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diff --git a/40278-0.txt b/40278-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d9dc97 --- /dev/null +++ b/40278-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13297 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40278 *** + +"The idea of publishing cheap one-volume novels is a good one, and we +wish the series every success."--_Saturday Review._ + + +VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. + +BY ENGLISH AND FOREIGN AUTHORS OF REPUTE. + +_In Crown 8vo, good readable type, and attractive binding, print 6s. +each._ + + +_FOURTH EDITION._ + +THE IRONMASTER; + +OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. + +BY GEORGES OHNET. + +TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 146TH FRENCH EDITION. + +The above work, which may be regarded as the greatest literary success +in any language of recent times, has already yielded its author a profit +of upwards of £12,000. + +An edition of "The Ironmaster," in large crown 8vo, beautifully printed +on toned paper, and illustrated with 42 full-page engravings by French +artists, separate from the text, is also published, in handsome binding +and with gilt edges, price 7s. 6d. + + +NUMA ROUMESTAN; + +OR, JOY ABROAD AND GRIEF AT HOME. + +BY ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +TRANSLATED BY MRS. J. G. LAYARD. + + "'Numa Roumestan' is a masterpiece; it is really a perfect work; it + has no fault, no weakness. It is a compact and harmonious + whole."--MR. HENRY JAMES. + + "'Numa Roumestan' is a triumph for the art of literary + seduction."--_Spectator._ + + "The interest of the story is sustained from first to last. It has a + charm of its own which will be felt long after its final page has + been attained."--_Morning Post._ + + +COUNTESS SARAH. + +BY GEORGES OHNET, AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." + +TRANSLATED FROM THE 118TH FRENCH EDITION. + + "The book contains some very powerful situations and first-rate + character-studies."--_Whitehall Review._ + + "The translation, which forms one of Vizetelly's capital series of + one-volume novels, is a vigorous and obviously faithful one, and to + an interesting plot must be added a number of strongly marked and + cleverly drawn characters."--_Society._ + + +_THIRD EDITION._ + +A MUMMER'S WIFE. + +BY GEORGE MOORE, AUTHOR OF "A MODERN LOVER." + + "'A Mummer's Wife' is a striking book, clever, unpleasant, + realistic.... The woman's character is a very powerful study, and + the strolling player, if less original, is not less completely + presented.... No one who wishes to examine the subject of realism in + fiction with regard to English novels can afford to neglect 'A + Mummer's Wife.'"--_Athenæum._ + + "'A Mummer's Wife,' in virtue of its vividness of presentation and + real literary skill, may be regarded as in some degree a + representative example of the work of a literary school that has of + late years attracted to itself a good deal of the notoriety which is + a very useful substitute for fame."--_Spectator._ + + "Mr. Moore shows unquestionable power in telling Kate Lennox's + story, and the sketch of her second husband--big, frankly sensual, + yet good-natured--is probably as good as anything of the kind could + be."--_Academy._ + + "'A Mummer's Wife' holds at present a unique position among English + novels. It is a conspicuous success of its kind."--_Graphic._ + + +THE CORSARS; + +OR, LOVE AND LUCRE. + +BY JOHN HILL, AUTHOR OF "THE WATERS OF MARAH," "SALLY," &c. + + "It is indubitable that Mr. Hill has produced a strong and lively + novel, full of story, character, situations, murder, gold-mines, + excursions, and alarms. The book will give great pleasure to the + 'proud male,' as M. Zola says, and is so rich in promise that we + hope to receive some day from Mr. Hill a romance which will win + every vote."--_Saturday Review._ + + "The story is well worked out, and the characters have each and all + a distinct backbone. The strong point of the novel is + humour."--_Life._ + + +MR. BUTLER'S WARD. + +BY F. MABEL ROBINSON. + + "A charming book, poetically conceived and worked out with + tenderness and insight."--_Athenæum._ + + "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is a well-planned and well-executed novel. It + is worked out with much insight and considerable incidental + humour."--_Academy._ + + "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is of exceptional merit and interest as a first + novel. The style is excellent throughout."--_Graphic._ + + +PRINCE SERGE PANINE. + +BY GEORGES OHNET, AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." + +TRANSLATED FROM THE 110TH FRENCH EDITION. + +This is the work that made M. Ohnet's reputation, and was crowned by the +French Academy. + + +BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN. + +BY INA L. CASSILIS, AUTHOR OF "SOCIETY'S QUEEN," "STRANGELY WOOED: +STRANGELY WON," &c., + + +THE FORKED TONGUE. + +BY R. LANGSTAFF DE HAVILLAND, AUTHOR OF "ENSLAVED." + + + + + _VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS._ + + IX. + + + + + THE THREATENING EYE. + + BY E. F. KNIGHT, + + AUTHOR OF "THE CRUISE OF THE FALCON." + + + + + ... "When Fortune means to men most good, + She looks upon them with a threatening eye." + KING JOHN, Act III., Scene IV. + + [Illustration] + + LONDON: + _VIZETELLY & CO., 42 CATHERINE ST., STRAND._ + 1885. + + Perth: + S. COWAN AND CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE EDUCATION OF MARY GRIMM 9 + + II. ON THE ROAD TO RUIN 17 + + III. THE SECRET SOCIETY 27 + + IV. THE FIRST DAY OF LIBERTY 40 + + V. IN THE TEMPLE 51 + + VI. FROM SCYLLA TO CHARYBDIS 62 + + VII. THE TENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT 74 + + VIII. LIGHT LOVER 89 + + IX. KILLING NO MURDER 102 + + X. A LOVE THAT DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY 115 + + XI. A WRECK 128 + + XII. IN GREAT PERPLEXITY 137 + + XIII. A SCIENTIFIC MURDER 144 + + XIV. SUSAN BRINGS MARY TO AN OLD LOVER 157 + + XV. IN THE LAND OF PHANTOMS 166 + + XVI. SUSAN GOES TO CHURCH 179 + + XVII. A DARKENED MIND 188 + + XVIII. AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES 200 + + XIX. CATHERINE KING VISITS MARY IN THE COUNTRY 211 + + XX. CATHERINE'S DISCOVERY 221 + + XXI. CONDEMNED TO DEATH 228 + + XXII. AN EVENTFUL DAY 238 + + XXIII. THE TAKING AWAY OF THE SHADOW 248 + + XXIV. DESPAIR 259 + + XXV. THE FIRST WARNING 268 + + XXVI. SHATTERED IDOLS 278 + + XXVII. THE SECOND WARNING 288 + + XXVIII. AGAIN THE SHADOW 299 + + XXIX. THE THIRD WARNING 307 + + XXX. THE LAST OF SUSAN RILEY 317 + + XXXI. PEACE 325 + + + + +THE THREATENING EYE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE EDUCATION OF MARY GRIMM. + + +A street in Brixton--one of those dreary streets of what the house-agent +calls eligible eight-roomed residences, in which all the houses are as +like each other as so many peas out of one pod: each two-storied; each +looking out on the street through six windows; each with its little +flight of stone steps leading up to the front door; each with its garden +just six yards square; each with its severe respectability of +expression. For houses, like men, have their expressions which reflect +the characters of their inmates. There is the prim Puritanical house; +the dissipated villa with its neglected gate; the ostentatious _nouveau +riche_ mansion, turning up its nose at its neighbours; the well-kept +pretty cottage, looking contented with itself and all the world, +containing as it does the newly-married couple; the cynical abode of +crusty old bachelorhood surrounded by whims and fads; and so on, each +from palace to slum with a face the meaning of which he who knows how +may read. + +Now the houses of this Brixton Street were of the respectable-genteel +class of houses, not over-wealthy, but very respectable; possibly come +down in the world some of them, but all essentially genteel. + +Married clerks in banks and merchants' offices, with small salaries and +large families, formed the bulk of the occupants of these dwellings. +Besides these there were generally one or two retired military men in +the street; they also with encumbrances, wives and families, that were +rather slip-shod, whereas the military men themselves preserved a +certain amount of fashion in their attire. These gallant officers and +their belongings were wont, however, to encamp for a while only as it +were in the street. They never stayed long, but would vanish +unostentatiously without fuss of any kind, leaving behind painful +regrets in the memories of sundry rate-collectors and tradesmen. These +nomadic warriors alone of all that street's inhabitants were not quite +respectable, though distinctly genteel. + +It was, in short, a dull Brixton street such as our London suburbs have +hundreds of, leading from nowhere in particular to nowhere at all, for +it terminated at its further end in a wilderness of "eligible building +land," a desert of mud and broken crockery that was only awaiting the +advent of the speculative builder to become yet one more excrescence of +this swollen metropolis. + +Of all the respectable houses of this highly respectable street none +were more respectable than No. 22. No grocer hesitated before he +permitted Mrs. Grimm to run up a three months' account at his shop; for +was not Mr. Grimm known to be a man of substance? He was a lawyer in the +city, a solicitor in fair but not clean practice: a Perpetual +Commissioner of Oaths too, it was whispered, and to the outside world +such a title could not but imply more than respectability, it even +savoured of dignity. Again he was wont to come punctually home to his +dinner every evening at seven; he had been five years at No. 22, and had +always paid his way; and finally, what established his credit more than +all else, he was known to own no less than three houses in the street, +bringing him in some thirty pounds a year each. + +The household of No. 22 consisted of this gentleman, his daughter, who +was sixteen years old at the period this story opens, and his second +wife. + +One maid-servant "did" for the family with the assistance of the +daughter. Mrs. Grimm did not condescend to work, but she _superintended_ +energetically. Thus it will be seen that though Mr. Grimm was fairly +well off he did not waste his means in ostentation, and kept up his +establishment on an economical footing. + +One of our most distinguished novelists started life as a gambler. He +was remarkably successful at play, and was rapidly amassing a fortune; +but one day, we are told, he happened to perceive the reflection of his +face in a mirror, when he was so horrified at the haggard appearance it +presented, that he incontinently threw up his destructive pursuit for +that of literature, in which he became even more successful than at the +green table. + +Even as wise as this great author was Mr. Grimm. At the commencement of +his career he too had been a gambler, a dabbler on the stock +exchange--with clients' money sometimes; but perceiving that the fierce +anxiety was turning his hair grey, he forswore gambling: not for +literature though, but for quiet safe swindling. Swindling doesn't age +one like play, and so far as results to oneself are concerned, is the +most innocent vice of the two. A thief is as often as not a dear amiable +fat jovial fellow, with the lightest of consciences. Is your gambler +ever anything but the reverse? + +Mr. Grimm was not a lovable man. He was that perhaps lowest of all +creatures that crawl the earth--a pettifogging attorney, capable of any +meanness, any dishonesty, any cruel robbery of orphan and widow, and +just sharp enough to know where to draw the line between _moral_ crime +and _legal_ crime. He had, it is true, on two occasions run rather close +risks of being scratched off the rolls, and had received many a +well-earned rebuke from judge in open Court or Master in Chambers; but +this "gentleman by Act of Parliament," knew what he was about, and so +far had not overreached himself to ruin as do so many of his class, +when long impunity has made them careless in their knavery. + +Mr. Grimm's first wife was a foolish weak woman of the pale eyes, pale +hair, and washed-out complexion type. + +She had been sold to the attorney by her father. The poor creature +herself, too feeble of will to offer resistance, was led submissively to +the altar. + +The father, one of those retired officers of the selfish, disreputable, +hard-up, red-nosed class, being well entangled in Mr. Grimm's toils, had +handed over his daughter to him in discharge of an old debt connected +with bill-discounting. + +The attractions of the said daughter consisted of an absolute reversion +that would some day fall into her possession. + +To recite the main points of the transaction, in consideration of the +tearing up of the captain's bit of paper, the marriage settlement, which +referred solely to the reversion, was drawn up in a way satisfactory to +Mr. Grimm, and the aforesaid virgin was duly conveyed to the aforesaid +Mr. Grimm, according to the forms which are sanctioned by the Church and +the Law. + +One daughter, Mary, was the sole child of this marriage. + +The unfortunate mother, after a two years' not very agreeable experience +of married life, died off, in the quiet uncomplaining manner which had +characterised her life, before anyone even realised that she was +seriously ill. + +From very early youth the life of poor little Mary was rendered +miserable. It seemed that her father was incapable of any touch of +parental affection; such characters are rare, but his character was a +rare one for its unredeemable meanness. + +He looked on his child as a nuisance--an expensive interloper in his +house that the law obliged him to clothe and feed. He did feed +her--badly, and clothed her somewhat better, for the sake of +appearances, having a regard for his respectability. + +He was cruel as well as mean. When he went down to the city he would +lock up his infant child, keeping her a pallid prisoner within doors, +all through the long summer day. + +But meanness as well as cruelty prompted this treatment. He would not go +to the expense of engaging a nurse for his daughter, and the little +maid-of-all-work, as she said herself, had "quite enough to do without +lugging that child out for an airing." Again it would not at all do for +the child of respectable Mr. Grimm to be seen by the neighbours playing +about the streets by herself like any little street arab--the street +arabs whom she so soon learned to envy; for though starved, cold, beaten +by drunken parents, they were free, free to romp about the gutters with +other children, having luckily parents who had no respectability to keep +up. + +I do not know how Mary learned to read and write: in after years she +could not say herself; but, at any rate, before she was seven, her +father found that he could make his daughter useful. Her small hands, +far whiter and thinner, alas! than they should have been, were employed +all day in copying deeds and legal documents for him, in the round hand +of a solicitor's clerk. + +In the bright summer afternoons, while other children played, her little +brown head was bowed over the dismal folios of chicanery. + +When Mary was about ten years old a stepmother was introduced into the +establishment. Why Grimm married her, what pecuniary or other inducement +was present on this occasion, I do not know. + +But now it came to pass that he--the mean, cowardly, foxy, little man +with the red hair and the shifty eyes--met his match. The second Mrs. +Grimm was a big woman with a purple face, a loud voice, and an almost +Papuan mop of faded-straw coloured hair, a woman who ever overawed the +solicitor. In this couple the offensive qualities of the two sexes were +reversed. She was the more masculine of the two. The little man's +readiest weapon was the feminine needle of nagging; hers the male +bludgeon of blustering brutality. + +Mrs. Grimm number two, without delay, conceived a violent dislike for +her husband's little girl. + +It was on this second marriage that the highly respectable family moved +to No. 22 in the genteel street in Brixton. + +And now the child's position was a more unhappy one than ever; and her +inner life became one of hate, a terrible hate--and children can hate +even more bitterly than their elders--against her father and +step-mother, a hate ever aggravated by the abominable treatment she +received at the hands of both. + +Hers indeed was a miserable childhood, made up of blows, imprisonment, +hard work, no play, no sunshine, no companion, and worse than all, +taunts and insults that made her writhe--hasty words of that description +which rankle deeply in an infant's heart, and are remembered through +life in some cases: a fact some parents do not seem to realize. + +So it was that all childishness was being driven out of the child and +all womanliness out of the woman. + +Before her father's second marriage she had sometimes made friends of +the maids-of-all-work of the house, but now this was no longer to be. +The stepmother not approving of such association was ever on the watch +for it, and on any signs of intimacy between the daughter and the drudge +declaring themselves, the latter was immediately packed off and some +stern and quite unsympathetic person substituted. + +The little girl toiled on at the law-copying and the domestic work, +silent, moody, with a stern expression gathering on her face that made +it look so old for her age. She became--who would not?