cut features, seemed to +remind me of my mother. It was a faint resemblance, +perhaps—scarcely more than a suggestion—but +it was still enough to make my heart beat fast, +and to arrest for a moment my recollection of where +I was. Then suddenly I remembered that I was +behaving, to say the least of it, strangely, and I +turned abruptly away.</p> +<p>At the third floor I stepped out and walked +across the corridor to my room without glancing +once behind. But it was some time before I unpacked +my portmanteau, or even thought of dressing. +Then I remembered that if they were dining at the +hotel I should see them again, and, turning out my +clothes at once, I dressed with feverish haste. For +the moment I had forgotten all about Count de +Cartienne, forgotten even the very purpose of my +visit to London. Only one face, linked with a +memory, dwelt in my mind and usurped all my +thoughts. I felt a strange excitability stealing +through my frame, and the fingers which sought to +fasten my tie shook so that they failed in their duty. +I seemed to have stepped into another state of being.</p> +<p>When I descended into the dining-room it was +already almost full, and there were very few empty +tables. For a minute or two I stood behind the +entrance screen, looking around. Nowhere could I +see any sign of the lady whose face had so interested +me. Either she was dining away from the hotel or +had not yet put in an appearance. Hoping devoutly +that the latter was the case, I took possession +of a small table laid for three facing the door and +ordered my dinner.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div> +<p>I had scarcely finished my soup before an instinctive +consciousness that I was being watched +made me look quickly up. Standing just inside the +room, calmly surveying the assembled guests, and +myself in particular, was a tall, distinguished-looking +man, perfectly clean-shaven, rather fair than otherwise, +with a single eye-glass stuck in his eye, through +which he was coolly examining me. He carried an +Inverness cape and an opera-hat, and his evening +clothes, which fitted him perfectly, were in the best +possible taste, even down to the plain gold stud in +his shirt front. His age might have been anything +from thirty to fifty, for his carriage was perfectly +upright, and his hair only slightly streaked with +grey. Altogether his appearance was that of a +well-turned-out, well-bred man, and as I glanced +away I felt a little mild curiosity to know who he +was.</p> +<p>He came a few steps farther into the room, and +after a moment’s hesitation passed by a larger +table laid for six and took the vacant seat at mine. +He wished me good-evening in a clear, pleasant +voice, with a slight foreign accent, resigned his coat +and hat to a more than ordinarily attentive waiter, +and drawing a card from his pocket began deliberately +to write out his dishes from the menu. +Then he shut up his pencil, and leaning back in +his chair once more glanced round at the roomful +of people. Having apparently satisfied his curiosity, +he yawned, and turning towards me, began to talk.</p> +<p>Soon I began to feel myself quite at home with +him, and to enjoy my dinner with a greatly-added +zest. Indeed, in listening to some of his quaint +recitals of adventures at foreign hotels, I almost +forgot to watch for the advent of the lady and +gentleman for whom I had been looking out so +eagerly only a few minutes before.</p> +<p>As it happened, however, I saw them enter, and +my attention immediately wandered from the story +which my companion was telling.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div> +<p>Something in the fragility of her appearance, and +the weight with which she leaned upon her husband’s +arm, seemed to mark her as an invalid, and this +expression was in a measure heightened by her black +lace dress, which, combined with the too perfect complexion +and slight figure, gave to her face an almost +ethereal expression. As I looked into the deep blue +eyes I seemed again to be able to trace that vague +likeness to my mother, and I felt my heart beat fast +as the impression grew upon me. It was only when +my new friend stopped abruptly in his anecdote +and looked at me questioningly, that I could withdraw +my eyes from her.</p> +<p>“Are they friends of yours who have just come +in?” he asked, without turning round.</p> +<p>“No; I never saw them before this afternoon in +my life. I wonder if you could tell me who they +are?”</p> +<p>He moved his chair a little, so as to be able to +do so without rudeness, and looked round. I +happened to be watching him, and I saw at once +that he recognised them.</p> +<p>Strange to say, the recognition seemed to afford +him anything but pleasure; a change passed over +his face like a flash of lightning, and although I only +just caught it, it made me feel for the moment decidedly +uncomfortable. While it lasted the face +had not been a pleasant one to look upon. But it +was not that alone which troubled me. During the +moment that his expression had been transformed, +it had given me an odd, disagreeable sense of +familiarity.</p> +<p>He was himself again almost immediately—so +soon that I could scarcely credit the change—and +more than once afterwards I felt inclined to put +that evil look and lowering brow down to a trick +of my imagination. Even when I had decided to +do so, however, I caught myself wondering more +than once of whom they had reminded me.</p> +<p>He moved his chair again and went on with his +dinner in silence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div> +<p>“You recognised them?” I ventured to remark,</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered curtly.</p> +<p>“Would you mind telling me who they are, +then?” I persisted. “I feel interested in them.”</p> +<p>He looked up curiously and kept his eyes fixed +on me while he answered my question.</p> +<p>“The man is Lord Langerdale, an Irish peer, and +the lady with him is his wife.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. The lady’s face reminded me of +someone I knew once.”</p> +<p>He removed his eyes and his tone grew lighter.</p> +<p>“Indeed! Rather an uncommon type of face, +too. She’s a lovely woman still, though she looks +delicate.”</p> +<p>I assented silently. Somehow I did not care to +discuss her with this stranger.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you noticed,” he went on, after a short +pause, “that it was rather a shock to me to see them +here?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did notice that,” I admitted.</p> +<p>He sighed and looked grave for a moment. Then +he poured himself out a glass of champagne and +drank it deliberately off.</p> +<p>“It was purely a matter of association,” he said, +in a low tone. “A somewhat painful incident in +my life was connected with that family, although +with no present member of it. Pass the bottle, +and let us change the subject.”</p> +<p>We talked of other things, and for a time all my +former interest in his piquant anecdotes and trenchant +remarks was renewed. But while he was +gravely considering with a waiter the relative merits +of two brands of claret, I found my eyes wandering +to the table at our right, in search of the woman +whose face had so attracted me. This time my eyes +met hers.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div> +<p>Then a strange thing happened. Instead of +looking away at once, she kept her eyes steadily +fixed upon me and suddenly gave a distinct start. +I saw the colour rush into her face and leave it +again almost as swiftly; her thin lips were slightly +parted, and her whole expression was one of great +agitation. I tried to look away, but I could not; +I felt somehow forced to return her steady gaze. +But when she turned to her husband and touched +him on the arm, evidently to direct his attention +to me, the spell was broken, and I moved my chair +slightly, making some casual remark to my companion +which was sufficient to set the ball of conversation +rolling again. But one stolen glance a +few moments later showed me that both husband +and wife were regarding me attentively, and several +times afterwards, when I looked over towards their +table, I met Lady Langerdale’s eyes, full of a sad, +wistful, and withal puzzled expression which I could +not read.</p> +<p>As dinner drew towards a close it occurred +to me that my <i>vis-à-vis</i> had studiously avoided +turning once towards our neighbours. If he desired +to escape recognition, however, he was unsuccessful, +for just as we were beginning to think of quitting +our places, Lord Langerdale left his seat to speak +to some acquaintances at the other end of the room, +and on his way back he looked straight into my +companion’s face. He started slightly, hesitated, +and then came slowly up to our table.</p> +<p>“Eugène!” he exclaimed. “By all that’s wonderful, +is it really you? Why, we heard that you +had become an Oriental, and forsworn the ways +and haunts of civilisation.”</p> +<p>He spoke lightly, but it was easy to see that the +meeting was a very embarrassing one for both of +them.</p> +<p>“I have not been in England long,” was the quiet +reply. “Lady Langerdale, I am glad to see, is +well.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div> +<p>“She is fairly well. How strange that we should +meet here! Why, it must be twenty years since I +have seen you.”</p> +<p>“I have spent but little time in England.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not,” Lord Langerdale answered +slowly. “We have heard of you occasionally. +Will you come and speak to my wife?”</p> +<p>“I think not,” was the calm reply. “It could +only be very painful for both of us. If Lady Langerdale +desires it—not unless—I will call upon you +at your rooms. But, frankly, I would rather not.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale appeared by no means offended, +rather a little relieved, and answered sadly:</p> +<p>“It is for you to choose. If you can tell her that +the past has lost some of its bitterness for you, and—and——”</p> +<p>He hesitated and seemed at a loss how to express +himself. My <i>vis-à-vis</i> smiled—a smile of peculiar +bitterness it was—and interrupted cynically:</p> +<p>“And that I am a reformed character, I suppose +you would say, and have become a respectable +member of society! No, no, Lord Langerdale, I +am no hypocrite, and I shall never tell her that. +A wanderer upon the face of the earth I have been +during the best years of my life, and a wanderer I +shall always be—adventurer, some people have said. +Well, well, let it be so; what matter?”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale shook his head doubtfully.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to hear you talk so, Eugène; but +of one thing you may always be sure—Elsie and I +will never be your judges. If you feel that it will +reopen old wounds, stop away; but if not, why, +come and see us. You have a young friend with +you,” he added, turning slightly towards me and +speaking a little more earnestly than the occasion +seemed to require.</p> +<p>The man whom he called Eugène shook his head.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_239">[239]</div> +<p>“I am not so fortunate,” he said stiffly. “I can +claim no more than what on the Continent we call +a ‘table acquaintance’ with this young gentleman.”</p> +<p>It might have been my fancy, but it seemed to +me that Lord Langerdale looked distinctly disappointed. +He bowed courteously to me, however, +shook hands with his friend and rejoined his wife. +My new acquaintance resumed his former position, +and, with it, his old nonchalant manner.</p> +<p>“Your pardon,” he said lightly, “for this long +digression. And now tell me, <i>mon ami</i>, shall we +spend the evening together? You are a stranger +in London, you say; I am not,” he added drily. +“Come, shall I be your cicerone?”</p> +<p>I really had nothing else to do, so I assented at +once.</p> +<p>“Good! Let us finish the bottle to a pleasant +evening. But, ah! I forgot. We must be introduced. +The English custom demands it, even +though we introduce ourselves. Your name is?”</p> +<p>“Morton,” I answered—“Philip Morton. I +haven’t a card.”</p> +<p>“Good! Then, Mr. Philip Morton, permit me +the honour of introducing to you—myself. I am +called de Cartienne—the Count Eugène de Cartienne—but +I do not use the title in this country.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_240">[240]</div> +<h2 id="c42">CHAPTER XLII. +<br /><span class="small">NEWS OF MR. MARX.</span></h2> +<p>For a moment or two I remained quite silent, for +the simple reason that I was far too astonished to +make any remark. My new acquaintance sat looking +at me with slightly-raised eyebrows and carelessly +toying with his eyeglass; yet, notwithstanding his +apparent nonchalance, I felt somehow aware that +he was watching me keenly.</p> +<p>“My name appears to be a surprise to you,” he +remarked, keeping his eyes fixed steadily upon my +face. “Have you heard it before, may I ask?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I assented, “one of the fellows down at +Borden Tower——”</p> +<p>“What, you know Leonard?” he interrupted. +“Egad! how strange! Then you are one of Dr. +Randall’s pupils, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I have only been there a very short time, +though. And Leonard is——”</p> +<p>“My son.”</p> +<p>I looked at him intently. Now that the fact +itself had been suggested to me, I could certainly +trace come faint likeness. But what puzzled me +most was that he seemed also to remind me, although +more vaguely, of someone else, whom I +could not call to mind at all. Neither did he seem +particularly anxious for me to assist him, for, as +though somewhat annoyed at my close scrutiny, he +rose abruptly to his feet.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_241">[241]</div> +<p>“Come, what do you say to cigarettes and coffee? +We are outstaying everybody here.”</p> +<p>I followed him downstairs into the smoke-room. +We seated ourselves upon a luxurious divan, and +the Count immediately began to talk about his son.</p> +<p>“And so you know Leonard? How strange! +Do you see much of one another?”</p> +<p>“Naturally, considering that there are only three +of us at Dr. Randall’s,” I reminded him.</p> +<p>“Ah, just so! And your other fellow pupil is +young Lord Silchester, is he not? Rather an +awkward number, three. Do you all chum together +pretty well?”</p> +<p>What was I to say? I could not tell him that +my relations with his son were decidedly inimical; +so, after a moment’s hesitation, I answered a little +evasively:</p> +<p>“I’m afraid we’re not a very sociable trio. You +see, Cis and I are very keen on out-of-door amusements, +and your son rather prefers reading.”</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes; I quite understand. You and Lord Silchester +are thoroughly English, and essentially so +in your tastes and love of sport. Leonard, now, is +more than half a foreigner. His mother was an +Austrian lady, and I myself am of French extraction. +By the by, Mr. Morton, may I ask you a +question—in confidence?” he added slowly.</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“It is about Leonard. I don’t think that you +need have any scruples about telling me, for I am +his father, you know, and have a certain right to +know everything about him.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_242">[242]</div> +<p>He looked at me gravely, as though for confirmation +of his words, and I silently expressed my +assent. Leonard de Cartienne was nothing to me; +and if his father was going to ask me the question +which I hoped he was, he should have a straightforward +answer.