--a liar and a +hater. But she was brave, she could hate, she could not fear; she gave +up crying before she was twelve years old. + +Her only pleasure, her sole consolation after the blows and insults, was +to lie awake at night and brood revenge. Child-like, she would build +castles in the air, complicated little stories of which she herself was +the central figure; but not the castles in the air of other children, +dreams of fairy-land and happy adventure. No; the plot of all her +fancies was revenge, punishment of her father and stepmother. + +These were her day-dreams too when she sat mechanically copying the +deeds--dreams always of hatred, of torturing her torturers; and at times +she would smile, oh! so strange a smile for a child! when some more +ingeniously terrible mode of repaying that debt of ill would occur to +her infant mind. + +HATE, suppressed but intense HATE! such was the education of Mary Grimm; +so things went on until the period at which this story opens, when Mary +was sixteen. + +She looked a few years older than her age. In spite of her unwholesome +training she was beautiful. She was tall and graceful. Her small head +was well-set on her shoulders. Her features were regular--too regular +perhaps if anything. + +When she went out on an errand, wrapped in her faded shawl, walking +fast, looking neither to the right nor to the left, meeting with cold +and impassive glance, the stare of the passing stranger, how many men, +and women too, would turn and look after the girl, struck by her pale +quiet face. + +It was a face that haunted one. There was something in it that puzzled, +something mysterious in the expression that one could not explain at +first, something inconsistent. + +Inconsistent--that was it. For in the first place her brown hair was out +in a fringe over her forehead. The vulgar boldness of that objectionable +fashion, though it could not make her ugly, was singularly inappropriate +to that Grecian face and head. + +But that was not all: even had her hair been tied up, as it should have +been, in the classic knot, the something inconsistent would still have +been present. It lay in the strange difference of expression between the +eyes and mouth. Looking into her eyes, those large violet long-lashed +eyes that are perhaps the most beautiful of all, one could read in them +delightful possibilities of love, womanly tenderness, the desire for +sympathy, indeed the look that attracts man to woman. + +But looking from the eyes to the mouth a chill would come over the +observer, a disappointment, a feeling as if a barrier were set up +between him and her, an obstacle that kept off love and sympathy. + +For that mouth, beautiful in its moulding, was yet so firm, so hard, not +a sad mouth in any way, but stern, almost cruel. + +It was on the mouth that the demon of strong hate, which the father had +conjured up to his daughter, had placed his mark. + +The woman, the angel in her, looked out of those pathetic eyes. + +One could easily foretell that hers would be a life of suffering--the +suffering of the strong, of fierce conflict between good and evil. + +The signs of battle were already on that young face. Would the tender +eyes come to look cold and hard, and the mouth wax firmer and wickeder, +or would the good angel win the day? would the eyes become tenderer +still, and the mouth soften to lines of sweetness and womanly kindness? + +As with women from the beginning, so with her--the victory depended upon +the MAN; upon whether when he came he threw his strong alliance with the +powers of good or evil. + +So far it was an equal battle. Mary at sixteen wanted but little to make +of her either a devil as only woman can be, or an angel as only woman +can be--which would she become? + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ON THE ROAD TO RUIN. + + +It is not so much the custom now as formerly for unmarried men, +barristers and others, to reside in the Temple and the other ancient +Inns of Court. + +How many of us look back with a sigh of regret to that old jovial free +bachelor life in the snug chambers! Indeed, those were pleasant days. To +those who have led that life how full of associations is busy Fleet +Street! Ah me! the old taverns we frequented in our youth--the familiar +faces of the waiters in them who knew us and all our ways so well. The +boon-companionship of fellow-barristers, Bohemian litterateurs, and all +the wild, witty manhood that used to haunt that neighbourhood. + +Temple Bar was the centre of a land as interesting in its way as the +Quartier Latin was--a Cocagne of barristers, writers, and actors;--a +jovial trio of professions that much fraternise with each other even in +these sober respectable and rather dull days. + +Even now there are one or two of the old taverns left, where in +sand-floored rooms careless groups from Grub Street sit at night over +pipe and excellent punch--punch so cunningly mixed, of such good liquor +too, punch that you cannot find in those new gaudy cafés that have +lately sprung up in London, great palaces of sham and glitter, fit only +to fascinate the undergraduate and the shop-boy. + +But clubs have killed the old tavern life; and certainly some of the +lower class of literary clubs about the Strand are far from desirable +substitutes for the antique haunts of the Bohemian. + +On a fine summer evening, a young barrister sat in his chambers in the +Temple. He was in his shirt-sleeves, smoking meditatively, waiting till +it was time to go out and dine at a restaurant. + +His meditations did not seem to be of an over lively nature; indeed, he +looked excessively bored and melancholy. Just as he rose with a weary +yawn to go into his bed-room, and prepare himself for sallying forth, +there came a loud knock at his door. + +"Who the deuce can that noisy person be?" he muttered to himself, as he +approached the outer defences of his castle on tip-toe, and proceeded to +reconnoitre his visitor through the key-hole before admitting him. + +"A man. Can't make out who it is, but doesn't look dangerous, so here +goes," and he unfastened the ponderous lock. + +A young man of his own age was standing in the passage, whom he at once +recognised with a shout of cordial welcome. "Why, Duncan, old man, +you're the last fellow I expected to see; you have not looked me up +these six months. Come in, you rascal! what do you mean by it?" and he +struck his visitor on the back with a jovial familiarity that only a +long intimacy could warrant. + +"I have called on you half-a-dozen times, man," replied the other young +man, "but you are always out. I always find your oak sported, with a +little slip of paper on it saying that Mr. Hudson will be back in five +minutes. I'm the one who has just cause of complaint: you never call at +my diggings." + +"You live in such a deuced out of the way hole--where is it again--Chalk +Farm? You can't expect a man to travel a Sabbath-day's journey on the +remote chance of finding you in." + +"Well, now I _have_ got you, I am going to inflict myself on you for a +few hours," said Duncan. "What are you going to do to-night? Come and +dine at the Gaiety or Blanchard's, or somewhere, and we'll go to the +promenades afterwards." + +"With pleasure; just as you came in I was wondering what on earth to do +with myself to-night. I feel as if I wanted waking up. I am rather in +the blues to-day, but--" and a look of blank dismay came to his face. + +"Well?" said his friend in an inquiring tone. + +"The truth is, I'm rather hard up just now--don't like to risk another +cheque at the bank, and I don't think I've got three shillings in the +world." + +"I can lend you two pounds, old man, if that will do," Duncan promptly +urged. + +"Thanks very much; you're a brick. Just sit down and smoke a cigarette, +you'll find some good old cognac in that decanter, while I wash my hands +and brush up." + +These two young men had been friends for more than half their lives. +They had been chums in old Westminster as boys, were at Cambridge +together, and at the same college; but since they had been in town their +separate paths in life had gradually diverged, so that now they saw but +little of each other. + +Thomas Hudson--Tommy Hudson as his intimates called him--had taken up +the Bar as a profession. He was a pleasant young Irishman of +twenty-seven or thereabouts. His practice was a small one, and what +there was of it he had acquired rather by impudence than by knowledge of +law. + +He was to be found in the Criminal and Police Courts; and solicitors had +discovered his value in a certain class of cases. He was good on a +losing side. No one could talk down this bold young gentleman. He would +retort wittily to Sergeant Buzfuz, and turn the laugh against some +insolent old counsel, who thought to brow-beat so young an opponent--for +Tommy, with his fresh complexion and his merry Irish eyes, appeared +younger even than he was. + +But his was an inferior sort of a practice, one that did not benefit +his reputation, one that was not likely to improve or lead to anything +better. + +His income, if calculated from his fee-book, was small, but still +smaller was the reality. The solicitors who were on his books were not +the most respectable of their profession, and oftener than not, forgot +to hand over to Counsel the honorarium which they had taken very good +care to extract from their clients. + +But as Tommy had a small private income, he managed to scrape along +somehow, though he was generally head over heels in debt, and in a +chronic state of being "clean broke," as he himself jovially described +it to his friends. + +Like many other young barristers of small practice, he was Bohemian in +his ways: he frequented taverns, was often an associate of not +over-respectable characters, had rather drifted out of the society of +ladies, and indeed voted as slow any party at which a fair amount of +Bohemian freedom did not prevail. + +A merry supper-party, at which the feminine element was represented by +frolicsome young actresses from the burlesque theatres, was far more to +his taste than the duller entertainments of Mrs. Grundy. + +Careless, generous, with little evil in him, though his moral code was +not such as finds favour everywhere out of Bohemia, he was not naturally +a bad sort of a fellow, but being weak of will, was too easily +influenced by his surroundings, a fault which embraces every other. + +On the other hand, his friend Duncan, who enjoyed no private income, was +a struggling physician. + +His was a profounder and stronger nature; not so generally emotional as +Hudson, he was yet capable of far fiercer passions and deeper feelings +when they were aroused. + +"Now I'm ready to do anything you like," said the barrister as he came +out of the bed-room, and the two men went out arm-in-arm, exulting in +their youth and health, casting aside all care for the nonce, determined +to enjoy themselves. + +For, not being young men of the new school, they _could_ enjoy +themselves, and were not ashamed of their capacity for pleasure. They +were young barbarians who did not even have the good taste to effect the +elegant virtue of _ennui_, if they had it not. They could laugh at a +play; they could enjoy their pipes and grog as they chatted in their +rooms; they could devour steaks with a healthy appetite; they despised +mashers and lemon-squash; in short, were Philistines and not effeminate +beings of the new style, full of fads and affectations, serenely soaring +above all generous virtues and vices. + +They dined in the Gaiety grill-room, not without a cheering bottle of +Burgundy, and then adjourned upstairs for a cigar, and a cup of black +coffee, with its accompanying liqueur of cognac. + +Having now reached the point of perfect physical comfort, and the fit +state of mind for appreciation of amusement, the question arose whither +to go next. + +"The Promenade Concerts would be the best place to go to," said Dr. +Duncan. + +"Why, man, they don't commence for another two months yet," replied the +barrister, laughing. + +"You are right; you are more up to these things than I am. Well, suppose +as we are here we drop into the Gaiety Theatre: Nelly Farren and Terry +are always amusing." + +"It's the best thing we can do--time's up too, so let's move." + +Having enjoyed a burlesque, which was attractive in consequence rather +of the cleverness of the two above-mentioned comedians than the humour +of the author; the two young men returned to the Temple, to finish up +the evening in Hudson's chambers with an hour's chat over pipes and hot +whisky. + +The conversation commenced to assume rather a thoughtful tone, as it +often does when two old friends, who have not seen each other for some +time, are together. + +"Having answered all your cross-examination as to my doings, it's my +turn to pump you now," Dr. Duncan was saying. + +"How are you getting on at the bar?" + +"Badly, very badly. I wish to God I had never taken up such a +profession. I was never cut out for a lawyer." + +"But I see your name in the papers sometimes--" + +"_Sometimes!_ but it's a struggling, miserable sort of a practice. I +wish I had become a leech like you, Duncan. I might have done something +then. Now, _you_ were cut out for a barrister." + +"How do you make that out?" + +"Because you are steady--not a volatile ass like I am. It is this +idleness, this waiting for briefs, that ruins a weak man. You see, +Duncan, I'm a restless being that must be doing something, and doing it +hard. I can work hard when I get the work, but when I can't get it, then +I must be playing hard." + +"Dissipating hard, I suppose you mean," said the doctor with a smile. + +"Well, that's about it." + +"You ought to have sown your wild oats by this time, my boy. To begin +with, what makes you drink such a precious lot of whisky. If I had taken +half as many glasses as you have to-night, I shouldn't be fit for much +work to-morrow morning." + +"Oh, I'm not afraid of going much too far in that line. I can foresee +that my fate is rather to be driven to the dogs by the women," replied +Hudson. + +"That is very probable, judging from the reports that are current about +you," said the doctor. + +"Yes, Duncan," continued the barrister, "I don't mind confessing myself +to an old friend like you. It _is_ the women--and I seem to be becoming +a greater idiot every year. My mind's always distracted by some intrigue +or other, generally with some actress who chucks me up as soon as I have +spent upon her all the money I can raise by every means known to the +Gentiles. There's nothing that so unsettles a man's mind, so unfits him +for work, and is so certain to ruin him as such a life. I know all +this, but I can't pull myself together and reform. In short, I'm a +confounded fool." + +"Some wise man said that no man ever does any good in the world till he +gets women altogether out of his mind," said the doctor. + +"And how on earth does that same wise man propose to bring about that +happy consummation?" asked Hudson. + +"I suppose the wise man meant that as long as a man passed a large +portion of his life in a sort of restless fever, worrying about one +fancy after another, always full of anxiety and uncertainty over some +new intrigue, he was in too unsettled a condition to concentrate himself +on really good work. The remedy, I suppose, is to marry." + +"Marriage is certainly often a good settler," replied Hudson; "but it's +all very well to say marry--the question is how and to whom? You are +clever at diagnozing, doctor. You don't tell me where to get the +medicine." + +"That, of course, I can't," replied his friend with a laugh. "But +seriously, old man, you must take care what you are about. You are +drifting. I know your temperament. You are living here alone in +chambers; I know the life--too much leisure, unlimited temptations, +little society. It is not to be wondered at that so many of you young +barristers go to the dogs. + +"I knew a man, as clever, as good a fellow as ever lived. He was a good +deal my senior. He is a barrister, a briefless barrister, with a +considerable private income. By the very loneliness of his life, for he +too did not care about going into society, he was driven out for mere +companionship's sake into vicious ways. He was of an uxorious nature, +not sensual, but to be in love with some woman was a necessity of his +life. His idleness, of course, intensified the necessity. + +"His were not cold and heartless attachments. As long as it lasted, his +was a generous fierce love enough, God knows. Women adored him; but a +woman could twist him round her little finger; a bad, clever woman could +ruin him. But he was not ruined, in the ordinary sense of the word, by +women; but ruined morally he has been, utterly. A morbid restless +craving for excitement grew on him. When not with women he was generally +half-drunk. A good woman could have saved that weak generous +affectionate nature, and made his a noble and useful life. But he never +came across a really good woman, so what happened? As he grew older, +sentiment, idealism, became dull. His intrigues were no longer poetical. +His illusions vanished, but women of course became more than ever a +necessity to him. He became the cold sensualist, the miserable being +that has worn out all power of love, but yet is devoured by a desire +which seeks all sorts of abnormal means for its gratification. + +"He knew what a degraded wretch he had become, what an unhappy slave to +vices that tortured without giving joy. Sometimes, for a week or so at a +time, his conscience would wake up, and would present so terrible a +picture to him, that to avoid madness he would drink--drink deeply, +moody, sulky, and silent all the time, looking like a wild beast. + +"I have seen him during one of these long spells of despairing agony, +and the expression of his face was such as I could never forget. Hell +must be full of such faces. Hudson, I saw that man to-day, I left him +just before I came here." + +Dr. Duncan paused and seemed rather overcome by emotion; he mixed +himself another glass of grog, and after swallowing some continued: + +"I was called to see him in his present lodgings off the Strand, with +the object of signing a certificate of his lunacy." + +Hudson, whose face had assumed a thoughtful and gloomy expression during +this narrative, shivered perceptibly and put his glass to his lips but +returned it to the table untasted, and said in a low voice: + +"Ay, Duncan, I am afraid that same story will be told of me some day. +Even now, I sometimes think it is too late--too late.... But, dash it +all! let's have no more of this ghastly discourse. I am going to give +myself a stiff glass of grog to drive away the blues you have conjured +up to me." + +"It is getting late. I have to be up early, to-morrow, and I must be +off," said the doctor, and he rose and seized Hudson by the hand. "I +hope I have not riled you, old man, with my sermonizing. Sermonizing +isn't much in my line; but you know you are a very old friend of mine, +and I take real interest in you." + +"I know that," replied the barrister, giving his friend a warm grip of +the hand. + +"Well, good-night, old man; I'll look you up again soon." + +After Dr. Duncan had gone, Hudson opened the window, and leaning on the +sill, stayed there motionless, and thinking of many things as he looked +out on the beautiful court, with its splashing fountain, and across the +green to the Thames beyond, and the distant Surrey shore. + +This is one of the most delightful views in London, and on such a quiet +summer night as this was, with a clear sky filled with stars above it, I +doubt whether any of the great cities of Europe could produce a more +impressive scene than this oasis in the great desert of bricks and +mortar, this quiet old-fashioned garden between the quaint +buildings--all, too, so full of memories and associations. + +What memories of his thoughtless childhood, of his clever and flattered +boyhood with its high hopes, and of his utterly wasted manhood, +succeeded each other in crowds in the young man's mind, as he gazed out +upon that peaceful scene! + +"Ay!" he thought, "I'm nearly thirty now--and what have I +done?--nothing--and I'm becoming weaker and more idiotic every day, +drifting--yes, Duncan is quite right--I _am_ drifting. It will soon be +too late to travel back, too." + +Oppressed by his melancholy reflections he closed the window with a +slam, and returning to the table mixed himself a stiff glass of grog. +After drinking it he mixed himself another, and by the time he had +finished that one he felt more comfortable. His melancholy mood departed +and was succeeded by a very sanguine one. He became brave and hopeful +once again, and he said to himself, "It it not too late; I will do +something yet, and astonish all these sober dunces who shake their heads +and whisper to each other that poor Tommy has gone to the dogs. I have +ten times more ability than they have, and I will show them what I can +do when I like. I will knock off this silly trifling and buckle to +without delay." + +And he made a great many very noble plans and resolutions of reform +under the genial influence of his hot spirits and water, as he had done +dozens of times before--plans and resolutions that would evaporate from +his brain as quickly as the alcoholic fumes that begat them, to be +replaced by nerveless despair and sullen recklessness. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE SECRET SOCIETY. + + +Those secret societies, Nihilist or whatever else they may be called, +whose aim is the subversion of all existing institutions, find their +recruits chiefly among the discontented, those whose hopes have been +dashed to the ground, whose lives have been failures. If to this quality +of conscious failure be added a nature enthusiastic and dreamy, the very +readiest material for the dangerous conspirator is presented. There are +many men of this class in every civilized nation, and the ranks of the +fraternities are full of them. As education spreads there will be still +more; for the means of satisfying the ambitions and wants that education +brings cannot increase in anything like proportion to those +ever-multiplying wants. + +And if this be so with men, how much more is it so with women? women the +dependant, whose happiness in life so much hangs on marriage, and of +whom so many must be condemned to lives of single misery--women the +dreamers, the emotional, and for whose ambitions there is no field. + +How many tens of thousands there must be that gnaw out their hearts in +lives wasted and objectless, despised of men and happier sisters? + +Such women are ready to follow any crazed visionary. + +It is a necessity of a woman's nature to cling to the companionship of a +Man, to lean on the stronger sex. Woman too must have a God, a +religion. Without these her womanhood has not been perfected. + +A Man can stand alone, self-reliant. He can know no God, have no +religion and yet not be over bad and certainly not unhappy. His +life-work is enough religion for him. But a woman who has no religion, +is on the way to becoming a fiend; she is an unnatural monster. Weak, +unstable, she has no strength, no honour, no goodness by herself. + +Woman's goodness is as a delicate flower which, when brought into the +foul air of the city, withers and dies at once. Man's goodness is of +hardier growth. The Soul of Man can be soiled and yet remain +half-angelic; but the Angel in Woman spreads its wings and goes off +altogether when contamination comes, and straightway she is possessed of +a devil. + +For these reasons the Woman that has no God, no love for which to +sacrifice herself, is better than a man for the purpose of a secret +society. + +Again, a Woman is more thorough-going than a Man. If she throws herself +into a conspiracy, she throws her whole self. Weaker in nature than Man +she is yet stronger, for the whole of that nature is concentrated on one +object. The larger nature of a Man is divided among many objects. He has +a mind that grasps many things together. If he is a lover he is not +_wholly_ a lover as a Woman would be. He still thinks of his business, +of a hundred matters. He is selfish and wise; but a Woman in her love or +hate is possessed by the emotion and can think of nothing else. As a +conspirator a Man is not _wholly_ a conspirator; he weighs the result to +himself, to his family; he looks far ahead and around and behind; he +reasons, so is more timid than the Woman. She as a conspirator is +nothing else; she cannot consider all sides of a question; if she be won +over by some wild Nihilistic theory or other mad scheme, she becomes a +monomaniac; no arguments unfavourable to it can in the least prevail +with her. She is blind to obstacles, reckless of consequences; so she +is braver and more ready to act than Man, crueller more ruthless in the +execution of her schemes. + +In Paris in revolution time, when the people come down to the streets, +it is the Women that urge on the men to their mad excesses; it will ever +be so. + +Those who know Woman best, who know what godlessness and lovelessness +and failure combined can make of her, will not be much surprised that so +many were found to join the Sisterhood, a meeting of which I am about to +describe, although its objects were so horrible. + +Those scientific Ethics, which are so jubilantly preached by the +optimists now-a-days, lead logically to the opinions professed by this +sisterhood. The abominations which they contemplated are but the +_reductio ad absurdum_ of Utilitarianism, the Morality without a God. + + * * * * * + +Catherine King was well past forty, a tall, pale, angular, hard-featured +woman, with a strong obstinate narrow mind; that type of mind that has +done more harm in the world than all the vicious temperaments. Had she +been religious she would have been sternly Puritanical, fiercely +intolerant, willing to cast her children into the flames if they +differed from her own strict views. + +But Catherine King was not religious, neither was she a mother, so the +intensity of the narrow zeal within her found another vent. + +What her past history had been, who she was, none of those who came +across her knew. She had no intimates. All that could be said was that +she must have been of respectable family, was well educated, and that +she had a modest private income on which she contrived to exist +comfortably enough. + +Catherine King had for some years taken interest in social questions. +She became a fanatical Radical, a believer in the more violent +Socialist schemes--the champion of the oppressed against the oppressors. + +I do not imagine that it was so much the tendency of a logical mind, +still less genuine sympathy for the supposed oppressed, that caused her +to take up this line, as it was the fever of her vehement temperament +driving her to clutch at something in place of love or religion to +satisfy its restlessness. + +Once having tried them, she became absorbed in these studies; she was +enthusiastic, mad, in her hatred, of all that are in authority, of rank, +power, law, morality. She had her dreams of the perfect State--a curious +State, wherein the individual was considered of no account, was as a +worm, to be trodden under foot beneath the progress of the mighty +aggregate, the happy race; though how a race can be happy while its +individuals are not so, was a question that troubled her as little as it +does most other votaries of the religion of humanity, that car of +Juggernaut to the fanatics of science. + +She became a monomaniac, and of that sort of which rulers of men are +made. + +The strong-willed intolerant ones do not make leaders unless they have +something more, though they make good followers. To rule a mob, one must +be insane, as a crowd is ever insane; one must be crazed, full of mad +inspirations, as of a Mænad. The false prophet must be a lunatic, and +believe in himself as a prophet--at least sometimes, else he will not +attract the multitude. + +Now, Catherine was just one of those half-insane zealots that can +influence weak minds, that become Nihilist chiefs, founders of +religions, queens of hysterical shakers, or generalissimos of +street-perambulating