</p> +<p>“I sent my son to Dr. Randall’s,” he began, +sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, “not +because he was backward in his studies—for such +is not, I believe, the case—but because he has unfortunately +inherited a very deplorable taste. I found +it out only by accident, and it was a very great +shock to me. Leonard is fond—too fond—of playing +cards for money. I thought that at Borden +Tower he would have no opportunity for indulging +this lamentable weakness; but from what I have +recently heard about Dr. Randall, it has occurred to +me that he is perhaps a little too much of the student +and too little of the schoolmaster. You understand +me? I mean that he is perhaps so closely wrapped +up in his private work, that after the hours which +he gives to his pupils for instruction they may +secure almost as much liberty as though they were +at college.”</p> +<p>“That’s just it,” I answered: “and, M. de Cartienne, +now that you have spoken to me of it, I +will tell you something. Your son does play a good +deal with Lord Silchester. I know that this is so, +for I have played myself occasionally.”</p> +<p>“And Lord Silchester wins, I presume?”</p> +<p>Something in the Count’s tone as he asked the +question, and something in his face as I glanced +up, did not please me. Both seemed to tell the +same tale, both somehow seemed to imply that his +question to me was altogether sarcastic, and that +he knew the contrary to be the case.</p> +<p>It was the first gleam of mistrust which I had +felt towards my new acquaintance, and it did not +last, for the expression of deep concern and annoyance +with which he heard my answer seemed too +natural to be assumed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_243">[243]</div> +<p>“On the contrary, your son always wins,” I told +him drily.</p> +<p>His finely-pencilled dark eyebrows almost met in +a heavy frown, and he threw his cigarette away +impatiently.</p> +<p>“I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Morton, for +answering my question,” he said; “but I needn’t +tell you that I’m very sorry to hear what you say. +Something must be done with Mr. Leonard at once.”</p> +<p>He lit another cigarette and threw himself back +in a corner of the divan. Then I made up my +mind to speak to him on the subject which was +uppermost in my mind.</p> +<p>“You know a Mr. Marx, I believe? I was inquiring +for him at the hotel office this afternoon, +and they told me that you were forwarding his +letters. Could you give me his address?”</p> +<p>M. de Cartienne removed his cigarette from his +teeth, and looked dubious.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know Marx; know him well,” he admitted; +“but your request puts me in rather an +awkward position. You see, this is how the matter +lies,” he added, leaning forward confidentially. +“Marx and I are old friends, and he’s been of great +service to me more than once, and never asked for +any return. Well, I met him—I won’t say when, +but it wasn’t long ago—in Pall Mall, and he hailed +me as the very man he was most anxious to meet. +We lunched together, and then he told me what he +wanted. He was in London for a short while, he +said, and wished to remain perfectly incognito. +There would be letters for him, he said, at the +Metropole. Would I fetch them, and forward them +to him at an address which he would give me, on +condition that I gave him my word of honour to +keep it secret? I asked, naturally, what reason +he had for going into hiding; for virtually that is +what it seemed to me to be; but he would give me +no definite answer. Would I do him this favour or +not? he asked. And, remembering the many services +which he had rendered me, I found it quite +impossible to refuse. That is my position. I’m +really extremely sorry not to be able to help you, +but you see for yourself that I cannot.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_244">[244]</div> +<p>His tone was perfectly serious and his manner +earnest. I had not the faintest shadow of doubt +as to his sincerity.</p> +<p>“You can’t help me at all then?” I said, no +doubt with some of the disappointment which I felt +in my tone.</p> +<p>He looked doubtful.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t quite know about that,” he said +slowly, as though weighing something over in his +mind. “Look here, Mr. Morton,” he added, frankly +enough, “what do you want with the man? Is it +anything unpleasant?”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” I answered. “I do not wish any +harm to Mr. Marx unless he deserves it. I want to +ask him a few questions, that’s all. Unless the +man’s a perfect scoundrel he will be able to answer +them satisfactorily, and my having discovered his +whereabouts will not harm him. If, on the other +hand, he cannot answer those questions, why, then, +you may take my word for it, M. de Cartienne, that +he’s an unmitigated blackguard, perfectly unworthy +of your friendship, and undeserving of the slightest +consideration from you.”</p> +<p>M. de Cartienne nodded and leaned forward, +with his arm across the divan.</p> +<p>“You put the matter very plainly,” he said, +“and what you say is fair enough. I’ll tell you +how far I am prepared to help you. I won’t tell +you Mr. Marx’s address, because I have pledged +my word not to divulge it; but, if you like, I’ll +take you where there will be a very fair chance of +your seeing him.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_245">[245]</div> +<p>“He is in London, then?”</p> +<p>The Count shrugged his shoulders and smiled +slightly.</p> +<p>“Permit me to keep my word in the letter, if +not in the spirit,” he answered. “I am going to +spend my evening in this way; I am going, first of +all, to a theatre for an hour or so; then I am going +to call at a couple of clubs, and afterwards I am +going to a club of a somewhat different sort. If +you like to be my companion for the evening I shall +be charmed; and if it should happen that we run +up against any friend of yours—well, the world is +not so very large, after all.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. I’ll come with you with pleasure!” I +answered without hesitation.</p> +<p>He stood up underneath the soft glare of the +electric light, and as I turned towards him something +in his face puzzled me. It was gone directly +my eyes met his—gone, but not before it had left +a curious impression. It seemed almost as though +a triumphant light had flashed for an instant in his +bright, steel-coloured eyes.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_246">[246]</div> +<h2 id="c43">CHAPTER XLIII. +<br /><span class="small">ABOUT TOWN.</span></h2> +<p>We passed up the heavily-carpeted steps into the +central hall of the hotel. The Count stopped for +a moment to inquire for letters at the chief porter’s +bureau, and as we turned away we came face to +face with Lord Langerdale.</p> +<p>He hesitated when he saw us together, but only +for a moment. Then he advanced with a genial +smile upon his well-cut, handsome face.</p> +<p>“You’re the very man I wanted to see, de Cartienne,” +he said. “I suppose you know your young +friend’s name by this time? Will you introduce +us?”</p> +<p>The Count looked distinctly annoyed, but he complied +at once.</p> +<p>“Lord Langerdale,” he said coldly, “this is Mr. +Morton. Mr. Morton—Lord Langerdale.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale held out his hand frankly and +drew me a little on one side, although not out of +the Count’s hearing.</p> +<p>“Mr. Morton,” he said pleasantly, “I am going +to make a somewhat extraordinary request. My +only excuse for it is a lady’s will, and when you +reach my age you will know that it is a thing by +no means to be lightly regarded. My wife has been +very much impressed by what she terms a marvellous +likeness between you and—and a very near +relative of hers whom she had lost sight of for a long +while. She is most anxious to make your acquaintance. +May I have the honour of presenting you to +her?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_247">[247]</div> +<p>For a moment my head swam. The likeness of +Lady Langerdale to my mother, and then this +strange fancy on her part! What if they should +be something more than coincidences? The very +thought was bewildering. But how could it be? +No; the thing was impossible. Still, the request +was couched in such terms that there could be but +one answer.</p> +<p>“I shall be extremely pleased!” I declared +readily.</p> +<p>“Then come into the drawing-room for a few +minutes, will you?” Lord Langerdale said. “Good-night, +Eugène! No use asking you to join us, I +know.”</p> +<p>Count de Cartienne turned on his heel with brow +as black as thunder.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Lord Langerdale!” he said stiffly; +“Good-night, Mr. Morton!”</p> +<p>“But I am coming with you, you know!” I +exclaimed, surprised at his manner. “Couldn’t you +wait for me five minutes?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible!” he answered shortly; “we +are late already! My carriage must have been +waiting half an hour. I had no idea of the time.”</p> +<p>It was rather an embarrassing moment for me. +The Count evidently expected me to keep my engagement +with him, and would be offended if I did +not do so. On the other hand, Lord Langerdale +was waiting to take me to his wife, and, from the +slight frown with which he was regarding de Cartienne, +I judged that he did not approve of his +interference.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_248">[248]</div> +<p>Inclination prompted me strongly to throw my +engagement with the Count to the winds and to +place myself under Lord Langerdale’s guidance. +But, after all, the sole purpose of my journey to +London was to discover Mr. Marx, and if I neglected +this opportunity I might lose sight of the only man +who could help me in my search. Clearly, therefore, +my duty was to fulfil my prior engagement.</p> +<p>“If M. de Cartienne cannot wait,” I said regretfully, +“I am afraid, Lord Langerdale, that the +pleasure you offer me must be deferred. Would +Lady Langerdale allow me to call at your rooms +to-morrow?”</p> +<p>Evidently he was displeased, for his manner +changed at once.</p> +<p>“I will leave a note for you with the hall porter,” +he said. “Good-night.”</p> +<p>I turned away with the Count, who preserved a +perfectly unmoved countenance. Before we had +taken half a dozen steps, however, he was accosted +by a gentleman entering the hotel, and, turning +round, he begged me to excuse him for a moment.</p> +<p>I strolled away by myself, waiting. Suddenly, I +felt a light touch on my arm, and, looking round, +I found Lord Langerdale by my side.</p> +<p>“I just want to ask you a question, Mr. Morton, +if you’ll allow me,” he said kindly. “Remember +that I’m an old man—old enough to be your father—and +a man of the world, and you are a very young +one. You won’t mind a word of advice?”</p> +<p>“Most certainly not!” I assured him heartily.</p> +<p>“Well, then, Count de Cartienne is quite a new +acquaintance of yours, is he not?”</p> +<p>“I never saw him before this evening,” I admitted.</p> +<p>“And you—pardon me, but you look very young, +and a great deal too fresh and healthy for a town +man—you don’t know much of London life, do +you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_249">[249]</div> +<p>“Nothing at all,” I answered. “This is my +first visit to London, and I only arrived this afternoon.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale looked very serious.</p> +<p>“Look here, Mr. Morton,” he said earnestly, “I +feel sure from your face that I can trust you, and +that what I am going to say you will consider in +confidence. I should be the last one to say anything +against Eugène de Cartienne, for he received +a terrible injury from one of my family, or, rather, +my wife’s family, and I fear that has exercised an +evil influence over his life. But, all the same, I +cannot see you, a youngster, perfectly inexperienced, +starting out to spend your first night in town with +him without feeling it my duty to tell you that I +consider him one of the most unfortunate and +most dangerous companions whom you could have +chosen. There! I hope you’re not offended?”</p> +<p>“How could I be?” I answered gratefully. “But +I am not going out with him from choice, or for +the sake of amusement. We are together simply +because, as far as I know, he is the only man who +can solve a mystery which I have come up to London +to try to clear up.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale started, and his manner became +almost agitated.</p> +<p>“This is most extraordinary!” he declared. +“Mr. Morton, you must—ah, here comes de Cartienne!” +he broke off in a tone of deep annoyance. +“Breakfast with me to-morrow morning at ten—no, +nine o’clock!” he added, in a lower key. “I have +something most important to say to you.”</p> +<p>I nodded assent and the Count joined us.</p> +<p>There was a faint flush on his pale cheeks and +his eyes were flashing brightly, as he looked at us +standing close together. It might have been the +result of his recent conversation, of course; but, +coupled with his frowning brow and quick, suspicious +glance, it looked a great deal more like a +sudden fit of anger at seeing us engaged in what +appeared like a confidential talk. But there was +no trace of it in his tone when he addressed us.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_250">[250]</div> +<p>“Really, you two might be conspirators,” he said +lightly. “Well, Mr. Morton, have you changed +your mind, or am I to have the honour of your +company this evening?”</p> +<p>“I am ready to start when you are,” I answered. +“Good-night once more, Lord Langerdale.”</p> +<p>He shook my hand warmly, nodded to the Count, +who returned the salute with a stiff bow, and left +us. We descended into the street, and a very +small, neat brougham, drawn by a pair of dark, +handsome bays, drew up at the entrance. The +coachman’s livery was perfectly plain, save that he +wore a cockade in his hat, and there was neither +coat-of-arms nor crest upon the panel of the door. +We stepped inside, and the Count held a speaking-tube +for a moment to his mouth while he consulted +his watch. There was no footman.</p> +<p>“Frivolity Theatre,” he directed. And we drove +off at a smart pace into the Strand.</p> +<p>We reached our destination in a few moments and +had no difficulty in obtaining seats. It was all new +to me, and I felt a little bewildered as I endeavoured +to follow the performance. I soon had enough of +that. The piece was a screaming farce, vulgar and +stupid.</p> +<p>“I don’t think Mr. Marx is here,” I whispered to +de Cartienne.</p> +<p>“I don’t think he is,” was the rejoinder. “I had +a good look round for him when we came in. Have +you had enough of this performance? If so, +we’ll go. I think I know where we shall find +Marx.”</p> +<p>“Then let us go at once,” I urged.</p> +<p>We passed out of the theatre into the street, +The brougham was there waiting for us.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_251">[251]</div> +<p>“Jump in!” said the Count, opening the door. +“I’m going to tell the fellow where to drive to.”</p> +<p>I obeyed him, and waited for nearly a minute +before he had given his directions and joined me. +Then he took his seat by my side and we drove +quickly off.</p> +<p>“Why did you not use the speaking-tube?” I +asked idly.</p> +<p>He answered without looking at me.</p> +<p>“It is rather an out-of-the-way place,” he said +slowly, “and I did not wish the man to make a +mistake.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_252">[252]</div> +<h2 id="c44">CHAPTER XLIV. +<br /><span class="small">A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION TO THE SUBURBS.</span></h2> +<p>During the earlier part of the evening, since we +had left the hotel, my companion had shown no +disposition to talk. On the contrary, his silence +amounted almost to moroseness, and he had not +always answered my questions. But immediately +we had started on this new expedition his manner +underwent a complete change. He seemed to lay +himself out with feverish eagerness to entertain me +and to absorb my attention.</p> +<p>“I hope you’re not tired,” he said suddenly, at +the end of one of his anecdotes. “We have rather +a long drive before us.”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” I assured him. “What is the +place we are going to?”</p> +<p>“A sort of private club. In confidence, I’ll tell +you why it is so far out of the way. Some of the +members are fond of playing a little high, and have +started a roulette board. That sort of thing is best +kept quiet, you know.”</p> +<p>“The place is a gambling-club, then?”</p> +<p>“Something of that sort,” he acknowledged. +“I shouldn’t dream of taking you there if it wasn’t +for the sake of meeting Marx. You understand?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly, thanks. Save for that reason I +shouldn’t think of going.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_253">[253]</div> +<p>“What an infernal night!” he exclaimed, looking +out of the carriage for a moment; “almost enough +to give one the miserables. Come, we’ll shut it +out.” He struck a match and, turning round, lit +a lamp which was fixed at the back of the carriage. +Then he quietly pulled down the blinds and began +to tell me a story, of which I heard not a word. +My thoughts were engrossed by another matter. +M. de Cartienne’s action, coupled with the strangeness +of his manner, could bear but one interpretation.</p> +<p>He had some reason for keeping me as much as +possible in the dark as to the route we were taking.</p> +<p>For a few moments I felt, to put it mildly, +uneasy. Then several possible explanations of such +conduct occurred to me, and my apprehensions grew +weaker. What more natural, after all, than that +M. de Cartienne should desire to keep secret from +me the exact whereabouts of an establishment +which, by his own admission, was maintained +contrary to the law? The more I considered it, +the more reasonable such an explanation appeared +to me. I began to wonder, even, that he had +not asked me for some pledge of secrecy. But +there was time enough for that.</p> +<p>By degrees the rattling of vehicles around us +grew less and less, until at last all traffic seemed +to have died away. Once, during a pause in the +conversation, I raised the blind a little way and +looked out. We had left even the region of suburban +semi-detached villas; and, blurred though +the prospect was by the mud which the fast-rolling +wheels drew incessantly into the air and on to the +window-panes, I could just distinguish the dim +outline of hedges and fields beyond.</p> +<p>I looked at the carriage-clock and found that we +had been already an hour and a quarter on our +journey. From the furious pace at which we were +travelling we must have come nearly fifteen miles.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_254">[254]</div> +<p>“This place is a long way out,” I remarked.</p> +<p>The Count laughed and lit a cigarette. “Oh, +there’s a good reason for that. But the men don’t +drive here from town—at least, not in the winter. +There’s a railway-station only a mile away.”</p> +<p>“We’re almost there now, then, I suppose?”</p> +<p>He let the blind up with a spring and looked out.</p> +<p>“Nearer than I imagined,” he remarked. “We +shall be there in three minutes.”</p> +<p>He was just drawing in his head when he gave +a visible start and leaned right out of the window, +with his face upturned to the beating rain, listening +intently.</p> +<p>Suddenly he withdrew it, and, snatching at the +check-string, pulled it violently. I looked at him +in amazement. His face was ghastly pale, but +his thin lips were set firmly together and his +features rigid with determination. It was the face +of a brave, desperate man preparing to meet some +terrible danger.</p> +<p>The carriage pulled up with a jerk and he leaped +down into the road. He did not speak to me, +so, after a second’s hesitation, I followed him and +stood by his side. There was no mistaking the +sound which had alarmed him. Behind, at no +very great distance, was the sound of galloping +horses and the rumble of smoothly-turning wheels.</p> +<p>Round the corner it came, a small brougham +drawn by a pair of great thoroughbred horses, +whose heavy gallop, even at fifty yards’ distance, +seemed to shake the ground beneath us. M. de +Cartienne snatched one of the carriage-lamps from +the bracket and, stepping into the middle of the +road, waved it backwards and forwards over his +head. His action had the desired effect.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_255">[255]</div> +<p>Quivering and plunging with fear, the horses, +bathed in foam and mud, came to a standstill +before us, and a tall, fair man, with a long fur coat +thrown hurriedly over his evening-clothes, leaped +out into the road. The Count was by his side in +a moment.</p> +<p>I remained a little apart, of course, out of earshot, +but with my eyes fixed upon the two men.</p> +<p>They could scarcely have spoken a hundred +words before their colloquy was at an end. The +new-comer returned to his carriage and M. de +Cartienne followed his example. I looked at him +as he stepped in, anxious to see what effect the +other’s news had had upon him. Apparently it +was not so bad as he had feared, for, although he +still looked anxious and pale, his face had lost its +ghastly hue.</p> +<p>We drove on in the same direction as before. +When we had started he turned to me.</p> +<p>“Do you know what a police raid is?” he asked.</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“Well, I can’t stop to explain,” he went on +rapidly. “Sir Fred—my friend there, has just +brought down word of some strange rumours about +the clubs to-night. It seems the police have got +to hear of this place and are going to pay it an +uninvited visit. They won’t be here for an hour, +though, so if you like just to come inside and see +whether Marx is there or not, you will have time.”</p> +<p>We had turned off the road into a bare, grass-grown +avenue, leading up to a red-brick house, +unilluminated by a single light.</p> +<p>We were barely a minute driving up this uninviting +approach and pulling up at the grim, +closed door. The carriage had scarcely come to a +standstill before the Count was on the doorstep, +fitting a curiously-shaped key into the lock. It +yielded at once and we both stepped inside, followed +by the man in the fur overcoat, whose carriage +had pulled up close behind ours.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_256">[256]</div> +<p>We were in perfect darkness and no one seemed +to be stirring in the house, although the mat under +our feet, in some way connected with an electric +alarm bell, was giving shrill notice of our arrival. +Then we heard swift feet approaching and a tall, +hard-featured woman in a plain black gown, and holding +a lamp high over her head, appeared before us.</p> +<p>M. de Cartienne took her by the arm and led +her on one side. The other man, who was making +vain attempts to appear at his ease and composed, +sank into a chair, palpably trembling. Of the +real nature of the danger which was imminent I +could form only the slightest idea; but that it +was something very much to be feared I could +easily gather from his agitation and de Cartienne’s +manner.</p> +<p>Suddenly the latter turned round.</p> +<p>“Ackland,” he said quickly to the man in the +chair, eyeing him keenly and with a shade of contempt +in his tone, “you are not fit for any of the +serious work, I can see. Listen! Light up the +club-room and the smoke-room, stir up the fires, +bring out the cards and wine-glasses, empty some +tobacco-ash about, make the place look habitable +for us when we come. Ferdinand is on the watch +outside and will give you notice of our visitors. +Ring all three alarm-bells at once if he gives the +signal. Morton, I want you to wait for me. I’ll +send you away all right before anything happens; +but don’t go unless you see me again—unless +you’re frightened.”</p> +<p>He turned on his heel and, without waiting for +any answer from either of us, hurried away down +the passage. The man whom he had called Ackland +rose from his seat and, striking a match, lighted +the gas-brackets all around the hall and the burners +of a candelabra which hung from the roof.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_257">[257]</div> +<p>My companion then threw open a door and +I followed him into a luxuriously-appointed room, +furnished with a suite of lounges and easy-chairs +corresponding with those in the hall.</p> +<p>Whilst I was looking round, he hastily began +moving the chairs about, as though they had +been recently used, poking the fire and generally +making the place look inhabited. Having +done this, he crossed the hall and entered the opposite +room. It was a little smaller, but similarly +appointed and decorated, save that a long table, +covered with a white cloth and laid for dinner, +stood in the centre, and a smaller one, with a green +baize covering at the further end. My companion +threw a pack of cards and some counters upon the +latter and drew it closer up to the fire. Then, +having placed some chairs around it, he went back +into the hall again and I followed.</p> +<p>All the while we had been moving about, strange +noises had been going on under our feet. Now +and then the sound of hurrying footsteps and of +hoarse voices reached us, and, more often still, +the steady rumbling of heavy articles being moved +about. I looked at my companion for an explanation, +but he did not seem inclined to offer +one.</p> +<p>“What’s going on underneath?” I asked at +last.</p> +<p>“Bowls!” he answered curtly, “Don’t talk, +please, I want to listen!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_258">[258]</div> +<h2 id="c45">CHAPTER XLV. +<br /><span class="small">A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION.</span></h2> +<p>The underground noises continued for about a +quarter of an hour, during which time my companion +busied himself by removing from the club-room +various articles—the false top of a table +marked out in a curious fashion, several mahogany +boxes, and other contrivances strange to me, but +presumably gambling appliances, with all of which +he disappeared through the door by which de +Cartienne had made his exit, returning again +directly.</p> +<p>At last everything was quiet, ominously quiet; +then the door from the hall was thrown suddenly +open, and the Count entered, followed by four or +five other men. They were all apparently gentlemen, +and in evening clothes, but terribly soiled +and disordered. Some were splashed with mud +from head to foot, some had their shirt-fronts +blackened and crumpled, and the hands of all of +them were black with grease and dirt. All looked +more or less pale and nervous—in fact, M. de Cartienne +was the only one who thoroughly retained +his composure.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_259">[259]</div> +<p>There was a lavatory on the other side of the +staircase, towards which the whole of the little +party trooped, M. de Cartienne being the last. +As he disappeared he looked round and beckoned +me to follow him. I did so and stood by his side, +while he plunged his head into some cold water, +and then began to wash his hands.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry this should have happened to-night, +Morton,” he said. “Marx was here, but has +bolted in a fright.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t I catch him up?” I asked.</p> +<p>de Cartienne shook his head.</p> +<p>“No; he’s in the train by this time. He comes +here every night, though. I’ll bring you down +to-morrow, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Are you coming back now?” I asked.</p> +<p>“No; I must see this thing through. You +can go and at once, though. My carriage will +take you back. I shall return by train. By the +by, there’s a small favour I want to ask you.”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“I have kept a few private papers here, which +I should not care to have examined should the +search really take place. I want you to take them +back to the hotel for me. The box is a little too +heavy for me to carry, so I have told them to put +it in the carriage as a footstool for you. You +won’t mind that?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” I replied. “When shall I +see you again?”</p> +<p>“At the hotel some time to-morrow. Come +along now,” he added, putting on his coat.</p> +<p>He strolled with me to the front door and, throwing +it open, listened intently.</p> +<p>There was no sound save the moaning of the +wind in the bare trees which stood by the side of +the house and the patter of the fast-falling rain. +I stepped into the carriage and the Count came +to the window to me.</p> +<p>“Don’t forget,” he said, pointing to a long, +oblong box secured by a strong lock. “Draw +the rug a little more over your knees—so.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_260">[260]</div> +<p>I obeyed him and let it hang down to hide the +box, which I began to see was his object.</p> +<p>“And if you should meet anyone and they +should be impertinent enough to ask you where +you are going, don’t tell them. Give them your +card and tell them to go to the devil. If they +are very pressing indeed, you must tell a lie. Say +that you’ve been to dine with Sir Sedgwick Bromley +at Hatherly Hall. Don’t forget the name.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Are you coming back to the Metropole +to-night?” I asked.</p> +<p>“I think so. But if you don’t mind I should +be glad if you would have the box taken up into +your room and keep it for me. I shouldn’t like +anything to happen to it.”</p> +<p>I promised, but without much alacrity. We +shook hands and the carriage drove off.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_261">[261]</div> +<h2 id="c46">CHAPTER XLVI. +<br /><span class="small">A BRUSH WITH THE POLICE.</span></h2> +<p>We could scarcely have accomplished more than +a mile of our homeward journey when, with a +sudden jerk which almost threw me forward, the +carriage was brought to a standstill.</p> +<p>On the opposite side of the road were two carriages, +or, rather, flys, from one of which a tall, +slim man was in the act of descending. Several +other men on horseback were just riding up from +behind. They were all in plain clothes, but something +about their <i>physique</i> and general appearance +had an unmistakable suggestion of police.</p> +<p>The man who had been descending from the +nearer of the two carriages crossed the road and +approached me.</p> +<p>“Sorry to detain you, sir,” he said, saluting in +military fashion, “but I must ask you your name +and address and where you have been this evening.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether it has occurred to you +that your behaviour is rather strange,” I remarked, +looking at him steadily, “not to say impertinent! +What the mischief do you mean by +stopping my carriage in this way on the high road +and asking me questions like that? Who are +you?”</p> +<p>He hesitated, and then answered with a little +more respect in his manner.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_262">[262]</div> +<p>“I am deputy chief sergeant at Scotland Yard, +sir, and these are my men. We have a little business +at a house not far from here, and our orders +are to detain and procure the names and addresses +of all persons whom we might encounter of whom +we had reasonable suspicion that they had recently +left the house in question. You will not object +to give me your name, sir?