fanatics, drunk with noise and folly. + +When addressing a meeting of political dreamers, her dark eyes flashed, +her gestures were commanding, her mellow voice trembled with impassioned +earnestness, the whole woman inspired respect, attention, and lastly +conviction in those who listened to her. + +So it was that she gradually became more and more influential among +certain strong-minded and certain silly women, who had (as they called +it) enfranchised themselves--by which was meant that they had unsexed +and so rendered themselves ridiculous to the outside world of +common-place people. + +She became the president of a society of rather garrulous ladies. This +society was open to any who cared to join, and pay the modest annual +subscription which defrayed the expenses of two rooms in Bloomsbury. + +But this was nothing more than an ordinary Radical debating club, and so +could not for long suffice the ambition and restlessness of Catherine +King. Breaking away gradually from the less violent members, she with a +few kindred spirits organized, with no little judgment, a secret +society, whose objects were undeniably seditious, of which debate was by +no means the sole business, actions as well as words being within the +plan. These objects were at first too vague--too general for practical +carrying out; but gradually they narrowed to a definite and feasible +aim. + +Catherine King and five other women alone were acquainted with the +entire scheme, with the names of all the members, and the more secret +machinery of the organization. These six comprised the inner circle. +There was a second circle of sisters who knew much, but were not trusted +to know all. These were to be the really active agents in the +movement--they executed the decrees of the six. + +There was yet a third circle of sisters who knew nothing of the +dangerous secrets of the aim. These were undergoing an apprenticeship of +careful trial and watching, before being admitted to the privileges of +the second circle. + +Save of the six of the inner circle, there were no meetings of the +members of this society. These six arranged a plan of action; then, as +much of it as was needful was confided by them to those of the second +circle, one by one. Then those of the second circle, by private +conversation and argument, educated those of the third circle up to +views advanced enough to allow of their initiation to the second circle. + +General meetings were dispensed with as being not only dangerous but +unnecessary; for all the members were agreed in their views. No one was +admitted even into the third circle who was not a thorough-going +revolutionist. It was merely a question as to who were to be +trusted--who were brave, zealous, wicked, mad enough for action. + +This society was not avowedly a branch of the formidable Nihilist +confederation; yet, most of the sisters entertained a belief that such +really was the case, though the secret was preserved by Catherine King +and one or two others of the inner circle alone. Catherine was reputed +to be the agent of the Nihilists. She encouraged this belief by a +well-calculated reticence when the subject of Nihilism was mentioned. +She well knew how a little mystery of this kind strengthened her hand. + +No ominous name suggestive of blood and destruction had been given to +this society. It was simply entitled--THE SISTERS. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. King--as she was always called, though there was no reason to +suppose that she had ever been married--lived with one maid-servant in a +little house in a northern suburb of London. + +In the parlour of this house, four of the inner circle were sitting one +evening. It was here that they always did meet to discuss their plans, +and yet that maid-servant, who was of rather dull intelligence, did not +entertain the least suspicion that her mistress was connected with any +political societies whatever. + +This was an important meeting--yet all looked innocent enough. The room +was quietly furnished, rather bare of pretty trifles for a woman's, and +in which the book-shelves were well filled with works on political +economy, infidel philosophy, and sociology. + +Like a woman thorough-going even to absurdity, she had cast away all +more frivolous literature for good, on taking to these studies. There +was not a novel--not a volume of poems in the room. + +Four quiet-looking women, drinking tea and conversing calmly--not a very +formidable conspiracy, this, to outward appearance; but Catherine King +hated theatrical clap-trap: there were no melodramatic properties about +this society. "The less fuss the better," she used to say, "for those +that mean action." + +Of the three women with Catherine King, only one was young--had +pretensions to good looks--had been a mother; and she was the most +ruthless, the most thorough-going of all, ready for any dark deed, +loving cruelty for its own sake. Perhaps Susan Riley had been gentle +once, but experiences, with which her youth, her beauty, and motherhood +had something to do, had turned the course of her life, stopped the +flowing of the milk of her affections, so that it returned on her +souring, and made of her a fiend. It is but too easy for the masterful +Man to thus drive away for ever the guardian angel of the woman, and +leave her the possessed of devils. + +Of the other two women, one--who was known to her associates as Sister +Eliza--was a stout, motherly-looking person with a jovial expression. +She kept a boarding-house in Bayswater, which generally contained all +sorts of intriguing, or, at least, mysterious foreigners, spies, or +Nihilists--it was difficult to say which. + +Now, this woman, though of so simple and innocent a countenance, and +apparently so unobservant of her boarders, so free from foolish +curiosity, contrived to know all their ways, and made use of this +knowledge at times in a manner that would have astonished them. + +A mercenary spy and a faithless confidant to others, she was faithful to +Catherine King, whom she had long known, and for whom she had acquired +that sort of unreasoning affection that all women, even the hardest of +them, are liable to, be it for a man, or for one of their own sex, or +even for a pet cat. + +So, seeing that she was a woman, this inconsistency in the character of +this treacherous creature is not strange. + +Loving her idol, she fell into her ways, became an ardent follower of +her in her visionary schemes, and prudent to excess in all her other +relations, would be ready to commit any rash act to further the aim of +the sisterhood when commanded to do so by her chief. With her cunning +and caution, she was of the greatest use to the Society. She was not so +mad as the others, was endowed with less genius, but then she was so far +more sensible. + +The third woman was a lean, spectacled, ugly blue-stocking, who had +gradually drifted into all this devilry, simply because there was +nothing else she could do. Her ugliness had driven her into the +sisterhood. She was not so useful as the others, not having the +eloquence and persuasive power of honest, mad Catherine King; the +winning _bonhommie_ of the intriguing and clever boarding-house keeper; +or the ready devilishness of Susan Riley, which won over many to the +cause, for under certain circumstances women are fascinated by +devilishness even in their own sex. + +No; she of the spectacles, with her ugliness and awkward ways, was far +from being a successful gainer over of disciples; but she was earnest, +discreet, clever, and above all, wealthy, and all her wealth was at the +disposition of the Society. + + * * * * * + +"Eliza," Catherine King was saying as she poured herself out some tea, +"things are beginning to look hopeful: we can trust these five at any +rate to educate girls for our purpose, and that is a good beginning." + +"I am not so sure of that," replied the boarding-house keeper. "I have +no doubt about the first three of the sisters on your list; but we +cannot be too cautious. Let us wait a few months longer before we tell +everything to the last two: they are good women, but I must say I should +like to keep my eye on them for some time yet." + +"You surely can have no suspicions." + +"I have not as to their honesty," continued sister Eliza, "but I have +still as to their prudence. They don't know the world well enough yet. +They will find plenty of disciples, hundreds who will agree with all our +theories. But will they know when these disciples are ripe, and can be +trusted with the secret?... and we must have no failures. + +"It is no easy matter to work up a girl until you know thoroughly +whether you can tell her all with safety, or must put her aside at once +as useless. It requires a lot of tact--have those two sisters got that +tact? I am not sure. Think of the danger of telling all to a girl too +soon. + +"Why, nine out of ten of the second circle, who profess so much and mean +it too, would look rather strange if you were to say, 'Now you are to go +and practice what you have been so long preaching.' The scheme looks +perfect as long as it's only a question of talking, but when it comes to +doing, what a lot of ugly holes one can pick in it at once. I know them, +I tell you." + +"It will be a question of time," said Catherine, thoughtfully. "I think +you are right, Eliza; but it _must_ succeed: there must be thousands +brave enough to act up to their convictions; and how much could be done +with only one hundred!" + +"Now, that girl living with me," continued the boarding-house keeper, +"is a good scholar. I have been educating her and watching her for +three years, ever since I persuaded you to admit her into the second +circle. I think she is safe. With your leave I will now tell her the +secret of the aim--she is ready for it." + +"My leave! of course," replied Mrs. King. "Who knows better than you +when a girl's mind is ripe? The sooner we begin the better, now that the +machinery is complete. Look in how many quarters we have interest! Why, +nothing will be easier than to scatter the girls through the +associations of nurses--to have them trained in the hospitals." + +"Yes," said Eliza, "I was looking through my little book to-day We have +enough correspondents and fools whom we have taken in, to get us as many +characters for our nurses as we want. I can guarantee now to obtain +places for our girls in the biggest houses in England, through my +innocent agents. You should look into my book of introductions, and my +collections of genuine characters. I think I deserve credit for them." + +"You have worked that department of yours very cleverly, sister Eliza," +broke in another voice: that of the woman who was young, and had been a +mother, a voice not unpleasant in tone, but very much so in its +suggestion, for it had a hard ring in it, of suppressed spite and +jubilant malice. + +It was as the voice of a female Mephistopheles, an enemy of mankind +generally; but she could hide this expression when she liked, and speak +like an angel of love and pity. + +"Sisters," continued the strange woman, "I have formed a purpose. Though +I am one of the six inner, and so properly should confine myself to +training girls, yet, first because I wish it, secondly, because I am the +only one of you six young and prepossessing enough to do so, I intend to +be an actor myself in this drama. I am now applying to enter an +association of nurses. I shall want some assistance from you in the way +of introductions and references, oh, ingenious Eliza! and then I'll +start the game myself." + +"You shall have them in two days," replied sister Eliza. + +"And by the way," continued sister Susan, with a gleam in her eye, and a +low cold laugh, "by the way, sister Catherine, are the little +Malthusians all ready?" + +"They are," replied the chief in a voice of calm seriousness that +contrasted with the jarring levity of the former speaker's manner. +"Sister Jane has brought some to me. You all know the history of the +stuff do you not?" + +"I have not heard it," said the blue-stocking. + +"Jane is a native of Demerara. She is, as you can see, of mixed breed; +yet her mother was not of negro blood, but an Indian woman belonging to +a tribe that lives far up in the unknown forests of the interior. + +"These Indians are a tall and handsome people that hold no commerce with +the white man. Jane's father was an old Colonial Dutchman, whose estate +was unjustly forfeited by a decision of the Court of the oppressors in +Georgetown. + +"A ruined, disheartened man, he went up to explore the interior, +possibly in search of the precious metals which are known to exist +there. He lived with the Indians for years--took the Cacique's daughter +as his wife. Jane is the child of this union. She stayed some years +among her mother's people, indeed until her father discovered the gold +that restored his fortunes and brought him to England. + +"Now, she was taught a secret by these Indians that is only confided to +the eldest born daughter of each family, according to a custom that is +looked upon as religiously binding. + +"This secret is the manufacture of the poison which we have selected as +the best for our purpose." + +"It is the wourali," interrupted the blue-stocking. + +"It is not," proceeded Catherine. "It is better still, more subtle, +though not so rapid in its effects. When an animal is wounded with an +arrow that has been dipped in this, it does not die at once; indeed, for +a couple of days or so no effects seem to be experienced; then +constitutional but not local derangement is set up; the wound heals +readily, but a gradual painless decay commences; the appetite is lost; +the creature wastes and weakens into death, which generally takes place +within a month of the innoculation. + +"We are now satisfied that no test known to modern science can detect +the presence of this poison. For our purpose it can be injected into the +arm, with a hypodermic syringe, or even dropped on any delicate mucous +membrane. We have experimented on it in every way, and are more than +satisfied with the result." + +"Ah!" chuckled the wizened blue-stocking, as she took off and wiped her +spectacles, "I can picture to myself the doctors puzzling over these +strange patients. They will shake their heads, mutter '_marasmus_,' and +be at a total loss to explain such rapid decline. There will be long +articles in the _Lancet_ on the subject of this new disease--this deadly +children's plague. It will be very interesting to read their theories +about it." + +"The game will soon begin," said Susan Riley, "and then woe to the +tyrants!" + +"Woe to them!" repeated the sisters in a low chorus, which brought a +smile to the beautiful wicked face of the young mother. + +After a pause sister Eliza spoke: + +"You yourself have no pupils at present, sister Catherine; have you +found a new one yet? You told me the other day you were looking for +one." + +"Not yet," Catherine replied. "I have not come across the sort of girl I +want in London. I wish to find a young girl whom I can educate for our +work from the very beginning. I am going to the North to-morrow, to my +own country, for a week, I have an idea that though I have failed in +London I shall succeed there. It may be a foolish fancy, but I think +something will come of it. The temper of our Northern people is better +adapted for this work than that of the flighty Southerners. But now I +must show you the results of my last experiment." + +She went out and returned with a little dog in her arms. So emaciated +was it, so weak that one would have imagined that only a long period of +starvation could have reduced it to this condition. + +It kept its eyes closed, save for an occasional lack-lustre glimmer +through half-shut lids. It was too weak to move a limb, but it was +patient, evidently not suffering, and it attempted to lick its +mistress's hand as she brought it carefully in. + +Said Catherine King, "Three weeks ago I injected one _minim_ of this," +showing a flask of straw-coloured fluid which she held in her hand, +"into this animal's leg. Its appetite fell away. It wasted gradually, +till it has come to what you see. For three days it has refused all +nourishment, and even within a few hours I expect--" + +As she spoke the little dog opened its eyes, gave one last affectionate +look at its mistress, and with a low whine stretched out its legs and +was dead. + +"Woe to the oppressors!" whispered the blue-stocking. + +"Woe to the oppressors!" again muttered the sisters in chorus. + +"Poor Toby!" said Catherine King after a pause. The sudden death of her +old pet, for such the dog had been, had startled her into a slight +passing emotion. + +Two of the sisters observed this emotion--the faithful Eliza, who looked +sympathetic, and Susan Riley, on whose face a sneering smile sat for a +moment. + +The blue-stocking of course noticed nothing, but continued her +employment of examining and smelling at the poison bottle with her thin +scientific nose. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE FIRST DAY OF LIBERTY. + + +It was so lovely a summer morning that even the dreary Brixton street +looked almost cheerful. So bright a blue sky was overhead, so glorious +was the sunlight, that the bushes and flowers in the make-believe +gardens in front of each house were fair to the eye as if they had been +growing in the pure atmosphere of some far country side. + +The smuts that covered them were not apparent under this flood of light, +and their foliage waved merrily when the gusts of the fresh breeze +passed them. It was the South West wind that was blowing, that most +blessed visitant of our isles, spite of its blusterous ways--the sweet +wind from over the seas that stirs the blood to the quick flow of joyous +youth again, and makes one to dance and laugh for very delight of life. +How, when the South Wester sweeps through the skies, even close London +feels its spell! it rushes down the innermost slums, drives back the +foul vapours, till the air is almost as that over the mid-ocean, and has +a taste of the salt in it, bringing colour to the cheeks of pallid +children of the alleys, and jollity to all who are still susceptible to +it. + +"Mary, I expect an important letter to arrive here by next post for me. +I must have it as soon as possible. Hurry off with it the moment it +comes. Here is your fare. Take train to Ludgate Hill and bring it to me +at the office. Don't loiter mind; bring it at once." + +It was Mr. Grimm who spoke as he took up his hat and umbrella after +breakfast, preparatory to going city-wards. + +"All right, father," replied Mary, as she removed the breakfast things, +and the next minute the little lawyer was out of the house and the door +slammed behind him--off to his pettifogging, lying, and cheating in his +offices, which were in a narrow street off the Ludgate Hill end of Fleet +Street. + +Mary continued to remove the cups, saucers, and plates, in a rather +nonchalant manner. + +The stout red-faced second wife of Grimm sat in the arm-chair eyeing her +not over kindly for a minute or so, and then in a harsh voice addressed +the girl: + +"You minx! you minx!" working herself up into a passion; "you do it on +purpose to aggravate me, I know you do." + +"Do what?" asked Mary, calmly. + +"I've been watching you these ten minutes--dawdling, dawdling, dawdling, +as slow as you can; that's what it is. Hurry up now over those things. +What do I give you your food for, and your clothes too, do you think? To +work: and work for your living you shall as sure as my name's Grimm. +Hurry up; don't stand there like a stuck pig, with your sulky putty +face. Do you hear?" + +This was a long speech for Mrs. Grimm, and she halted for breath and +further inspiration. + +Not a muscle of Mary's face moved, but she did hurry up a little; only +for a few seconds though, when, altering her mind, she stopped suddenly +in her work and said in a deliberate voice: + +"I suppose you think I ought to be very grateful to you, don't you?" + +"What! grateful, grateful!" ejaculated the angry woman, almost too +surprised at this exhibition of spirit to talk distinctly. "What on +earth do you mean, you little--you little--" + +But before she could find an epithet forcible enough for the occasion, +Mary interrupted her in the same cool, unimpassioned voice as before: +for she did not fear, and had learned to despise, her low-minded +step-mother. + +"Yes, grateful! and for what, if you please? I have worked hard here all +my life. You daren't make the hired slavey work as you make me; and my +father uses me as a clerk: and where will he get a clerk to copy so much +a day as I do? Slavey and clerk in one I am, Mrs. Grimm, and for just +enough food to keep body and soul together, and your worn-out +clothes--you have got a cheap bargain in me I think," and the girl, +losing some of her sang-froid in the memory of her wrongs, carried out +the tray and banged the door behind her. + +It was seldom that Mary bandied words with her stepmother in this way; +possibly the glorious weather without had stirred her up to this +ebullition, for the South West wind can excite us to honest indignation +as well as to jollity. + +Mrs. Grimm was what she would herself have described as bursting with +rage. When the girl returned in a minute or so, cool and pale as ever, +she smiled slightly when she perceived her stepmother's now purple +visage. It is pleasant to behold one's enemy apoplectic with vain fury. + +Then Mrs. Grimm broke out into the following fine oratorical display, +panting at short intervals for breath, "You wretch: to talk to _me_ like +that:--I'll let your father know of this when he comes back--we'll see +if a little less food will cool down your hot blood, my girl.... Go out +in the streets--go out, and see if with all your working and clerking +anyone will take you in, though you are such a good bargain;--go out, +and see if you won't starve; go. Why, with that ugly putty face of yours +you could not even--" + +She was about to be still coarser in her remarks, as was not unusual +with her, but Mary, flushing slightly, interrupted her mid-way. + +"I know all that, Mrs. Grimm; I know how hard it would be to find work +if I went from here. You don't think if it were otherwise that I'd stay +another half-minute, do you?" + +"Go out this minute and clean up all those breakfast things," shouted +Mrs. Grimm, rising from her chair, beside herself with rage. + +But Mary stood looking at her with folded arms aware that nothing could +be more irritating to this violent woman than her cool behaviour. +Whether she would have refused to obey, how much further her mutinous +spirit would have carried her is uncertain; for at that moment there +came a postman's knock at the door, and the servant brought in a letter +and handed it to Mrs. Grimm. + +"That's the letter your father wants," she said, throwing it to Mary. +"Be off with it; be off with it, you little devil, and no dawdling, +mind, no staring about. Don't imagine that anyone will admire that silly +face of yours." + +Mary did not feel this Parthian shaft as she hurried off, only too glad +to escape into the open air, to be free for an hour. + + * * * * * + +She walked fast down the streets, and then turned to the right towards +the Brixton railway station. Her step was elastic, for she was young, +and though her youth was ever being crushed down, it but lay latent, +ready to spring up when opportunity offered. The sunshine and wind of +this June day brought it out. She was happy for the time; there was a +sparkle of delight in her eye--delight for this short liberty which was +in so strong contrast to her usual drudgery. + +In five minutes she was outside the station; then suddenly the joy faded +from her face, and she stopped short, as she looked with dismay through +the archway into the dark passage by which the railway is approached, +appearing so cold and dismal after the outer warmth and light. + +She realized that her walk was over now--she must get into the train. +In a few rapid minutes she would be at Ludgate Hill--then in her +father's office, to sit perhaps through all the afternoon in the hateful +little inner room that she knew so well, and into which clients were +never shown, to copy papers till her head ached. Ah, the misery of it! + +She hesitated before taking her ticket. Oh, for a half-hour's more +freedom! She trembled with the strength of her desire. She yearned, as +no one can who has not lived her life, for a respite, for but a little +more time, to let her youth be filled with the glory of that summer day. + +Her head seemed to turn with the temptations and ideas that crowded one +on the other upon her. "Why should she go by train at all? Why not walk +all the way to Ludgate Hill? What was to prevent her? Fear of her +father--No!" and at the thought her head became defiantly erect, and her +expression more obstinate. "Fear, she didn't fear." + +Then in a moment her mind was made up; the impulse conquered; she turned +her back suddenly on the station and walked off, a gleam of guilty joy +in her eyes. + +Having gone so far in revolt, she, as is natural, went yet a step +further, and loitered quite slowly through the streets, looking into +shop windows and amusing herself by studying the people who passed her, +all which was very different from her usual behaviour when out of doors. + +She felt like a real girl now, and the childish joy and excitement that +flushed her cheek and shone in her eyes gave a rare beauty to her face, +such as it had perhaps never worn before, so that passers looked with +admiration and wonder at the fairy-like girl who, so shabbily and +quaintly dressed, yet so graceful and so pretty, tripped lightly by +them, the very model for a Cinderella. + +She reached Blackfriars Bridge, and in the middle of it she stopped for +a few minutes, leaning over the parapet, gazing up the grand sunny +river, while the fresh breeze fanned her cheek and ruffled her soft +hair. She was prolonging the short sweet spell of liberty: and when she +turned at last from that glorious view, it was with very slow steps that +she walked towards her father's office. + +When she came to Fleet Street, and was at the point where the narrow +street in which the office was situated branches from the great +thoroughfare, she stood still again, while she put her hand in her +pocket to bring out the letter.... It was not there! Her heart beat +violently. She felt for it again--she brought out all the pocket's +contents: an old thimble and a few other trifles--but no letter. + +As is the unreasoning custom of those who have lost anything, she +searched over and over again in the same places, hoping against hope. + +At last she could deceive herself in this way no longer; she was +convinced she had not got it--it was lost, and what was she to do now? + +A confused crowd of ideas rushed into the child's mind: what to do--to +go to the office and tell her father what had happened? or to walk back +the way she had come and see if she could find the letter on the road +anywhere? or to run away for good and trust to chance? + +Her head swam and her heart beat when this last plan suggested itself to +her, this grand and vague temptation--to run away--to have liberty, +entire liberty--never to go back to that cruel house in Brixton. Oh, the +delight, the mystery of it! + +She was a brave girl, and to be cast adrift on the world did not terrify +her much. This pluck was not due to childish ignorance; for she knew +well how hopeless were the prospects of one in her situation, how cruel +were the streets of the great city. + +Her brain was in a whirl. Anyhow she would put off the evil moment, she +said to herself; she would not decide at once, she would think the +matter over. So she walked away towards the bridge again. + +Then in her uncertainty she came back once more, and hardly knowing what +she did went up Fleet Street, up the Strand, and reached Trafalgar +Square. + +In her perplexity she stood for a few seconds gazing at the fountains +glittering in the sun. Then all of a sudden, in that great open place, +the passion of freedom so filled her soul, that it drove before it all +other considerations. Her wavering mind yielded at once, having no more +power to hesitate or reason. She stamped her foot on the stone pavement, +and cried aloud, "I shall not go back--never--never again--it is all +over now." + +Thus she decided to try the world, to throw herself on chance, they +could not be crueller than home. If all failed was there not the river? +She had read in the papers of poor women leaping in it when all hope was +over--"No, she would not go home." + +Now that her mind was quite made up, so strange and delightful a sense +of freedom, of adventure, filled that young soul that she could have +shouted for joy. She felt no care for the morrow, not she--this new +liberty quenched for the moment all other ideas and fears. + +"And where to go to now?" she thought. "Where seek employment?" + +She had the sixpence her father had given her for her fare, a small +capital to start life upon. Should she buy a broom and sweep a crossing, +or go out into the country and pluck flowers to sell in the town, as she +knew some poor girls did? + +She was well aware that she was far from being so ugly as her stepmother +had made out. She knew that many a gentleman would stop to buy a flower +from a pretty girl like herself, who would pass a plain woman unnoticed. +Oh, yes, she knew that. + +But she was so glad, so drunk with freedom, that she could not think +steadily of these matters just yet. No, she must run wild for an hour or +so, until this fever of delight had moderated. She must go to some great +open lonely place, where she could laugh and dance to herself for +awhile. + +This poor little Mary who had never been a child before! all the pent-up +childishness of the long sad years burst out in this her wild, mad, +first day of freedom. + +She thought she would go out of the crowded streets to be by herself in +Hyde Park for an hour or so. She had been there once before on a +winter's morning, and she had noticed what a vast lonely region it was. +So she went up Piccadilly, passed into the Park, and found herself at +the corner of Rotten Row. + +Imagine her bewilderment at what she saw. It was no longer the dreary +desert of the winter's morning, but a great garden filled with such a +crowd in carriage, on horseback, and on foot, as only Hyde Park at one +period of the day and in the height of