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not. My name is Philip Morton, +and my general address is Ravenor Castle, Leicestershire. +At present I am staying at the Metropole +Hotel. Are you satisfied?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly, sir,” he answered, after one more +rapid glance around the carriage. “I see that +you are not concerned in this affair. I wish you +good-night!”</p> +<p>We drove rapidly off, and I began to feel not a +little dissatisfied with myself. The Count had no +right to have mixed me up in this affair.</p> +<p>In my ill-temper I gave the box, which lay concealed +under my feet, a savage kick, sufficient to +have sent it flying to the other end of the carriage. +But there was a little surprise in store for me. +To my amazement the box remained perfectly +immovable, just as though it had been screwed +into the bottom of the carriage.</p> +<p>Forgetting the Count’s earnest injunctions, I +threw aside the rug and, stooping down, tried to +lift it by the handles. In those days I was proud +of my muscles, and not altogether without reason, +but it needed all my strength to lift that small +box from the ground and hold it for a moment +in my arms. What could it contain? Papers, +cards, gambling appliances? Surely it could be +none of these! The very idea was ridiculous! +The Count de Cartienne had deceived me. I had +been made the catspaw of those pale, anxious men +who had watched me start so eagerly and scanned +me over with many furtive glances. What it was +of which I was in charge, I could not tell; but in +that box lay their secret, and my first indignant +impulse was to open the carriage door and kick it +out into the road.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_263">[263]</div> +<p>But are not second thoughts always better? +Might not this affair shape itself to my advantage? +There need be no more obligations to +the Count de Cartienne. He was possessed of information +which was valuable to me. I was possessed +of this box, which, without doubt, was invaluable +to him. I would propose an exchange—he +should bring me face to face with Mr. Marx and +receive his precious box; or, if he refused to do +so, its destination should be Scotland Yard. A +very equitable arrangement!</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_264">[264]</div> +<h2 id="c47">CHAPTER XLVII. +<br /><span class="small">LIGHT AT LAST.</span></h2> +<p>We were in London again, bowling smoothly along +wide stretches of silent, gas-lit streets, empty, +and almost deserted now, for it was past two +o’clock.</p> +<p>Soon we turned sharply into Northumberland +Avenue, and pulled up at the hotel. The +man on the box—footman I suppose he was, +although he was not in livery—opened the carriage-door +for me and then took possession of the +small trunk.</p> +<p>“If you will allow me, sir, I will take this up +to your room,” he said.</p> +<p>“You needn’t trouble,” I answered. “I can +manage.”</p> +<p>He retained possession of it.</p> +<p>“The Count’s orders were, sir, that I should +not allow the hotel servants to meddle with it, +and that, if possible, I should myself see it deposited +in your room. You have no objection, +sir, I hope?”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” I answered, turning away. +“In fact, the less I have to do with it the +better.”</p> +<p>We entered the hotel and, crossing the hall, +rang for the lift.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_265">[265]</div> +<p>The lift came to a standstill at the third floor +and we stepped out on to the corridor. +The Count’s servant followed me to my room, +deposited the box on a chair at the foot of the bed +and wished me good-night.</p> +<p>I then got into bed and, full of excitement +though the day had been for me, slept soundly +till morning.</p> +<p>It was five minutes past nine when I entered +the great salon of the hotel and looked round +for Lord Langerdale.</p> +<p>My search was not a long one. He was sitting +alone at a table laid for three in one of the deep +recesses, with a little pile of letters and a newspaper +before him. Directly he saw me he pushed +them away and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“Good-morning!” he said pleasantly. “I’m +glad to see you’re so punctual. You’re not in +a hurry for breakfast for a few minutes, are +you?”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” I answered, taking the chair which +he pushed towards me.</p> +<p>“That’s right. My wife will be down in a quarter +of an hour, and we’ll wait for her, if you don’t +mind.”</p> +<p>I bowed my assent, murmuring that I should +be delighted, which was perfectly true.</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale turned a little round in his +chair so as to face me and began at once:</p> +<p>“I am rather a blunt sort of man, Mr. Morton—we +Irish generally are, you know—and I like to +go straight at a thing. Will you tell me your +mother’s maiden name?”</p> +<p>“I would with pleasure if I knew it,” I answered +readily; “but I don’t.”</p> +<p>“Is she alive?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“She died about nine months ago.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_266">[266]</div> +<p>“And Morton is your name? May I ask who +your father was?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. He was a farmer in Leicestershire.”</p> +<p>“A farmer?” Lord Langerdale looked surprised +and I fancied a little disappointed. “Was +he your mother’s first husband?”</p> +<p>I was about to answer in the affirmative, but +remembered that I had no certain knowledge, so +I corrected myself.</p> +<p>“You may think it strange, Lord Langerdale,” +I said, “but I know nothing of my mother’s +antecedents, nor of her family. From my earliest +recollection she never mentioned her past, nor permitted +others to do so. There was some mystery +connected with it, I am sure; but what it was I +have no clue.</p> +<p>“I could not help observing, as everyone else +did, that she was far above my father from a social +point of view, for she was an educated lady and he +was only a small tenant farmer. Throughout all +her life she was reticent, and her last act before +she died was a paradox. She left me to the guardianship +of the man whom she had always before seemed +to dread and fear.”</p> +<p>“What is his name?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor, of Ravenor Castle. We were +tenants of his.”</p> +<p>“My God!”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale’s whole appearance was that +of a man strongly agitated. He turned his head +away for a moment, and the long, white fingers +which supported it were shaking visibly.</p> +<p>I, too, was moved, for it seemed as though the +time were come at last when something of my +mother’s history would be made known to me. +But he seemed in no hurry to speak again. It +was I who had to remind him of my presence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_267">[267]</div> +<p>“Lord Langerdale,” I cried, my voice, despite +all my efforts, trembling with eagerness, “you +know who my mother was? You can tell me her +history?”</p> +<p>He turned round slowly.</p> +<p>“One more question,” he said. “Are you sure +that you were born at Ravenor?”</p> +<p>“I have never heard otherwise,” I told him. +“But when I asked my mother once at which +church I was christened, she could not tell me +and forbade me to ask again.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale looked puzzled for a moment, +and then asked me my age, which I told +him.</p> +<p>“Do you remember the time when news came +of Mr. Ravenor, after he had been supposed to have +been dead for so long?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It is about my earliest distinct recollection,” +I answered.</p> +<p>“Do you remember how your mother received +the news?”</p> +<p>Yes, I remembered. Even at that moment a +vision rose up before me. I saw her standing +beneath the ivy-covered porch of our farmhouse, +her beautiful face ghastly with sudden pallor, +and her wild eyes riveted upon my father’s burly +figure, as he shouted out the tidings. I described +the scene to Lord Langerdale.</p> +<p>“And afterwards did she ever mention Mr. +Ravenor’s name to you? Did she see anything +of him?” he asked, when I had finished.</p> +<p>Briefly I told him of her warnings, of my meeting +with Mr. Ravenor, of his proposal to adopt me, +and of my mother’s death, and how at the end she +suddenly turned round and left me to his guardianship. +When I had finished he laid his hand upon +my arm.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_268">[268]</div> +<p>“Let us go upstairs to my rooms,” he said kindly. +“If my wife were to come in now and learn the +truth—and I’m a bad hand at keeping anything +back from her—I’m afraid the shock would be too +much for her. Come with me and I will tell you +your mother’s history.”</p> +<p>So I rose and followed him with beating heart.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_269">[269]</div> +<h2 id="c48">CHAPTER XLVIII. +<br /><span class="small">A PAGE OF HISTORY.</span></h2> +<p>Lord Langerdale’s suite of apartments was on +the second floor, and when we reached them it +was no small relief to me to find the room into +which we turned empty. I sank mechanically +into the chair to which he pointed, whilst he +himself remained standing a few feet away from +me.</p> +<p>“From what you have told me,” he said gravely, +“I have not the least doubt but that my wife +and your mother were sisters.”</p> +<p>I gave a little gasp and began to wonder whether +this was not all a wild dream. Lord Langerdale +remained silent, whilst I recovered myself in some +measure.</p> +<p>“Will you tell me about it?” I asked slowly. +“I don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“I will tell you everything,” Lord Langerdale +said kindly. “This is a great surprise to you, of +course, and quite as great a one to me. Here +is the story—or, rather, as much as I know +of it.”</p> +<p>He cleared his throat and took a chair by +my side. Everything else in the room except +his face was blurred and indistinct, and his +voice seemed to come to me from a long distance. +But every word he uttered sank into my +heart.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_270">[270]</div> +<p>“Your grandfather was a very poor and +very proud English baronet—Sir Arthur Montavon. +My wife Elsie and your mother were his +only children, and they were twins. They were +presented at Court together, created an equal +sensation, and were at once allowed to be the +beauties of the season. This was the time +when I first knew them, so it is here that I +begin my tale.</p> +<p>“Six months after their appearance in Society, +Elsie was engaged to be married to me. But your +mother seemed to be more difficult to please. She +refused several very good offers, and at the end of +her first season she was still free.</p> +<p>“I don’t know exactly how or where she first +met him,” Lord Langerdale continued slowly; +“but before the following spring your mother +was betrothed to the Count de Cartienne. At +that time he was one of the richest, the best-looking, +and most popular men about town. There seemed +to be nothing which he could not do, no art +in which he was not proficient, and he was +passionately in love with your mother. Whether +she ever really cared for him I cannot tell; but if +she did, it could only have been a very transitory +feeling.</p> +<p>“The marriage-day was fixed and was a general +topic of conversation. I even believe that your +mother had begun to prepare her trousseau, when +something happened. Count de Cartienne was +deposed from his post of chief favourite in Society, +which he at one time held, by a younger and more +extraordinary man. That man was——”</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor!” I exclaimed.</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale nodded.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_271">[271]</div> +<p>“I don’t think,” he went on, “that you can +possibly imagine from the Mr. Ravenor of to-day +what he was when he became the rage of London +Society. He had just returned from his first +journey in the East, after some perilous adventures, +which had filled the columns of the newspapers for +weeks and had already created a strong curiosity +about him. I met him, I think, on the first +evening he entered a London drawing-room, and I +will never forget it.</p> +<p>“He was as handsome as a Greek god, with +limbs magnificently developed by his hardy, +vigorous life and rigid asceticism, with the head +of a Byron, the manners of a Grandison, and +the fire and eloquence of a Burke, when he +chose to open his mouth.</p> +<p>“Men and women alike were fascinated, which +was all the more remarkable as he sought no intimate +amongst the former, and studiously avoided +compromising himself with any of the latter, +although, Heaven knows, he had no lack of +opportunity. The only man with whom he +seemed to be on at all friendly terms was de +Cartienne; and the only woman to whom he paid +any save the most ordinary attention was your +mother.”</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale paused for several moments +and seemed wrapped in a brown study, from which +my impatience aroused him. He continued at +once:</p> +<p>“Things went on smoothly for a time, and then +rumours began to get about. At first there were +only faint whispers, but presently people began +to talk openly. Count de Cartienne had better +beware, they said, or he would lose his bride. At +first he treated all such suggestions with contempt, +but the time came when he was forced to consider +them seriously.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_272">[272]</div> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor published a small volume of +poems anonymously, amongst which were some +passionate love-sonnets addressed to A. M. Everyone +was talking of the book and wondering who +the new poet was, when, through some treachery +in the publisher’s office, the secret leaked out, and +everyone then knew that those thrilling love-songs +were addressed to Alice Montavon.</p> +<p>“de Cartienne went straight to Mr. Ravenor +and demanded an explanation. Mr. Ravenor +acknowledged the authorship of the poems, and +did not deny that the verses in question were +addressed to your mother; further than that +he would not say a word, and simply referred +de Cartienne to her.</p> +<p>“He went straight to her, poor fellow! and +was met with a piteous entreaty that he would +release her from her engagement. She loved Mr. +Ravenor and could marry no one else. What +followed remains to some extent a secret; but +this much we know:</p> +<p>“There was a furious scene between de Cartienne +and your mother, which ended in his refusing +to give her up and threatening to shoot his +rival if ever he saw them together again. Sir +Arthur Montavon, who was deeply in de Cartienne’s +debt, swore that the marriage should +take place, and apparently they gained their end, +for Mr. Ravenor suddenly disappeared, and it +was reported that he had left the country. On +the very day before the wedding, however, +Society was furnished with a still more sensational +piece of scandal; your mother left her +home secretly and the companion of her flight was +Mr. Ravenor!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_273">[273]</div> +<p>I could sit still no longer, but rose and walked +up and down the room with quick, unsteady strides. +Lord Langerdale watched me with a great and +growing pity in his honest face. There was +silence between us for several minutes, during +which, after one keen, restless look of inquiry, +I kept my face turned away from his. Then +he continued his story in a somewhat lower +key:</p> +<p>“For two days de Cartienne was virtually a +maniac. Then he seemed suddenly to come to +his senses, and I think we all—Elsie and I especially—dreaded +his terrible, set calmness more even +than his previous fury. He made no wild threats, +nor did he talk to anyone of his intentions. But +we all knew what they were; and when he left +London, secretly and alone, we trembled, for we +knew that he was going in search of your mother. +He needed no help, for he was himself a born +detective, and possessed in a marvellous degree the +art of disguising himself.