the London season can show. + +She felt a new sensation of shame and terror creep over her in the midst +of all these grand people who were so different from herself. They were +looking at her, questioning her right to be there, she thought, and her +confusion increased. + +She glanced around with nervous bewilderment, and her face and neck +flushed crimson. Some were looking at her, it is true; her rare grace +and beauty contrasting with her old-fashioned shabby dress naturally +attracted attention. Dowagers deliberately raised their pince-nez and +stared at her, and young men of fashion gazed with open admiration. + +"Oh, this won't do at all!" she said to herself, and she hurried off +through the throng till she reached the comparatively deserted open +green space in the centre of the Park. + +And now she could give play to her feelings. When no one was by, she +went wild for a while and clapped her hands with joy, and all because +she was alone in the world with a fortune of just six pennies. + +At last she sobered down, and sitting on a bench began to ponder quietly +but no less happily. + +Now it happened that a Satyr of the Parks had seen her from afar off. + +So presently there came by an elderly gentleman who was dressed in the +height of fashion, belaced, bedyed as to whiskers, and with an +affectation of youthful suppleness that must have made his old limbs +ache again. + +He passed her once, glanced at her, then after a few paces returned +again and sat down beside her. + +She did not notice him, so absorbed was she in her speculations as how +best to invest her capital. + +After eyeing her askance for a few minutes, the old gentleman, wishing +to break the ice, and not being able to evolve on the spur of the moment +anything more original in the way of remarks, said in a smooth and +conciliatory voice: + +"It is a beautiful day, is it not, my dear?" + +She started from her reverie, looked straight at him, instinctively read +his meaning, and without a word got up, with proud gesture gathered her +shawl around her, and walked away. + +Her dream was broken, a chill came over her heart, the incident had made +her suddenly realise the horror of her position. + +She would find no help from any save from such as this man was. Oh! the +cruelty--the wicked cruelty of the city! She shuddered at the picture of +her future thus vividly presented to her, and tears, the first for +years, came to her eyes. + +As miserable as she had but just before been glad, she walked on, in an +objectless manner, anywhere. This new wild sensation of freedom had +turned her head for the while, and her emotions were intense and rapidly +changing to their contraries in an hysterical fashion. + +Without knowing how she got there, she again recognised around her the +familiar buildings of Fleet Street. She approached her father's office, +attracted there by the same sort of fascination that drags the murderer +to the scene of his guilt. + +Soon she considered how dangerous it was for her to loiter in that +neighbourhood. She was aware that she must have been missed by this +time; her father had probably made inquiries, had instructed the police, +and there were many persons about Ludgate Hill who knew her well by +sight. + +Feeling hungry she went up a side street near Fetter Lane, and entering +a small baker's shop bought a pennyworth of bread, and asked the woman +there to give her a glass of water. + +Refreshed by this frugal meal she went down to the Thames Embankment, +and sitting on a seat tried to think calmly over her position. She had +heard of casual wards where homeless penniless people could get lodging +for the night. She thought she would most probably have to seek this +shelter at least for this night, for even now it was getting late in the +afternoon. + +Yes! she would wait till it was dark, and then ask a policeman--she +dared not do so in broad daylight--to tell her where there was a casual +ward. + +And so she sat down on benches, or wandered restlessly up and down the +streets until it was dark and the long June day was done, when, dizzy +and weary, she was once again treading the pavements of Fleet Street. + +The bells of St. Clements had just pealed out ten hours, when the girl +of a sudden perceived, hurriedly approaching her, her father. + +He had evidently returned from home to find traces of her. + +For a moment the shock paralysed her, but only for a moment. To her +right was a narrow dark street; she darted in and ran down it with the +haste that terror and madness give. + +This street, or rather alley, is known as Devereux Passage. + +On reaching the bottom of it, the poor hunted creature found herself in +a sort of cul-de-sac. It was all over. There was no escape. The street +ended. On the left were the closed iron gates of the Temple. In front of +her was a wall. To the right her flight was also stopped, for there the +narrow passage that leads off to Essex Street had wooden barriers placed +across it, the pavement being up for repair of drain or water-pipes: so +this too seemed to her hurried gaze, and in the dim light, impassable as +the dead wall in front. + +She was at bay; trembling, faint, and sick with despair, she looked +wildly around for any chance of escape. + +She heard the man's step coming down the passage--slowly too, with cruel +deliberation; her father knew well that there was no way out, that she +was a secured prisoner. + +There was a doorway by her: she crouched into it, and with her breath +bursting out in difficult sobs, and her heart beating as if to break, +clung to the door-handle with all her strength. She determined that she +would not be torn away. Then her head swam round--the heavy tread +approached--she shut her eyes in her agony. + +When he was just in front of her the sound of the man's step ceased. + +There was a pause before his words came. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +IN THE TEMPLE. + + +A pause of a few seconds only, but seeming long terrible minutes, while +she waited for the harsh satirical tones of her father's voice, which +she knew so well. + +At last the words came. + +"You seem to be unwell; can I be of assistance to you in any way?" + +She started, opened her eyes wide, and stared in the speaker's face. + +It was not her father! + +For it happened that the solicitor had not seen her, and had continued +his route along Fleet Street, when she darted into Devereux Court. The +steps she had heard behind her were not her father's. The person who had +spoken was a stranger, young and of pleasing exterior. It was no other +than Mr. Thomas Hudson. + +On his way to the Devereux Court entrance to the Temple, he had seen +this girl crouching in the doorway. With the gallantry and sympathy of +an Irishman, and really thinking that she was ill, he came to the +rescue. Not that his motives for this were altogether unselfish. He saw +that the girl was young and graceful of form, and her face, he imagined, +must be agreeable also, to be consistent with the rest. He had nothing +to do for the moment, and was only too glad to fall into an adventure +with a pretty woman. + +She looked at him wildly for a few seconds, then cried: + +"Why, you are not--" and she checked herself. + +"No I am not," he promptly replied; "are you afraid of someone then. Is +any blackguard following you?" + +Her eyes wandered round like those of an animal in presence of a great +danger. Weariness and the reaction after her excitement had dulled her +courage. + +"Yes, I am hunted," she said at last, sadly. + +"Hunted! by whom?" asked the barrister, becoming rather suspicious that +his new friend might prove to be a runaway pickpocket, or something else +bad--"by whom?" + +She seemed only then to call her faculties together, to realise that she +was talking to, nay, confiding in, a stranger. Her cold collected look +returned to her, and it must be confessed that she did not appear nearly +as pretty as with her late timid expression. + +"Why do you wish to know?" + +"Well, I saw that you looked ill, or that you were in fear of something, +and I wished to be of service if possible." + +She laughed bitterly. "Is that all? Well, I'll answer your question. I'm +not running away from the police, but from my stepmother and father. I +don't mind telling you," she went on in tones of reckless despair, "I +don't see what harm it will do me, or what good it will do you." + +"Running away from home!" + +"Yes! for good." + +"But where are you going?" + +"Going--I don't know--to the casual ward I suppose--if--if I can get +there." + +Mary felt a strange faintness stealing over her, and the young man +noticed it. + +"You are ill--let me put you into a cab." + +"No thank you," she replied decidedly. + +"I live close here," he went on--"in the Temple. I wish you would allow +me to take you to my rooms--you seem faint--a rest for a little while +and a cup of tea will do you good. Now do let me persuade you." He +paused and their eyes met. "No, you need not be afraid of me," he said, +translating her look. + +She was looking at him, earnestly into him, and she read his character. +She saw that she need not fear him--that is so long as she took proper +care of herself. There was nothing violent or really wicked in the +merry, careless, rather weak face. This was not the old man of the Park. +She could distinguish that there were generous feelings in this young +man as well as self-indulgence. + +She smiled as she thought how shrewd she was getting at +character-reading, what a lot she had learned of the world in one day. + +"Why do you laugh?" he asked. + +"At my thoughts?" + +"Well I am glad that they are merrier than they were just now." + +"I was thinking how well I can read your character. I saw that I need +not fear you much. I can trust you." + +This was a very dangerous admission for a young girl to make to a young +man; but Mary, clever though she was, could hardly be expected to know +exactly how to behave under such novel circumstances. + +"I am delighted to hear you say so," replied Hudson excitedly. "Now take +my arm and we will go to my rooms. You want somebody to take care of +you, my poor little girl." + +There was a tenderness in his last words that cooled Mary's confidential +mood; but she took his arm, and she spoke no word while Hudson rang the +bell, and they passed into the Temple through a gate that was opened by +invisible hands, like that of some magic castle in the fairy tales she +had read, and then crossed the deserted quadrangle, and ascended two +flights of dusty stone stairs, till they came to a solid and ancient oak +door with bolts and bars enough to resist the siege of twenty locksmiths +for a week, and with Mr. T. Hudson painted over it in white letters. + +He opened this with one key, and there was another inner, less +formidable door which he opened with another smaller key. It was just +like going into a prison, she fancied, and the gloomy deserted passages +half frightened her. How easily one could be murdered in this lonely +place, she thought, and no one hear one's cries. + +She followed him into the dark chambers, then the barrister lit a lamp +and proceeded to do the honours of his establishment. + +"Here we are at last--a curious looking place is it not? Now you must +sit down in this armchair and make yourself comfortable, while I go out +and get you something to eat. It will do you good--I can see what you +want." + +"I really want nothing, sir; indeed I--" + +"Now, don't contradict your doctor, Miss--Miss--Miss--what is it you +said?" + +She smiled at his ruse as she remembered that she had not told him her +name as yet, but she replied, "Mary Grimm." + +"Miss Grimm, you must excuse my leaving you alone here for a few +minutes; I won't be long," and he hurried off to order a nice little +supper for his guest from a neighbouring tavern. + +Then he thought as he went, "There is nothing but whisky in the +rooms--she doesn't look the sort of girl to drink whisky--shall I get +her some beer? No, that won't do--champagne? Can't run to that to-night, +besides, it would look like dissipation and frighten her. +Claret?--that's better; I'll get a bottle of Burgundy--that's the stuff +to cheer the girl;" so he ordered a bottle of the generous wine, to be +sent over to his chambers with the supper. + +The adventure was a curious one and pleased him. This was no ordinary +girl, he saw that. He felt that her story was true, or nearly so. She +puzzled him somewhat, but this presumptuous young man flattered himself +that he could understand any woman after an hour's conversation, and he +intended to understand his new acquaintance. + +When a woman is left by herself in a bachelor's home for the first time, +she loves to prowl about it and look into every corner like a cat in a +strange house, endeavouring to satisfy her natural curiosity as to the +secret life of the unmarried man. Residential chambers in the Temple +have an especial charm for the inquisitive daughter of Eve. There is an +odour of mystery, a suspicion of wickedness about these dens of celibacy +which she cannot resist. + +So when the barrister was away, Mary, after she had first taken off her +shawl and hung it on a chair, and then looked at herself in the glass +over the mantelpiece, and arranged her hair a little, began to examine +her surroundings with considerable interest. She noticed how different +everything in this room was to what she was accustomed to see in other +sitting-rooms at home and elsewhere, where a woman's influence--though +it were even Mrs. Grimm's--made itself felt. + +There was a comfortable sternness about the bachelor's sanctum. There +were no frivolous cheap china shepherdesses on the mantelpiece, as in +the Brixton parlour, but pipes, tobacco-jars, and two bronze busts of +heathen deities. + +There hung by the side of the mirror four tin shields with the arms of +Hudson's University, College, School, and Inn of Court painted on them. +The walls were pannelled with dark oak. There were two carved +bookshelves of the same wood, and their contents showed that his erratic +and rather superficial mind had coquetted with many branches of human +thought. + +Some good old engravings hung on the walls, contrasting curiously with +coloured photographs by Goupil from well-known pictures of the modern +French school, all representing feminine beauty in more or less scanty +classic attire, these last in broad flat frames of dead gold that much +relieved the sombre effect of the furniture. + +There were guns, fishing-rods and riding-whips also hanging on the +walls, proving that our barrister was somewhat of a sportsman as well as +a student and voluptuary. + +In a recess were some silver prize-tankards won by his oar on Cam and +Thames. On the round table in the centre of the room were a decanter of +whisky, two or three empty glasses, some cigar ends in a saucer, an +album chiefly filled with pretty actresses, a French novel, and one +brief, the only sign of his profession; for I must explain that Hudson +had a room for business purposes on the ground-floor of his staircase. + +Mary heard her host coming up the stairs, so had one more look into the +glass to see if all was right. Her eye fell on her hat--it was very +shabby indeed; so, though she felt how cool and bold