</p> +<p>“Every day we searched the newspapers +anxiously, dreading lest we should read of the +tragedy which we feared was inevitable. But we +heard nothing. The weeks crept on into months +and the months to years and still we heard nothing—not +even from your mother.</p> +<p>“We advertised, made every possible form of +inquiry, but in vain. Then came the news of Mr. +Ravenor’s shipwreck and supposed death, and we +concluded that your mother had perished with +him. I accepted a foreign appointment, and only +returned to England, after ten years’ absence, last +week. I heard at once of Mr. Ravenor’s marvellous +return to life and I wrote to him. The +only reply I received was a single sentence:</p> +<p>“‘You can tell your wife that her sister is dead. +I have no more to say.’</p> +<p>“Only yesterday, to my amazement, I met +de Cartienne again, and with him, you, who, I +felt sure from the beginning, must be Alice’s +son. It may seem strange to you that I should +know so much and yet know no more. But it +is so.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_274">[274]</div> +<p>I turned round and faced him slowly.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say, then, that after her +elopement my mother never once communicated +with her father or sister?”</p> +<p>“Only in this way. She left a private message +for my wife, telling her through whom to forward +a letter, but not disclosing her whereabouts. Sir +Arthur Montavon intercepted the message and +took advantage of it to write a cruel, stern letter, +forbidding her ever to appear in his presence again, +or to address him or her sister; and I am sorry +to say that, at his command, my wife, too, wrote +in a censorious vein, hoping to make up for it by +sending another letter a few days afterwards. +The first letter your mother received; the second +missed her. She inherited a good deal of her father’s +firmness, almost severity, of disposition, and I +have no doubt that the receipt of those letters +would lead her to cut herself off altogether from +her family.”</p> +<p>“Then you do not even know where she and +Mr. Ravenor were married?” I asked huskily.</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale shook his head, and I noticed +that he failed to look me in the face. I braced +myself up with a great effort.</p> +<p>“Lord Langerdale,” I said quietly, “this is a +matter of life or death to me. You seem to +avoid my question. Answer me this: Have you +any reason to suppose that—that there was no +marriage?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_275">[275]</div> +<p>“None at all,” he answered quickly. “But, +my dear boy,” he went on, coming over to my +side and resting his hand upon my shoulder, “it +is always as well to be prepared for the worst. I +will tell you how it has seemed to me sometimes. +Mr. Ravenor had very peculiar views with regard +to marriage, something similar to those Shelley +held in his youth, and we never heard of any ceremony, +which seems strange. Then, too, their +separation and your mother’s marriage to a farmer, +her stern, lonely life afterwards, and the fact +that your birth has been kept concealed from +you——”</p> +<p>He hesitated and seemed to gather encouragement +from my face. I could not, I would not, +for a moment share his fear when I thought +steadfastly about it. I thought of my mother +dying, with a saint-like peace upon her face, +in Mr. Ravenor’s arms. I thought of the +calm, sorrowful dignity of her life, and the idea +refused for a moment to linger in my mind. +Some other great cause for estrangement there +must have been between them, but not that—not +that!</p> +<p>“I will go down and see Ravenor to-day,” Lord +Langerdale declared, with sudden energy. “I +will wrest the truth from him.”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“This matter lies between him and me only,” +I said, in a low tone. “I will go to him.”</p> +<p>The handle of the door was softly turned and +Lady Langerdale stood upon the threshold. Her +husband went over to her at once.</p> +<p>“Elsie,” he said, “you were right. There are +many things which yet remain in darkness; but +this is Alice’s boy—your sister’s son.”</p> +<p>She came up to me with outstretched hands +and a wistful look in her sweet, womanly face.</p> +<p>My heart stood still for a moment, and then +gave a great throb as I felt the warm clasp of her +hands and the tremulous touch of her lips upon +my forehead.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_276">[276]</div> +<p>I knew that I had reached a crisis in my +life, and though it had brought with it a great +fear, it had also brought a great joy, for it +seemed as though the days of my loneliness were +over.</p> +<p>Could I doubt it when I looked into Lady Langerdale’s +face and felt my uncle’s warm hand-clasp? +There was a sweetness about such a thought hard +for another to realise, and for a moment I gave +myself up to it. Whilst Lord Langerdale briefly told +his wife the few particulars which I had been able +to give him of my mother and myself, I stood +between the two, keenly conscious of and enjoying +the change which seemed hovering over +my life.</p> +<p>But afterwards I remembered the ordeal which +I had yet to face and the mission which had brought +me to London, and they saw the gladness die slowly +out of my face.</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale questioned me concerning it, +and then I told them everything—told them of our +suspicions in connection with Mr. Marx and of +my determination to find him out, and discover +whether he had been guilty of foul play towards +the man Hart.</p> +<p>When I came to my last night’s adventure with +Count de Cartienne, Lord Langerdale looked very +grave.</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” he declared, “that this is +more a matter for the police than for you to mix +yourself up in.”</p> +<p>I shook my head. Of one thing I did feel confident, +although, as regards the whole of the rest +of the affair, I was in a complete maze.</p> +<p>However anxious Mr. Ravenor might be for the +truth concerning the missing man to be discovered, +he had strong reasons for not wishing the police +to take part in the search. I felt sure of that, and +was determined to act accordingly.</p> +<p>Lord Langerdale was not easily reassured.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_277">[277]</div> +<p>“I don’t like the idea of your having anything +whatever to do with de Cartienne in all the circumstances,” +he said, with a shudder. “He can +have but one feeling for you, and a more dangerous +man does not breathe. It is an evil chance that +has brought you together.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_278">[278]</div> +<h2 id="c49">CHAPTER XLIX. +<br /><span class="small">I WILL GO ALONE.</span></h2> +<p>We all sat down to breakfast together. Lord +Langerdale divided his attention between his breakfast +and <i>The Times</i>.</p> +<p>“Are you going shopping to-day, Elsie?” he +asked, looking up from his paper.</p> +<p>She glanced at him inquiringly.</p> +<p>“I think so. Why?”</p> +<p>“Be very careful about your change, then. +There has never been so much bad money about +as just now. The papers are full of the most +startling rumours. Coining must be going on in +London somewhere upon an enormous scale, and +the police are—— Why, Philip, what’s the matter +with you?”</p> +<p>I recovered myself promptly and set down the +cup which I had been within an ace of spilling.</p> +<p>“The coffee was a little hot,” I said slowly. +“It was very stupid of me.”</p> +<p>He went on reading and Lady Langerdale began +to talk to me. But my attention was wandering. +It was a strange idea which had occurred to me, +perhaps a ridiculous one. Yet it was possessed +of a certain fascination.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_279">[279]</div> +<p>In the middle of breakfast a waiter brought +me a note. Lady Langerdale’s permission was +given unasked and I tore it open. It was from +de Cartienne, and the contents, though brief, +were to the point:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class="sc">My dear Morton,</span>—I have seen the man +whom you are seeking and I know for certain +where he will be to-morrow night. My carriage +shall call for you at ten o’clock in the evening—to-morrow, +mind; not this evening—and if you +care to come I will bring you to him. By the by, +you might as well bring with you the box which +you were good enough to take care of—Yours,</p> +<p><span class="lr">“<span class="sc">E. de C.</span>”</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I handed it to Lord Langerdale, who adjusted his +glasses and read it through carefully.</p> +<p>“I don’t like it,” he remarked, when he had +finished; “don’t like it at all. Take my advice, +Philip; send him his box, or whatever it is, and +don’t go.”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“I must find out about Mr. Marx,” I answered, +“and I know of no other means. That will be to-morrow +night, you know. To-day——”</p> +<p>“Yes, what are we going to do to-day?” Lord +Langerdale interrupted.</p> +<p>I answered him without hesitation:</p> +<p>“I am going down to Ravenor Castle.”</p> +<p>He looked surprised, a little agitated.</p> +<p>“I shall go with you,” Lord Langerdale suddenly +declared. “Alice was my sister-in-law, and if +Ravenor deserted or ill-used her, I have the right to +call him to account for it.”</p> +<p>“And I a better one,” I reminded him quietly. +“Grant me this favour please. I must go alone and +see him—alone.”</p> +<p>He looked at his wife and she inclined her head +towards me.</p> +<p>“The boy is right,” she said softly. “It is his +affair, not ours. It will be better for him to go +alone.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_280">[280]</div> +<h2 id="c50">CHAPTER L. +<br /><span class="small">I MEET MY FATHER.</span></h2> +<p>After a wearying journey I stood at last before the +great gates of the castle, the bell at my feet giving +shrill notice of my presence. The lodge-keeper +hurried out and welcomed me.</p> +<p>I walked swiftly up the winding ascent, straight +across the flagged courtyard and entered the castle +by a side-door. Then, heedless of the surprised +looks of the servants, I made my way to the library, +and knocking softly at the door of the inner room, +entered.</p> +<p>At first it seemed to me that he was not there, +for the chamber was in semi-darkness. The heavily-shaded +lamp which stood upon the writing-table +was turned down so low as to afford no +light at all, and the fitful glow of the firelight +left the greater part of the room in shadow. +But as I stood upon the threshold a burning coal +dropped upon the hearth, and by its flame I saw +him leaning back in a high oak chair a few feet +away.</p> +<p>Softly I moved across the room towards him and +then I saw that he was asleep.</p> +<p>I made no movement, but somehow he +seemed to become conscious of my presence and +opened his eyes. They fell upon me standing +on the hearth-rug before him, and he sat up with a +start.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_281">[281]</div> +<p>“Philip!” he cried, “you here? You back? +You have found him, then?”</p> +<p>At the sound of his voice I trembled, yet I +answered him at once:</p> +<p>“Not yet. To-morrow night I shall see him. +Till then I could do nothing—and I came here.” +He looked at my mud-bespattered boots and +wind-tossed hair.</p> +<p>“You have walked from Mellborough?” he +asked. Then something in my face seemed to +strike him, and, leaning forward, he placed his +hands upon my shoulders and turned towards the +glow of the fire.</p> +<p>“You have come with a purpose!” he said +slowly. “Tell me—you have heard something in +London?”</p> +<p>I bowed my head silently.</p> +<p>“Some story of the past—my past?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“My God!”</p> +<p>Then there was silence between us. I bore it till +I could bear it no longer.</p> +<p>“Can you wonder that I have come?” I cried, +my voice shaking with a passion which I knew no +longer how to restrain. “Oh, speak to me! Tell +me whether this thing is true?”</p> +<p>“It is true.”</p> +<p>He had drawn back a little; he had hesitated. +I caught hold of his hands and drew him towards +me.</p> +<p>“My father,” I cried passionately, “speak to +me! Why do you draw away? Is it because—because—oh, +only speak to me, call me your son, +and if there be anything to forgive I will forgive +it.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_282">[282]</div> +<p>He seemed suddenly to abandon an unnatural +struggle and caught me by the hands and clasped +them. For a moment his face was radiant.</p> +<p>“Philip, my son, my dear son!” he cried. +“Thank God, it is not that! Thank God, +that my name is yours! You are indeed my +son.”</p> +<p>After a considerable silence my father told me +how he had met Marx abroad. He had done him +some service and they had become friendly. He +latterly engaged him as secretary.</p> +<p>Then he went on to tell me how Marx had met +him on his return after his long absence and had +taken him to see his wife, who believed him +dead.</p> +<p>He then told me how he had found her married +again to Farmer Morton and implored her to come +back to him. She refused, and he, in a blind fury, +rushed back to where he had left Marx.</p> +<p>He was attacked by Morton; a struggle ensued +on the brink of the slate-pit. After a time my +father managed to fling Morton from him and +fled.</p> +<p>That night Marx came to him and told him he +had thrown Morton into the quarry, and that a man +named Hart, <i>alias</i> Francis, had witnessed the deed. +My father wanted to confess, but Marx persuaded +him to keep silent and paid Francis to bear the +crime.</p> +<p>“Now you know why I shrank from calling you +my son, knowing that when the time came for you +to be told of your parentage, I must also tell you +that your father was a murderer!”</p> +<p>“It is false!” I cried, springing up and seizing +both his hands. “It was an accident. No one +could call it a murder. Oh, my father, my father, +that you should have suffered like this for so slight +a cause!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_283">[283]</div> +<p>A light leaped into his face and for a moment +his wasted features and sunken eyes glowed and +shone with a great, unexpected happiness. He +drew me gently to him and laid his hands upon +my shoulders.</p> +<p>“Thank God for this, Philip!” he said, with +trembling voice. “It is greater consolation than +I ever dared hope for in this world.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_284">[284]</div> +<h2 id="c51">CHAPTER LI. +<br /><span class="small">DAWN.</span></h2> +<p>On the morrow as we walked out together, my +father and I, making our way as though by common +consent up towards the bare brown hills, I remembered +that there were many things which I wished +to say to him.</p> +<p>“I want to ask you about Mr. Marx, father,” +I began. “Everything concerning him is so +utterly mysterious, especially his going away so +suddenly. Apart from the fear of his having used +some sort of foul play towards Hart—or Francis—I +can’t help thinking that there is something else +wrong with him. You trust him thoroughly, I +suppose?” I added hesitatingly.</p> +<p>“I have always done so,” my father answered +quietly.</p> +<p>“Do you like the man himself?” I asked.</p> +<p>My father shrugged his shoulders indifferently.</p> +<p>“I cannot say that he has ever aroused my +feelings in any way,” he answered. “He has had +work to do for me and has done it well and +silently. I have looked upon him somewhat as +an automaton, although a valuable one. And +yet——” he added musingly.</p> +<p>“Yet what?” I interrupted.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_285">[285]</div> +<p>“Well, sometimes I have half fancied that he +was playing a part, that his interest in our work +was a little strained. He gave me the idea of a +man working steadily forward towards a set purpose, +and I have never seemed able to reconcile +that purpose with the completion of our task. His +sudden absences, too—for this is not the first of +them,—are strange.”</p> +<p>“I should think so,” I assented. “Has he +taken anything away with him this time?” I +asked bluntly.</p> +<p>A very grave look came into my father’s face +and he did not answer me at once. When he did +so his tone was low and anxious.</p> +<p>“Yes, he has. About a fortnight ago we came +to the end, virtually, of our long task. There was +only a little revision wanted, which he was to have +left for me. The night that he disappeared the +manuscript disappeared also. Evidently he took it +away with him.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he has taken it to the publishers,” I +suggested. My father shook his head doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Only this morning I have heard from them, +begging me to forward it without delay,” he said.</p> +<p>I was silent. Even if he had taken the manuscript, +what use could he make of it? How could +it profit him?</p> +<p>Suddenly I stood still in the path. My heart +gave a great leap and a cry broke from my lips. +For the first time an idea, the vague phantom of +an idea, swept in upon me, carrying all before it, +and casting a brilliant, lurid light upon all that +seemed so dark and mysterious.</p> +<p>“This man, Marx,” I cried, seizing my father’s +arm. “Tell me quickly. Has he ever reminded +you of anyone?”</p> +<p>My father looked at me wonderingly.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_286">[286]</div> +<p>“It is strange that you should ask that,” he +said. “Sometimes, especially when I have come +upon him alone, or have seen him excited, his tone +and little mannerisms have seemed somehow vaguely +familiar. And yet,” he added thoughtfully, “I +have never been able to recall of whom they have +reminded me.”</p> +<p>I opened my trembling lips to speak, but a wave +of cold doubt swept in upon me. Surely this thing +could not be! I must be mad to let the idea linger +for a moment in my mind. And yet——</p> +<p>At that moment of my hesitation, my father’s +hand fell heavily upon my arm. He pointed forward +along the dark avenue with a shaking finger. +In the dim twilight we could see the tall gaunt +figure of a man in ragged clothes, making his way +up to the castle.</p> +<p>“That is not one of my men, Philip,” he said +hoarsely. “Who is it?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“It is a stranger.”</p> +<p>My father turned abruptly from the avenue into +a side-walk.</p> +<p>“Follow me,” he said; “we will go in by the +private way.”</p> +<p>We walked across the turf, through a little iron +gate, which my father unlocked, and entered the +shrubbery walk.</p> +<p>Once I looked round through an opening in the +laurel leaves. The stranger was leaning wearily +against the railings round the lodge, waiting for +admittance.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_287">[287]</div> +<h2 id="c52">CHAPTER LII. +<br /><span class="small">WHERE IS MR. MARX?</span></h2> +<p>Not until we had reached the Castle and were in +the library did my father speak to me. Then his +words were grave enough.</p> +<p>“We have done Mr. Marx an injury, Philip,” he +said slowly.</p> +<p>“How?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Listen, and you will know.”</p> +<p>He went to the telephone and signalled. The +answer came at once.</p> +<p>“Someone has been asking for me at the gate,” +he said. “Who is it?”</p> +<p>“A stranger, sir, to see you.”</p> +<p>“What name?”</p> +<p>“Hart, sir.”</p> +<p>“Is he waiting?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. I told him that it would be useless, +but he refuses to go away.”</p> +<p>“You can pass him. Send him here at once.”</p> +<p>My father turned away and looked at me with +all the old weariness in his face, but with little +agitation. Of the two, I was the more nervous. +I crossed the room and laid my hand gently upon +his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Thank God that I am here with you! What +shall you say to him, father? What does he want, +think you? Money?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_288">[288]</div> +<p>My father shook his head sadly.</p> +<p>“He would send if that were all. He has what +he wants and that is not much. I fear that he +wants something else.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“His good name cleared.”</p> +<p>“He took the guilt willingly,” I cried. “He +must bear it now. He cannot escape from it.”</p> +<p>“He can,” my father answered. “He can tell +the truth.”</p> +<p>“No one would believe him. It would be his +word against yours. What chance would he have?”</p> +<p>My father turned a stern, dark face upon me.</p> +<p>“So you think that I would swear to a lie, +Philip? No! There was always this risk. I have +felt that if ever he should demand to be set right +with the world, it must be done.”</p> +<p>“It shall be done.”</p> +<p>We started, for the words came from the other +side of the room. Standing in the deep shadows +just inside the door was a tall, gaunt man, with +long dishevelled beard and pale, ghastly face. His +clothes were ragged and weather-stained and his +boots were thick with mud. I looked towards him +fascinated. It was the face of the lunatic who had +twice attempted Mr. Marx’s life. It was Hart, +<i>alias</i> Francis, the man who held in his hands a +life dearer to me than my own.</p> +<p>“Is it really you, Francis?” my father asked, +in a shocked tone. “You are altered. You have +been ill. Sit down.”</p> +<p>He took no notice. Whilst my father had been +speaking his eyes had been wandering restlessly +round the room.</p> +<p>“Where is—he?” he asked hoarsely.</p> +<p>“Do you mean Mr. Marx?” I said.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“He is in London.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_289">[289]</div> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>There was an expression in his face partly of +disappointment, partly of relief. He drew a long +breath and remained silent, as though waiting to +be questioned.</p> +<p>“Do you want money?” my father asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Do you want to give up your secret, to let the +world know the truth?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>A cry burst from my lips, but my father checked +me.</p> +<p>“It is well,” he said. “Sit down. You need not +fear; I will confess.”</p> +<p>“You have nothing to confess. It is I who must +do that.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” my father asked, peering +forward into the darkness, for there was no +lamp lit in the room. “Come nearer; I cannot see +your face.”</p> +<p>With trembling fingers I drew up the blind from +the high window. The moon, which had just +emerged from a bank of black, flying clouds, cast +a long stream of light across the room.</p> +<p>Francis moved forward with slow, reluctant steps. +Then, with a sudden, wild cry, he threw himself +upon his knees before my father.</p> +<p>“As God in Heaven forgives, swear that you will +forgive me!” he cried passionately.</p> +<p>“Forgive! I have nothing to forgive,” my +father answered gently. “You wish to lay down +your burden. Good! I am ready to take it up.”</p> +<p>He stooped forward in his chair and stretched +out his hand to the man to help him rise. In his +altered position the moonlight seemed to cast a sort +of halo round his face, and it seemed to me like +the face of an angel.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_290">[290]</div> +<p>“Don’t touch me,” cried the man; “don’t. I +can’t bear it! Let me tell you the truth, or I shall +die. You think that you killed Farmer Morton. +It’s false! Mr. Marx killed him.”</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>My father had sprung to his feet. Somehow, +I found myself by his side. Francis still grovelled +on the floor.</p> +<p>“Up, man, and tell me all the truth,” my father +cried out in a voice of thunder; “up on your feet +and speak like a man.”</p> +<p>He obeyed at once, trembling in every limb. +Then he faltered out his story:</p> +<p>“I was in the wood that night. It was dark; +I lost my way. Suddenly I heard voices—yours +and Morton’s. You were struggling within a few +feet of me. Before I could interfere you had thrown +him down and rushed away. I heard him breathing +hard, and I saw Mr. Marx steal out from behind +a tree and creep up to him. Morton heard, too, +and sprang up. They struggled together; perhaps +in the darkness, Morton mistook him for you. I +remembered the quarry and rushed out. I was too +late.</p> +<p>“There was a fearful flash of lightning and I +saw Marx put forth all his strength and throw the +other into the slate-pit. He turned round and +saw me.</p> +<p>“He would have hurled me over, too, if he had +dared, but I was strong and he was exhausted. +So he offered me money to go away. I accepted, +never thinking that they would fix the crime upon +me. Marx had thought it all out with a devilish +cunning. He provided me with disguises and told +me where to go to and how to get there. When I +was safe away and read the papers, I saw at once +how I had been trapped. I had pleaded guilty to +the murder.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_291">[291]</div> +<p>“Time went on and I grew more miserable +every day. Marx sent me plenty of money—too +much. I began to drink. I was ill. When I recovered +I wrote to tell him that I could bear it +no longer and that I was coming to see him. I +told him that I meant to go to a magistrate after +I had given him time to get out of the country. +He dared me to come to the Castle. Still, +I came. It was dusk when I got here. He met +me in the avenue. He offered me large sums of +money to go away, but I was determined and +refused everything. It was then from something +he let fall in his anger that I knew how he had +been deceiving you. Then I would not listen to him +any more and bade him stand out of the way. +He let me pass him and then struck me on the back +of the head with some heavy weapon.”</p> +<p>“My God!” I cried. “I was close to you. I +heard you cry and I met Mr. Marx directly afterwards. +He must have thrown you down the gravel-pit.”</p> +<p>“It was there I found myself when I came to +my senses,” Francis continued. “Directly I sat +up and tried to think over what had happened I +began to feel my head swim. After that everything +is blurred and dim in my mind. I fled. The +second time, you, Mr. Morton, saved his life from +me, as my fingers were closing upon his throat.</p> +<p>“They put me in an asylum. Afterwards Mr. +Marx passed himself off as my brother and had me +moved into a private one. The commissioners +came and I appeared before them. I was sane. +They let me go. Where is Mr. Marx? Where is +Mr. Marx?”</p> +<p>There was a deep silence. Then I held out my +hand to my father and he clasped it.</p> +<p>“Thank God!” I cried, my voice quivering with +a great sob—“thank God!”</p> +<p>“Amen,” my father repeated softly.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_292">[292]</div> +<p>Again that question, in the same dry, hard tone.</p> +<p>“Where is Mr. Marx?”</p> +<p>We looked at him—at his nervously twitching +hands and burning eyes. The madness was upon +him again. We must not let him go. My father +drew me on one side.</p> +<p>“I shall go to London with you to-night,” he +said. “What shall we do with this man?”</p> +<p>“He must stay here,” I answered. “Leave it +to me.”</p> +<p>I went up to him and laid my hand upon his +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Listen, Francis,” I said. “There are two +places where Mr. Marx is likely to be this week. +One is in London, the other here. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered; “I understand.”</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Ravenor and I know best where to +find him in London, but we can’t leave unless we +know that there is someone on the look-out here +as well. If we go to London, will you remain here +and watch for him?”</p> +<p>The man’s eyes sparkled.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he answered quickly. “This is the room +where he writes, isn’t it? He will come here. +Yes, I will wait; I will watch here in this room.”</p> +<p>My father rang a bell and ordered a carriage to +take us to the station. Then he gave special orders +about Francis. He was to be allowed to remain in +the library, to use Mr. Ravenor’s own sleeping +apartment, and to have meals brought to him +regularly.</p> +<p>An hour later we left the castle for Torchester. +As we drove across the courtyard we could see a +pale, gaunt figure standing at the library window, +silent and rigid. It was Francis, waiting.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_293">[293]</div> +<h2 id="c53">CHAPTER LIII. +<br /><span class="small">MESSRS. HIGGENSON AND CO.</span></h2> +<p>At ten o’clock we reached St. Pancras, travelling +by fast train from Torchester, and half an hour +later a hansom put us down at the Hotel Metropole. +Immediately in front of the entrance Count de +Cartienne’s small brougham was waiting, and as we +descended from the cab his servant stepped forward +and handed me a note. I tore it open and read it +under the gas-lamp.</p> +<p>“Come to me at once and you will find Mr. +M——. Bring the box with you.—C——.”</p> +<p>I passed the note on to my father and drew him +a little on one side. At the sight of the handwriting +he started.</p> +<p>“Philip, whose writing is this?” he asked quickly.</p> +<p>“The writing of the man who alone knows where +Marx is,” I answered. “It is he who calls for his +letters and forwards them.”</p> +<p>“His name? I insist upon knowing his name.”</p> +<p>“de Cartienne.”</p> +<p>My father’s face turned a shade paler and his +eyebrows contracted.</p> +<p>“You have been keeping this from me, Philip. +You shall not go near that man. I forbid it. My +God! Marx and de Cartienne friends!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_294">[294]</div> +<p>He stopped short on the pavement and looked +at me with a new light in his face. He began to +understand.</p> +<p>“Marx and de Cartienne,” he repeated slowly. +“Philip, cannot you see what this means? Marx +has been de Cartienne’s tool and I have been +their victim. Where is de Cartienne? Philip, you +shall tell me! Do you hear?”</p> +<p>My father seized my arm and held it fast. I +turned and faced him.</p> +<p>“Father, you must leave this to me,” I +said, firmly. “I have thought it all over in +the train and my plans are made. You will trust +me?”</p> +<p>“Tell me what they are,” he said.</p> +<p>“I have in my possession a box belonging to +de Cartienne, which contains a secret. Until I +yield that box up to him I am safe, since he can +only get it from me. You see that he tells me in +this note to bring it with me.”</p> +<p>“Yes. Go on.”</p> +<p>“Well, I am going without the box, and if he +is really ignorant of who I am and willing to give +me the information about Marx, why, then I can +easily come back for it, and whatever it contains +he must have unopened.