she was, she took +it off and laid it on the chair with her shawl. Her shame for its +appearance, her woman's vanity, were too much for her instinctive +feeling that this was far from the right thing to do. + +When Hudson came in he was surprised to see what a beautiful creature +this little captive of his was. Now that her shawl was off, her +tight-fitting black dress revealed the perfect moulding of her form. Her +small classical head was set on her shoulders wonderfully as that of the +Venus that came from Milo. She was leaning with one arm on the sill of +the window, looking across Fountain Court to the gleaming Thames. The +lamp shining through a coloured shade cast a delicate pink light upon +her figure, and she appeared even as the young Venus, a being born into +a happy world only to be loved and to love. + +But then no goddess of Love would have had that expression about the +mouth, so untender, so devoid of soft emotions. + +"I am sorry to have kept you so long," Hudson said. "I have ordered a +nice little supper, which will be here directly." + +"Oh, but it is too kind of you," she exclaimed. "I should not have come +up here if I had thought that you were going to take all this trouble." + +"Nonsense, Miss Grimm. You don't know how pleased I am to have met you. +What do you mean by trouble? There is nothing unselfish in my behaviour, +I assure you. It is a charitable action of yours to relieve my +loneliness in this dismal old place. It is not very cheerful to sup here +all alone, as you can well imagine." + +"It must be very lonely, living here," she said as she looked around. + +"Well, it is," he replied, but not without a smile as he thought how +much more jovial revelry than quiet loneliness those chambers had seen +since he had occupied them. + +"It is a pretty room," Mary said, "I like it very much. I have never +seen anything like it before. It is very interesting. There are so many +curious things in it." + +Suddenly her eyes fell on the dusty brief on the table, and she +exclaimed, "Ah! you are a barrister, I see." + +"How on earth do you know that?" he asked. "Have you ever seen any of +these interesting documents before?" + +"I should think I have," she replied as she picked it up, and turning +over the pages glanced at them with the eye of a connoisseur. "I have +drawn up so many of these, so many hundreds of folios of the dreary +stuff," and she sighed as she thought over the dismal hours she had +spent in that dingy back room off Fleet Street. She continued with +vivacity, "Why, after just looking through it for a moment, I could tell +you exactly how many _guas_ ought to be scrawled on the outside of a +brief like that one. A little assault case I see it is. Your fee would +not be much for that. I hope you get better work than that +sometimes--but I beg your pardon," she said in a confused way as she +remembered herself; "I did not mean to--" + +"The devil!" exclaimed the barrister in surprise, "are you a sister +lawyer, then? I didn't know that woman's rights had got as far as that +yet. As we are fellow chips we ought to get on very well together. Which +branch of the profession do you belong to?" + +She laughed merrily and said with a mock bow, "To the lower; I have +passed the greater portion of my life in a solicitor's office." + +"Dear me, how very interesting! I should like to hear about it if I may, +if it is not a secret." + +"Not at all; I know you are very curious to know who I am, so if you +like I'll give you my whole history." + +"I shall be very glad to hear it," Hudson said, this time speaking in a +serious tone. "I shall be able to know how I can help you when I know +more about you. But sit down in that arm-chair; it is more comfortable +and you look very tired." + +She sat down in the arm-chair by the window, while he took a chair near +her. + +"Well, to start at the beginning," Mary said; "my father is a +solicitor." + +"What! not that old rascal, Edmund Grimm!" Hudson exclaimed; "but I beg +your pardon, Miss Grimm." + +"Not at all, don't apologize; he is an old rascal, and that's putting it +very mildly. Do you know him then?" + +"I should think so," the barrister answered. "I have done lots of work +for him for which he has never paid me. I have long ago given up all +hopes of getting my fees out of him." + +"I don't think you ever will get them," Mary said quietly. + +"And how curious it is that you should be his daughter! It seems almost +impossible," and he gazed with admiration at her beautiful figure, +contrasting it mentally with the shrivelled anatomy of the ugly little +lawyer. + +"And how curious to think that the briefs and other papers he sent you +were most probably drawn up by my hand!" Mary remarked. + +"Is that indeed the case? I should have looked at them with much greater +interest had I known that; but there's a knock at the door, it's the +supper that's arrived. Excuse me a moment while I go and take it in. You +must give me your history afterwards. The first thing is to get +everything ready for you; I am sure you must be very hungry." + +Though Mary had spoken so frankly, there was still something in her +manner that made the young man feel that she was really keeping a sharp +watch over herself, and that she was bent on carefully preserving the +respectful distance that still lay between them. + +Whenever he tried to approach the sentimental and lead the conversation +beyond the line she had mentally fixed, she would turn her eyes on him +with a calm look that quite disconcerted him. His usual readiness of +tongue was strangely absent when talking with this quiet cold beauty. He +was ashamed of himself for his stupidity. He had lost all his impudence +and pertinacity. He could make no ground here. + +The barrister brought the dishes into the rooms, and sported his oak. + +Mary insisted on being shown where the laundress kept the cloth, knives, +plates and so on, and she laid the table for supper with an accustomed +hand. + +The girl was amused at the queer careless arrangements of the +establishment. + +"How funnily you bachelors keep house! Why, you don't seem to know where +anything is, what you have got, or what you haven't. Now do you think +there is any good in my hunting any more for the salt spoon, Mr. Hudson? +Can you tell me if you ever had one?" + +"I really can't say." + +She laughed merrily. "Oh dear, how you must get robbed by your servants! +Have you got servants, by the way?" + +Hudson, who had been watching with admiration the unconscious supple +grace of the girl as she bustled about the room replied, "Yes, a dirty +old woman, a laundress as we call them in the Temple, who comes for an +hour every morning and pretends to clean up the place." + +"How curious! but you should get her to clean your plates better; just +look at the dust on this one. Now I wonder where I'm going to find a +tea-cloth." + +At last Mary had arranged the table to her satisfaction, and they sat +down to a comfortable little supper. + +Mary had but very rarely drunk anything stronger than tea, and the +Burgundy was a new and, it must be confessed, not unpleasant sensation +to her after the wear of the first day of liberty. But she soon +perceived that it was a perilous pleasure and was cautious. + +The conversation was still rather constrained. Each was sounding the +other. He was trying to find out what was the real disposition of this +very incomprehensible girl. She, amazed at this unwonted kindness from a +stranger, was reserved, suspicious of his motives; for Mary was a London +girl, and was not gifted with that absolute innocence which is sometimes +attributed to such heroines--heroines who, living in pitch, are in some +miraculous way all undefiled, are even ignorant that the pitch is there. + +At eleven o'clock Hudson knew Mary's history, but he was as far as ever +from her. He was accustomed to shy, to bold, to coquettish, to silly, to +mercenary, women, to almost every sort of girl, and knew how to manage +them: but before this girl he was lost. + +This was not merely because she was cold--had she been _stupidly_ so, he +would have known how to act; but she inspired a real respect that kept +him at a distance. + +There was no enlargement of the intimacy, and after supper matters were +worse again: the awkward feeling on either side chilled the +conversation. + +Mary began to think that it was time for her to be going--to resume her +wanderings, to find some shelter for the night, and at the thought a +gloom fell on her face. + +Hudson read the look and said, "Miss Grimm" (he had got back to this +though he had called her Mary earlier in the evening), "if you go out +now you will find it very difficult to get a lodging. It is too late. +You had better stay here. I will camp out in this room on the sofa, you +can have my bed-room. To-morrow we will think together over what you had +better do." + +Mary looked at his kind face, and was touched; her coldness broke down. + +"You are very good," she said gratefully, and she rose and took his +hand. "You are the only one who has ever been kind to me. I will never +forget you." + +When she had retired, the barrister rigged himself up a berth on the +sofa, and lay smoking his pipe awhile, as he thought of this strange +girl who had awakened his emotions and chilled them again a dozen times +in the hour with her inconsistencies, her sympathy one moment, her +coldness the next. + +He had noticed the different expressions of her features and murmured to +himself as he blew out the light: "She has an angel looking out of her +eyes and a devil sitting on her mouth, but I believe I should fall +really in love this time if I saw much of her." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +FROM SCYLLA TO CHARYBDIS. + + +Mary slept well after her long day of adventure and did not wake until +the sun was high. + +The laundresses had poured into the Temple, and were pretending to dust +their master's chambers and performing the rest of their desultory +duties, prior to the bustle of business commencing in those "dusty +purlieus of the law." + +It was indeed nearly nine o'clock when Mary woke. She heard the plashing +of the fountain outside, saw she was in a strange room, and gradually +recalled all that had occurred on the previous day. + +Like most people, she did not feel quite so brave in the morning as in +the evening, and her heart sank as her position, her hopeless future, +flashed across her mind. She could distinguish by the noises that her +host was up and about in the adjacent room, and she heard him +instructing his laundress to lay breakfast for two, an order which that +worthy received without exhibiting the slightest surprise. + +"If the lady puts her boots outside the door I will clean them before I +go," she merely said as she carried out his commands. + +Mary overheard this. "Good heavens!" she said to herself, "the servant +has divined that there is a woman in her master's bed-room, on being +merely told to lay breakfast for two instead of one. Such an event then +is not extraordinary in Mr. Hudson's home--what has the horrid old +woman mistaken me for, then?" and the blood rushed to her cheeks as she +thought of it. + +"Out of here I must go at once," she muttered to herself--"at once;" and +after dressing rapidly she opened the door of the sitting-room, and not +without exhibiting some signs of discomposure, found herself +face-to-face with the young barrister. + +He came up beaming and asked her politely how she had slept. + +"Very well, thanks," she replied, taking his proffered hand, rather +mollified by his kind manner, and by the knowledge that the laundress +had gone. She had looked quickly round the room and grasped this fact; a +great relief to her, as she considerably dreaded the gaze of a woman +under the present, to be confessed rather compromising, circumstances. + +She had intended to bid the barrister farewell, and hurry off at once; +but his honest manner, and the comfortable appearance of the +breakfast-table with its eggs, its rolls, its rashers of bacon, and its +coffee, prevailed on her. She came to the conclusion that to stay a +little longer could do no harm, and it would be well to start this day +of unknown work with a good breakfast. So it will be seen that this +young lady was practical, one result of her rough education; and her +anxiety had not diminished her usually healthy appetite. + +So the two sat down and breakfasted merrily enough, their conversation +being far more unrestrained than it had been on the previous evening. + +"Now, Mary," he no longer called her Miss Grimm, "we won't talk any +business till breakfast is over; then we will discuss your plans." + +Mary assented to this, and really began to feel so comfortable in her +new quarters, that she was getting quite loth to leave them; and who can +tell what decision the two counsellors might have come to--a dangerous +game, two young people, both free, discussing such a matter--had not +Mary's good genius, in the shape of the dirty and hideous old charwoman, +come in just as the breakfast was over? + +The hag performed a sort of awkward curtesy, while she gave Mary a look, +half of curiosity, half leer of evident speculation as to whether the +girl was likely to be a constant visitor, and so to be won over by +politeness to a liberality in the way of tips. + +Mary read all this, she realised how near she was to the edge of the +precipice, the fear returned to her, she started up and said with fierce +decision: + +"Mr. Hudson, I must go--at once." + +He stared at her, and the laundress raised her eyebrows and smiled as +she cleared away the breakfast things. + +"But we are going to talk over your plans." + +"No! I will go at once. It is better. I must." + +Mr. Hudson now began to perceive more or less clearly what was the +reason of this sudden haste, but he temporised. + +"Now sit down quietly and let us talk things over. Believe me, I really +wish you well. Do you mistrust me?" + +"No! no!" with her eyes filling with tears--"no, I do not. It is not +that." + +"You can go, Mrs. Jones," he said to the laundress who still loitered +about. + +When this woman was outside the chambers Mary continued, half sobbing, +and in tones that made the young man's heart feel very queer. + +"You are very good to me, but I know our talk will end in nothing; how +can it? I am _very_ grateful to you. Please don't think I am ungrateful, +Mr. Hudson; but I feel we had better separate at once." + +He looked steadily into the beautiful frank eyes for quite a minute, +then said sadly, in a low voice, + +"Miss Grimm, Mary, I think you are quite right; a talk will do little +good, it may do harm. Yes, it is sure to do harm." + +The young man, though a rake, was far from devoid of generosity, and yet +it may be that he would not have given her up like this were it not for +certain after thoughts. + +The girl, he imagined, poor little thing, would in all probability soon +be his, but he would not tempt her. To deliberately ruin her was a crime +his conscience rather stuck at. No, he would let her have her chance of +being respectable. If she could not find any honest employment, as was +most likely, why he would look after her and make her as happy as he +could as his mistress. Mr. Hudson was a casuist, as indeed are +ninety-nine men out of a hundred in these matters. + +So he continued, "Mary, you are right. I respect your motives. I am not +a good man and you are better out of my way. But remember you have a +friend in me. You must promise to come to me if you are in any +distress." + +"Promise," he said, taking both her hands in his and looking into her +eyes, "promise." + +She returned his gaze with one candid and earnest, and after a pause, +perhaps knowing exactly what she was undertaking, what this coming back +to him in case of failure to find employment meant, she replied in a +half-inaudible voice: + +"I promise." + +"Thank you; remember that I will always help you. Write if you don't +like to come here. And now I am going to lend you a little money which +will keep you going till something turns up," and he put a sovereign, +all he had just then, in her hand. + +She took it. For a few moments she could say nothing, then she cried +out, "God bless you! you are indeed good to me. I don't deserve such +kindness, I shall never forget you. I don't know how I--" and she burst +into tears. + +She, Mary Grimm, the cold and hardened child, who had never cried +through long years of cruel treatment, was now softened and wept like a +woman. + +Hudson felt his blood boiling within him as he looked at the girl. Short +as had been the acquaintance, he was filled with a real passion, he was +beginning to be vehemently in love with the little waif. + +He took her hand and kissed it, and would have covered her face with +fiery kisses next, for he had lost all his self-control, when Mary tore +herself away from him, rushed through the door, and was gone. + +Hudson's was, as has been stated, an impetuous and amorous nature. To be +in love with some woman had become a necessity of his existence. Now +this weak-minded young gentleman did not happen at this period to have +an object for his affections, a condition that made him restless and +unhappy. He had been vainly trying to fill up this want of late, so that +it is not so very wonderful that he fell, at such short notice, into an +infatuated passion for this piquante young girl. + +Throughout the day his thoughts were always of her--"Shall I see her +again?