</p> +<p>“If, on the other hand, I fall into any sort of +trap and he makes me send for it, then, immediately +on receipt of my message, no matter how it +is couched, you must force the box open, and if it +contains anything in the least suspicious, come +straight to my aid with the police. The messenger +who comes for the box must be bribed or frightened +into bringing you.”</p> +<p>“I do not like it, Philip. It is all too roundabout. +If de Cartienne has any idea who you are, you are +running a risk.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_295">[295]</div> +<p>“I don’t think so,” I answered. “Until he gets +possession of that box he will feel himself, to a +certain extent, in my hands and will not be likely +to do me an injury.”</p> +<p>“What do you suppose the box contains?”</p> +<p>I hesitated and looked around. de Cartienne’s +servant was some distance off and there was no +one within hearing.</p> +<p>“Have you read the newspapers just lately?” +I asked.</p> +<p>My father shook his head.</p> +<p>“Only the literary newspapers.”</p> +<p>I bought a special edition, which a newsboy was +brandishing in our faces, and, turning down the +leading article, passed it on to my father. He +glanced down at it and then looked up at me in +blank amazement.</p> +<p>“Philip, you cannot mean this!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Why not?” I answered. “I do, indeed; but +whether there is anything in it or not we shall soon +know. I must go now. You understand what to +do if I send for the box.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like your expedition at all,” he said, +doubtfully. “Have you any idea where you are +going?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“None; but I shall come to no harm. My +star is in the ascendant now. If it leads me into +danger it will bring me safely out of it. <i>Au +revoir!</i>”</p> +<p>Then I sprang into the carriage and was driven +swiftly away.</p> +<p>Our journey came to a sudden end, and, if I was +surprised at the locality into which it had brought +me, I was still more so at its termination. The +carriage had stopped outside a gloomy-looking +warehouse, the back of which, ornamented with +several cranes, overlooked the river. The whole of +the front appeared to be in darkness, but from a +gas-lamp on the other side of the narrow way I +could read the brass sign-plate by the side of the +door:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_296">[296]</div> +<p class="center">HIGGENSON AND CO. +<br /><span class="sc">Merchants and Exporters.</span></p> +<p>The door of the carriage was thrown open and +I was evidently expected to descend. I did so +after a moment’s hesitation.</p> +<p>“Are you sure that you have brought me to +the right place?” I asked the man who held the +door open. “This seems to be a warehouse. I +think there must be some mistake.”</p> +<p>The man silently closed the carriage door and +stepped up to his seat beside the driver.</p> +<p>“There is no mistake,” he said curtly. “You will +find the Count de Cartienne—there.”</p> +<p>He pointed to the warehouse door and I saw +that it was now open and that a man was standing +upon the threshold. I turned towards him doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Will you come this way, Mr. Morton?” he +said. “Count de Cartienne is sorry to have to +bring you here, but we are busy—very busy, and +he had no time to get back to the hotel. The +carriage will wait to take you back.”</p> +<p>The man’s manner and tone were certainly not +those of a servant, but from the position in which +he stood I could see nothing save the bare outline +of his figure. I crossed the pavement towards him.</p> +<p>We left the room and he conducted me down a +passage and into a small chamber. Here my companion +paused and lit a lamp which stood on a +table in the middle of the room.</p> +<p>“Count de Cartienne will be with you in a moment,” +he said, walking to the door. “Kindly +excuse me.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_297">[297]</div> +<p>I turned the lamp a little higher and looked +around. The room was quite a small one and +plainly furnished as a waiting-room.</p> +<p>For the first time I began to realise fully what +I had done in coming to this place at such an hour. +Some wild thoughts of a tardy retreat flashed into +my mind, and I tried the handle of the door by +which we had entered. It turned, but the door +remained closed. I stooped down and examined +it. The result was as I had feared—a spring lock +had fastened it. I tried the other door, by which +my guide had issued. The result was the same. I +was a prisoner.</p> +<p>I had scarcely time to realise my position before +it became necessary to act. The door was suddenly +opened and Count de Cartienne stood before me, +his eyes flashing with anger and his tall, lithe frame +quivering with rage.</p> +<p>“Why have you not brought that box?” he +exclaimed in a low, fierce tone.</p> +<p>I stood up facing him, with my back to the +table, striving to keep calm, for the situation was +critical. The complete change in his appearance +and manner towards me was sufficient warning.</p> +<p>“The box is safe enough,” I answered. “You +can have it in an hour’s time. But——”</p> +<p>“But what?” he interrupted, savagely. “Why +have you not brought it, as I bade you in my note? +Why is it not here? We want it at once!”</p> +<p>“You forget that there is a <i>quid pro quo</i> which +I expect from you. It seems to me, Count de +Cartienne, that you are making a tool of me, +and——”</p> +<p>“What is it you want—to see this man Marx?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, he is not here.”</p> +<p>I checked the rejoinder which, had I spoken it, +would probably have cost me my life.</p> +<p>“Where is he, then?” I asked.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_298">[298]</div> +<p>“I will tell you when you have written for that +box,” he said, opening a drawer and placing pen +and paper upon the table.</p> +<p>I shook my head. “There is no need for me to +write. It is of no use my remaining if Mr. Marx +is not here. Send your servant back with me and +I will give it him.”</p> +<p>“No, I shall hold you as a hostage for the box. +Besides, I have a few words to say to you, boy,” +he added grimly. “Write.”</p> +<p>I hesitated, but only for a moment.</p> +<p>“Do I understand that you detain me here +against my will?” I said, slowly.</p> +<p>“Understand anything you please, but write.”</p> +<p>I took up the pen without another word. When +I had finished the note he took it from me and read +it through. Then he glanced at the address and +started.</p> +<p>“Mr. Ravenor! Oh, Mr. Ravenor is in London, +is he?” he remarked slowly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He looked away with the ghost of an evil smile +upon his lips.</p> +<p>“Ravenor in London! How strange. He and I +are old acquaintances. I must call on him,” he +added mockingly.</p> +<p>He stood still for a moment and then left the +room abruptly with the note in his hand. I tried +to follow him, but the door closed too quickly. If +I could have seen any means of escape I should +have made use of them, for I had gained the knowledge +which I had come to seek, and I knew that +I was in danger. There was only that solitary +window looking out upon the river and the closed +door. If this man meant mischief, I was securely +in his power.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_299">[299]</div> +<h2 id="c54">CHAPTER LIV. +<br /><span class="small">A RAID.</span></h2> +<p>In a few minutes Count de Cartienne returned:</p> +<p>He flashed a sudden keen glance at me.</p> +<p>“I wonder if you have any idea as to the contents +of that box,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed +curiously upon me.</p> +<p>Looking back now, I see clearly that I was guilty +of the grossest folly in answering as I did. But I +was young, impetuous, conscious of great physical +strength, and with all that contempt of danger +which such consciousness brings. So, without hesitation, +I drew from my pocket the evening paper +which I had bought in Northumberland Avenue, +and laid my finger upon the column which I had +shown my father.</p> +<p>“This may have something to do with it,” I +remarked.</p> +<p>His face grew a shade paler as he glanced it +through. Then he folded it up and handed it back +to me with a polite gesture.</p> +<p>“So that is your idea, is it?” he remarked. +“Why didn’t you go to Scotland Yard and tell them +of your suspicions?”</p> +<p>I felt that he was watching me keenly and made +a great effort to remain composed, although my +pulses were beating fast and I felt my colour +rising.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_300">[300]</div> +<p>“It was no business of mine,” I answered. “Besides, +if I had done so I should have lost my chance +of finding out anything about Mr. Marx from you.”</p> +<p>“Your reasoning does you infinite credit,” he +answered, with a slight sneer. “You are quite a +Machiavelli. Come; I want to show you over my—warehouse.”</p> +<p>I followed him reluctantly, for I liked his manner +less and less; but I had scarcely an alternative.</p> +<p>We passed along a narrow passage and through +several rooms piled up to the ceiling with huge +bales; then we descended a winding flight of iron +steps, and as we reached the bottom I began to +hear a faint hum of voices and strange, muffled +sounds.</p> +<p>He unlocked a small, hidden door before us, and +we stood on the threshold of a large, dimly-lit +cellar.</p> +<p>One swift glance around showed me the truth of +my vague suspicions, and warned me, too, of my +peril. It was a weird sight. At the far end of +the place a small furnace was burning, casting a +vivid glow upon the white, startled faces of the +men who were grouped around it. One held in his +hand a great ladlefull of hissing liquid, and another +on his knees was holding steady the mould which +was to receive it. But though they kept their +positions unchanged, they thought no more of their +tasks. The attention of one and all was bent upon +me in horror-struck amazement.</p> +<p>The man who first recovered himself sufficiently +to be able to frame an articulate sentence was the +man holding the ladle.</p> +<p>“Are you mad, de Cartienne?” he hissed out. +“What have you brought that young cub down +here for?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_301">[301]</div> +<p>“I have brought him here,” he answered, with +a shade of contempt in his tone at the alarm which +they were all showing, “because he is safer here +than anywhere else—for the present.</p> +<p>“Somehow or other—probably by looking inside +that unfortunate box—this young cub, as you call +him, knows our secret. To let him go would, of +course, be absurd, so I’ve brought him here to be +tried for his unpardonable curiosity. What shall +we do with him? I propose that we throw him into +the river.”</p> +<p>I moved a little farther back towards the door, +listening with strained ears and bated breath, for +I fancied that I heard a faint sound of voices and +footsteps above. Apparently the others had heard +it, too, for there was a death-like silence for a few +moments. Then spoke the Count.</p> +<p>“That must be Drummond with the box. Will +you go and see, Ferrier?”</p> +<p>There was the trampling of many feet outside, +and then a sudden swift torrent of blows upon the +closed door.</p> +<p>In an instant all was wild confusion. Count de +Cartienne was the only one who was not panic-stricken.</p> +<p>“The game is up,” he cried fiercely, “and here +is the traitor.”</p> +<p>Like lightning he stooped down and I saw something +in his hand flash before my eyes. There was +a strange burning pain and then everything faded +away before my sight. I heard the door beaten +down and the sound of my rescuers streaming in. +Then all sound became concentrated in a confused +roar, which throbbed for a moment in my ears +and then died away. Unconsciousness crept in +upon me.</p> +<p>When I opened my eyes again I found myself +lying upon a bed in a strange room. By my +side was my father, leaning back in a low, easy +chair.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_302">[302]</div> +<p>“Where am I?” I asked. “How long have I +been here! Tell me all about it.”</p> +<p>My father stood up with a little exclamation of +relief.</p> +<p>“Better, Philip? That is well. You are at the +nearest decent hotel we could find last night, or +rather this morning.”</p> +<p>“Tell me all about it,” I cried.</p> +<p>“Everyone was taken except de Cartienne. He +fought like a tiger and got off. But it is only +for a while. He will be caught. His description——”</p> +<p>“His description will be of no use at all,” I interrupted, +breathlessly. “Has anything been heard +of Mr. Marx?”</p> +<p>My father picked up an open telegram from the +table by his side.</p> +<p>“Mr. Marx has gone back to Ravenor. This +telegram is from the stationmaster at Mellborough.”</p> +<p>I leapt from the bed and plunged my still +aching head into a basin of water.</p> +<p>“What is the matter, Philip? You will be ill +again if you excite yourself,” my father said wondering.</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” I answered. “What is the +time?”</p> +<p>“Four o’clock.”</p> +<p>“Quick, then, and we shall catch the five o’clock +train to Mellborough,” I urged.</p> +<p>“To Mellborough! But how about de Cartienne?”</p> +<p>“de Cartienne! He exists no longer! It is +Marx we want.”</p> +<p>Then the truth broke in upon my father, and he +sprang to his feet with a low cry.</p> +<p>“Philip, why did you not tell me before?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_303">[303]</div> +<p>“I only knew last night for certain. Thank God, I +kept it to myself. He thinks himself safe as Mr. +Marx—safer than flying the country as the Count +de Cartienne—the villain!”</p> +<p>Suddenly my father stopped short on his way to +the door.</p> +<p>“Philip,” he said hoarsely, “do you remember +whom we left at Ravenor waiting for Mr. Marx?”</p> +<p>For the moment I had forgotten it. We looked +at one another and there crept into my mind the +vision of a gaunt, desperate man, his white face and +burning eyes filled with an unutterable fiendish +longing. The same thought filled us both. If +Mr. Marx made use of his private keys and went +straight to the library at the castle, what would +come of it?</p> +<p>I laid my hand upon my father’s arm.</p> +<p>“There is justice in the world after all,” I said +hoarsely. “That man will kill him.”</p> +<p>Then we went out together without another +word.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_304">[304]</div> +<h2 id="c55">CHAPTER LV. +<br /><span class="small">THE MYSTERY OF MR. MARX.</span></h2> +<p>It was twenty minutes to eight when we arrived +at Mellborough, and, as we had not sent word on, +there was no carriage to meet us, nor, as it happened, +any spare vehicle. After a brief word or two with +the stationmaster, we decided to walk down into +the town and order a fly.</p> +<p>When we reached the house, the butler stepped +forward, his ruddy face blanched and his voice +shaking.</p> +<p>“Thank God you are come, sir! The man you +left here, he’s gone a raving lunatic, and he’s shut +himself up there, and got your revolvers out, and +swears that no one shall enter the room till you +come.”</p> +<p>“There’s someone with him,” my father said +quickly.</p> +<p>The man’s face seemed literally shrunken up with +horror.</p> +<p>“It’s awful, sir; I’ve been near once, and I’ll +never get over it as long as I live. He’s got some +poor wretch there, killing him by inches, torturing +him like a cat does a mouse. He’s been shrieking +for help for hours, and we can do nothing. The +poor creature must be nearly dead now. Ah, there +it is again, sir! Four of our men have been shot +trying to get to him. Listen! Oh, why does he +not die!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_305">[305]</div> +<p>A low, faint cry, full of a most heart-stirring +anguish, floated out from the library window. It +was the most awful sound I have ever heard in my +life. Following close upon it, drowning its faint +echo, came the loud mocking laugh of the torturer, +ringing out harsh and mirthless in hideous +contrast.</p> +<p>A deep, audible shudder passed through the little +group of bystanders. Then my father, without a +word, started forward across the lawn towards the +window and I followed close behind. It seemed to +me that everyone must be holding their breath, +the silence was so intense. The wind had dropped +for a moment, and the moon shone faintly down +through a cloud of mist upon the white, eager faces, +filled now with a new anxiety.</p> +<p>A few swift steps brought us to the window. A +lamp was burning upon the writing-table and the +interior of the room was clearly visible. On the +floor a little distance from the window was a dark +shape which, as we drew nearer, we could see to +be the prostrate figure of a man. Walking up and +down in front of it, with short, uneven steps, was +Francis, his hair and dress in wild disorder and his +whole appearance betokening that he had recently +been engaged in a desperate struggle.</p> +<p>Suddenly he turned round and saw us. With a +wild cry of rage he rushed to the window, the glass +of which was completely wrecked, and glared at +us threateningly through the framework.</p> +<p>“Away! away!” he shrieked, “or there will be +more trouble! I must stay here, I must wait till +he comes! Let me be, I tell you!”</p> +<p>The revolver, which he clenched in his right +hand, was raised and levelled. It was a dreadful +moment.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_306">[306]</div> +<p>“It is I, Mr. Ravenor,” my father answered +calmly. “Don’t you know me, Francis?”</p> +<p>Again the moon broke through the clouds and +shone with a faint light upon my father’s pale, +stern face. Francis recognised him at once. He +threw his hands high over his head in a wild gesture +of welcome and flung open the window. My father +walked steadily forward into the room and I followed +him. Francis, trembling with eagerness, +stood between us.</p> +<p>“See,” he cried, pointing downwards, “is it not +well done? See! Let me tell you about it. Quick! +quick! He came! It was twilight! He was at +the cabinet there. I stole out of the darkness. I +flung my arms around him. He struggled. Ah, +how he struggled; but it was all no use. Ha! ha! +ha! I was too strong for him. I held him tighter +and tighter, till I nearly strangled him, and he +gasped and gurgled and moaned. Oh! it was fine +to see him. Then I found a cord in the drawer +there and I bound him, and while I fastened the +knots I laughed and I talked to him. I talked +about that night in the storm when he threw his +father”—he pointed a long, quivering finger at me—“threw +him into the slate quarry, and about +that day when he came to the Castle gate and +brought me to the plantation, and suddenly caught +me by the throat till he thought he had strangled +me, and beat me on the head. Ah, how my head +has burned ever since, ever since, ever since! Ah, +Milly, come to me! Milly, I am on fire! My head +is on fire! Ah, ah!”</p> +<p>The foam burst out from between his pallid, +quivering lips, and his eyes, red and burning, suddenly +closed. A ghastly change crept over his +blood-stained, pallid face. He sank backwards +and fell heavily upon the floor.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_307">[307]</div> +<p>We scarcely noticed him, for our eyes were bent +elsewhere. The horror of that sight lived with +me afterwards for many years, a haunting shadow +over my life—disturbing even its sweetest moments, +a hideous, maddening memory. I am not going +to attempt to describe it. No words could express +the horror of it. Such things are not to be written +about.</p> +<p>Even my father’s iron nerve seemed to give +way for a moment, and he stood by my side trembling, +with his head buried in his hands. Then +he sank on his knees and loosened the cords.</p> +<p>“Thank God he is dead,” he murmured fervently, +as he felt the cold body and lifeless pulse, +and cleared away the last fragments of disguise +from the head and face. “You had better +call Mr. Carrol in, Philip.”</p> +<p>Even as he spoke, a little awed group was silently +filling the room, Carrol and his sergeant amongst +them. But after all they were cheated of their +task, for out in the moonlight John Francis lay +stark, the madness gone from his white, still face, +and the calm of death reigning there instead.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_308">[308]</div> +<h2 id="c56">CHAPTER LVI. +<br /><span class="small">THE END OF IT.</span></h2> +<p>We were together, my father and I, under the +shade of a little cluster of olive trees high up +among the mountains. Far away below us the +Campagna stretched to the foot of the dim hills +steeped in blue which surround the Eternal City, +towards which we had been gazing in a silence +which had been for long unbroken. It was I at +last who spoke, pointing downwards to where the +bare grey stone walls of a small monastic building +rose with almost startling abruptness from a narrow +ledge of sward overhanging the precipice.</p> +<p>“Is this to be the end, then, father?” I cried +bitterly; “this prison-house?”</p> +<p>He turned towards me with a look upon his +face which I had grown to hate—a look calm and +gentle enough, but full of resolution as unchanging +as the mountains which towered above us.</p> +<p>“It must be so, Philip,” he said, quietly. “Is +it well, think you, that I should return again into +the life which I am weary of, when all that I desire +lies here ready to my hand? Peace and rest—I +want nothing more.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_309">[309]</div> +<p>“And why cannot you find them in England—at +Ravenor with me?” I cried eagerly. “And +your work, too—it could be done again. We +would live alone there and bury ourselves +from the world and everyone in it. I could help +you. I could be your amanuensis. I should +like that better than anything. Remember how +all the papers lamented the cruel destruction of +your manuscripts, and how everyone hoped that +you would rewrite them. Oh, you must not do +this thing, father—you must not! You have no +right to cut yourself off from the world—no right!” +I re-echoed passionately.</p> +<p>He shook his head slowly, but alas! with no +sign of yielding.</p> +<p>“Philip,” he said quietly, “it troubles me to +hear you plead like this in vain, for so it must +ever be. I am happy now; happy in the recollection +of the time we have spent together. Happy, +too, in the thought that I can end my days in +peace, with no disturbing ghosts of the past to +rise up and haunt me!”</p> +<p>I was silent and kept my face turned away +towards the mountains, for I would not have had +him see my weakness. Soon he spoke again, +and this time there was a vein of sadness in +his tone.</p> +<p>“The time has come for us to part for awhile, +Philip. There is one thing more which I would +say to you. It concerns Cecil.”</p> +<p>“Cecil?” I echoed vaguely.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“All his life he has been brought up to consider +himself my heir. Now, of course, things will be +very different with him. He is weak and easily +led. I should like to think that you were friends; +and if you have an opportunity of helping him +in any way you will not neglect it.”</p> +<p>“I will not,” I promised. “Cecil and I will +always be friends.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_310">[310]</div> +<p>We descended the steep hillside path and stood +together almost on the threshold of the little +monastery. Then my father held out his hand +to me, and a soft, sweet light shone for a moment +in his dark blue eyes.</p> +<p>“Farewell, Philip,” he said—“farewell. God +bless you.” And while I was returning the grasp +of his closed fingers and struggling to keep down +a rising lump in my throat, he passed away from +me silently, like a figure in a dream, and the thick, +nail-studded door opened and was closed behind +him.</p> +<p>Then I set my face towards Rome, with blurred +eyesight and a bitter sense of loss at my heart. +I was going back to England to take possession +of a great inheritance, but there was no joy in the +thought, only an unutterable, intolerable loneliness +which weighed down my heart and spirits +and filled me with deep depression.</p> +<p>Cecil met me in London, and we went to +Ravenor together. It was a strange sensation +to me to enter the Castle as its virtual owner, to +wander from room to room, from gallery to +gallery, and know that it was all mine, and that +the long line of Ravenors who frowned and smiled +upon me from their dark, worm-eaten frames +were my ancestors. At first it seemed pleasant—pleasant, +at least, in a measure,—but when I +stood in the library and passed on into that little +chamber the memories connected with them swept +in upon me with such irresistible force that I was +glad to send Cecil away for a while.</p> +<p>For some time I lived quite alone, save for Cecil’s +frequent visits, keeping aloof from the people +who lived near, and making but few acquaintances. +The days I spent either on horseback or +with my gun, or often tramping many miles over +the open country with a book in my pocket, after +the fashion of the days of my boyhood. The +nights I had no difficulty about whatever. With +such a library as my father’s to help me, my love +of reading became almost a part of myself.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_311">[311]</div> +<p>There was one person who viewed this change +with profound dissatisfaction, and who at last +broke into open protest.</p> +<p>“I say, Phil, you know it won’t do,” Cecil declared +one night, when I had tried to steal away +into the library on some pretext. “A young +fellow of your age, with eighty thousand a year, +has no business to shut himself up with a lot of +musty books and dream away his time like an +old hermit. People are asking about you everywhere, +and I’m getting tired of explaining what a +rum sort of chap you are. It won’t do, really.”</p> +<p>“Well,” I answered, “what do you want me +to do?”</p> +<p>“I want you to come back to town with me +and put up with my people a bit. The mater is +very keen about it; in fact, she says that she shall +come down here in the autumn if you don’t come.”</p> +<p>I leaned back in my chair and a day-dream +rose up before me.</p> +<p>“What is your sister like now, Cis?” I asked +suddenly.</p> +<p>“Trixie! Oh, she’s turned out pretty well, I +think!” he answered complacently. “What friends +you two used to be, by the by!”</p> +<p>We said no more about the matter then, but on +the following morning I received two letters, one +from Lady Silchester and the other from Lord +Langerdale, both urging me to pay at least a short +visit to London and perform social duties, which +naturally seemed of more importance to them +than to me. I read them through carefully and +made up my mind at once. But Lord Langerdale’s +letter had stirred up some old memories, and I +did not tell Cecil my decision immediately.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_312">[312]</div> +<p>“You are about town a good deal, Cecil. Do +you ever see anything of Leonard de Cartienne?” +I asked.</p> +<p>Cecil shook his head.</p> +<p>“No, nor am I ever likely to,” he answered. +“I have heard of him, though, by a strange fluke.”</p> +<p>“What is he doing?”</p> +<p>“Got a commission in the Turkish army. +Queer thing I heard the other day from a man +I used to know very well once. He’s secretary +at the Embassy now at Constantinople, and he +asked me whether I ever came across him. Seems +he isn’t particularly popular out there.”</p> +<p>“He’s a bad lot,” I remarked.</p> +<p>“Jolly sure of it,” Cecil assented. “No one +but a blackguard would have behaved as he did +to poor little Milly. But about London, Phil?”</p> +<p>“I will go,” I said. “If you like we will leave +here to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Lady Silchester received us very kindly, and +Beatrice, though full of the distractions of her +first season, seemed even better pleased to see us. +It was strange how much I found in the tall slim +girl, whom everyone was quoting as the beauty +of the season, to remind me of the quaint, old-fashioned +child whose imperious manner and naïve +talk had so charmed me a few years ago. There +were the same wealth of ruddy golden hair, the +same delicate features, and the same dainty little +mannerisms. Everyone admired Lady Beatrice, and +so did I.</p> +<p>My stay in London lasted till the end of the +season. I made my orthodox <i>début</i> into Society +under the wing of Lord Langerdale, and divided +my time pretty well between my aunt and uncle +and the house in Cadogan Square. When at last +it was all over, Lord and Lady Langerdale, Lady +Silchester, Cecil, and Beatrice returned to Ravenor +as my guests.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_313">[313]</div> +<p>I am not writing a love story. I cannot trace +the growth of my love for Beatrice, for it seemed +to come upon me with a rush; and yet, when I +wondered how it came, it seemed to me that it +must have been always so. Those long summer +days at Ravenor were the sweetest I had ever +known. I lost all count of time. Hours and +days and weeks seemed all blended in an exquisite +dream, from which, unlike all others, the awakening +was at once the culmination and the happiest +part. For one night we came back hand in hand +from wandering about on the terraces under a +starlit sky, and a great joy was gliding through +my veins and throbbing in my heart.</p> +<p>Need I say what had happened? Beatrice +was mine, my own, and I was very happy.</p> +<p>“Come to me when you are married—both of +you,” was my father’s message; and we went, +Alas, for the cloud which so soon dimmed our newborn +happiness! We arrived in time—only just +in time—to stand by his death-bed.</p> +<p>How the scene comes back to me! The door +and windows of his little chamber were thrown +wide open and the soft, languorous breeze, heavy +with the odour of wild flowers, stole in and played +upon his wasted face.</p> +<p>What a countenance it was! Passion-scarred, +yet chastened and softened by keen physical +pain; the burning blue eyes fixed steadily, yet +with a sweet, steadfast light, upon the dim horizon—beautiful +after the highest type of spiritual +beauty. Twilight stole down from the hills, and +then we gently folded his arms upon his breast, +and the watchers outside, knowing well what such +an action meant, wiped the tears from their eyes +and slowly wended their way homewards.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_314">[314]</div> +<p>Then, later, the solemn chant of the monks +in pious procession broke the stillness of the +mountain night. But such a death was scarcely +death. At least, it was death robbed of all its +terrors; unutterably sad, yet unutterably sweet. +There was truth beyond expression in the simple +words rudely carved upon the wooden cross which, +amid a score or two of others in a sheltered +nook down in the valley, stands at the foot of his +narrow grave—</p> +<p class="center"><span class="sc">“He Sought Peace, and Found It.”</span></p> +<p>So may it be with us!</p> +<p> </p> +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> +<ul><li>Obvious typographical errors in spelling and punctuation were +corrected without comment.</li> +<li>Capitalization of the name ”de Cartienne” was made consistent.</li> +</ul> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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