--Yes, she has promised to come if she fails to find work--She +must fail ... but no, I have a presentiment that she will never come." + +His restlessness, his changing fits of depression and exultation, were +the marvel of all his friends who met him that afternoon; but this +love-sick mood did not trouble his volatile mind for long, and subsided +rapidly, as might be expected under all the circumstances. + +Mary wiped her eyes and hurried down the stairs, blushing deeply, and +bitterly feeling her degradation when two young clerks, standing outside +a room on the second floor, laughed and made some remark as she passed +by. + +She knew that appearances were against a young girl coming out of a +barrister's chambers at 10 a.m.; and not till she was well out of the +Temple, and away from the glances of the lawyers, porters, and +laundresses did she collect her wits and walk with due calmness of mien. + +She went slowly up the Strand deliberating--she had one pound. This +would keep her for some time--until she found something to do; but she +must busy herself at once to find this vague something. + +She knew where there was a small registry office for domestics in a +street in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Grimm had on one occasion procured a servant +from it, and Mary, who had always entertained some vague idea of running +away at some time or other--the sole hope that buoyed up her youth--had +treasured up the address. + +So she went to this place and found there a motherly old lady in blue +spectacles, who happened not to be one of those grasping hags who keep +so many of the inferior class of registry offices, defrauding poor +servant girls of their hard-earned wages. + +Mary told her wants--she wished a place as housemaid, or even +maid-of-all-work if the family was a small one. + +The old lady looked kindly at the girl, explained the system on which +her business was conducted, and opening a large ledger asked: + +"Your name, my dear?" + +"Mary Barnes." The answer came out readily enough considering that it +had not occurred to her before to choose a new name. + +"Your address?" continued the dame, who transcribed the answers in a +deliberate round hand in the book before her. + +This staggered Mary, and unable to draw on her imagination quickly +enough, she blurted out her father's address. + +"Ah indeed," said her interlocutor, "Mrs. Grimm; I once provided her +with a girl--let me see--three years ago I think; and how long have you +been in her service?" + +"Two years, ma'am." + +"As housemaid?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"That is very good, my dear; and why are you leaving her?" + +To this query her reply was a fairly truthful one, though she stammered +over it a good deal. + +"The work was too hard; my step----Mrs. Grimm was very unkind, indeed +cruel." + +"Yes," went on the old lady thoughtfully, "yes, I remember her. She +appeared a disagreeable woman--very much so indeed; that's how I haven't +forgotten all about her, what with the many hundreds of mistresses I +see--and let me see, you are still living with her you say?" + +"Yes, my month is not up for three days yet," replied Mary, who was now +getting into a good glib way of lying--small blame to the poor thing. + +"Will she give you a good character?" + +"Oh yes." + +"Well, I do think I know of a place for you, a very kind lady living +alone with only her crippled son; she wants just such a one as you seem +to be. She's a friend of mine. I know her well, and if you do well by +her, she'll do well by you, my dear. Here is her address; you can go and +see her for yourself," and she wrote on a piece of note-paper the +address, which was somewhere in the direction of Maida Vale. + +Mary thanked her and went out. How vexed she was that she had been such +a fool as to be surprised into giving her father's address. It would be +no good going to the place after that. Fancy her employer writing to her +stepmother for her character, and she laughed aloud at the idea, to the +great scandal of an old maid and two pug dogs who were passing her at +the moment of this indecent ebullition. + +But on second thoughts Mary decided that she would go to the address. If +the lady in question was really so kind, might she not take her without +a character? Why not tell her the whole story and throw herself on her +generosity? Anyhow, she would call and see what she could make of +it--there could be no harm in that. + +Poor Tommy Hudson would have hardly liked to know how little he was in +this girl's thoughts this day, genuinely grateful though she was. + +He would not have confessed it to himself, but he would have preferred +had she been miserable on his account. + +How selfish at the bottom this love of a man often is; yet after all, a +woman will love him even for the very selfishness of his love; so as all +parties are suited there is nothing to complain of. + +Mary walked all the way by the splendid shops of Oxford Street, up the +long Edgware Road, then to the left along the canal which brought her to +the vicinity of the address she sought. + +While yet some few hundred yards from it, and uncertain of the way, she +found herself in a street of small two-storied houses, somewhat like +that in which her father lived. + +The street was quite deserted save for a little group in front of one of +the houses, the door of which was open. + +The group consisted of a cabman on a hansom, a rough-looking man and a +tall pale woman on the pavement, seemingly engaged in lively +altercation. + +Mary determined to ask her way of the woman and crossed the street to do +so. + +On approaching she perceived that the rough-looking man had placed his +foot in the doorway, thus preventing the woman from shutting him out as +she evidently wished to do. + +"No!" he was shouting in a menacing voice. "Bli' me if I move till you +give me a bob! D'ye think I've follered this ere cab at a run all the +way from Paddington, and lifted down that 'ere 'eavy box for a blooming +tanner? Not I, marm." + +Mary, being a London girl, grasped the situation at once. The lady had +arrived by train, had driven home with her luggage in this cab, which +had been followed by one of those pests of suburban London, the +cab-runners--ruffians that are on the look out for unwary travellers, +pursue the cabs to help take the baggage down--go away civilly enough +with their just pay if they have to deal with men; but, as in the +present instance, when they have to deal with women in lonely streets +with none to defend them, put on the bully and extort double their due. + +The cabman was leaning over the box of his hansom, looking pensively on +the fray, waiting to see how it would end, but not interfering, +remaining strictly neutral. + +Mary arrived at this juncture, and taking all in, was inspired to +address the woman with these words, spoken in a confident tone. + +"It's all right, ma'am, I've seen the policeman. He's coming on now; +he's just round the corner." + +The rough on hearing this stared at the girl, and thinking that she was +someone belonging to the house who had slipped out for the police +unobserved by him, considered it prudent, after an oath and a growl or +two, to shuffle off slouchingly but not slowly. The cabman too drove off +with alacrity, not being anxious to enter into explanations with his +natural enemy, the man in the blue coat. + +"Why, child!" exclaimed Catherine King in amazement, for she was the +tall pale woman, and had just returned from her expedition to the North +in search of a pupil. "Why, child!" + +"Well, ma'am, I saw what was up and I knew that tale would move the +fellows." + +"A sharp girl!" scrutinising her closely, "a clever girl! and you can +lie very fairly." + +Sister Catherine said this in an appreciative way, as if allotting +discriminate praise for some creditable accomplishment. + +"It is a good thing to know how to lie now and then," remarked Mary with +a hard laugh. + +"It is," replied the other woman thoughtfully. It did not take long for +an idea to possess Catherine King. Now, this young girl's face had +impressed her. "What, have I undertaken this long journey for nothing?" +she thought. "Have I travelled about in a vain search for a pupil of the +aim, only on my return to find the very prize I am seeking, on my own +door-step? It may be so by some wonderful chance. I have a sort of +inspiration that it is so." And this impulsive half-mad woman was just +thinking how best to open the question to Mary, when the latter cleared +the way by saying: + +"Can you direct me, please ma'am, to this address?" and she handed to +Mrs. King the paper that had been given her at the servant's registry +office. + +"It is close here," Catherine replied: then noticing at the head of the +paper the lithographed words, _Mrs. Anderson's registry for servants_, +she went on: "You are not looking out for a place are you?" + +She asked this doubtfully after glancing at Mary; for the girl, though +plainly dressed, had anything but the appearance of a domestic servant. + +"Yes, ma'am, I am." + +On hearing this the enthusiastic woman felt a joy as if her wildest +ambition had been realised. She certainly could read character well, and +she distinguished the power that lay in Mary Grimm. She felt almost +certain that she had found her pupil at last. Providence had sent +her--but I forget, Catherine King did not recognize a Providence, though +she, like many wiser sceptics, entertained a sort of sneaking +half-belief in its workings at times. + +"As it happens, I want a servant; will you come in, and then we can see +if we shall do for each other?" + +Mary followed her into the house, wondering what this new adventure +would lead to. + +"I live here by myself," said Catherine, when they were in the little +parlour I have before described, "with one servant who has been with me +for years. I am in want of another--a younger one to help her. Now tell +me all about yourself--your name, age, character, and so forth." + +This women awed Mary. There was something in that flashing +thought-reading eye, lofty pale brow, and curt masterful speech, that +compelled her to tell the truth. Was it that the head of the Secret +Society was possessed of some mesmeric influence that gave her this +strange power over other women? Anyhow, by dint of a few carefully +chosen questions, she extracted from Mary her whole story, even to the +fact of her having passed the previous night in the Temple, though the +girl had firmly intended to preserve this secret from all. + +Catherine watched her closely as she spoke, and knew that her narrative +was correct in every detail. "And you hate," she said, "hate bitterly, +your father and stepmother?" + +"I cannot help it: I do indeed," and the girl's dilating eye and +compressed lips showed how the passion of her youth possessed her as +soon as it was suggested. + +"Humph! you can hate well and you can lie well; I begin to think you +will do for me." + +Mary opened her eyes in genuine amazement. Was this woman speaking +sarcastically--sneering at her? for she could hardly conceive how lying +and hating could seem to any mistress as desirable qualifications for a +domestic. But Mrs. King looked perfectly serious, and was evidently +wrapped in deep thought; there was no pleasantry about her. + +"This is a curious sort of a woman," thought the girl. "I wonder what +next she wants in a servant? Will she like me all the better if I tell +her I am a thief? or perhaps she'll think me perfect if I say I've +murdered all my little half-brothers and sisters?" She little expected +how nearly her fancies had hit upon Catherine King's true state of mind. + +"Such an education so far!" meditated the strange woman. "Hate and +nothing else; clever too--of pleasing face to beguile fools with--why +this is the very girl." + +Then she said impatiently, for she was apt to be hasty in her plans when +they were once well considered, brooking no delay: "Mary, you can stay +with me if you like--not exactly as a servant though. I wish to educate +you--this is a hobby of mine. I am a lonely woman, you shall be my +companion. You shall have your board lodging and thirty shillings a +month. What do you say?" + +"What can I say to such a generous offer?" cried poor Mary, overjoyed. +"You are very good to have pity on me," and tears started to her eyes. +It is curious, by-the-way, how much more tearful she found this new +liberty and kindness than her old life of slavery and cruelty; but that +is an old experience in this world. + +Mrs. King looked savage and annoyed when she saw these marks of +tenderness. "Now, for goodness sake, don't cry," she exclaimed, "don't +be grateful. No gratitude here mind. You won't do for me at all if you +have affection or that sort of nonsense in you. It won't do here, no +softness for me." + +Thus it happened that Mary was engaged in a rather non-descript capacity +by this dreamer, who sent her off that very afternoon with a few pounds +to buy herself some necessary clothing; for she had, of course, nothing +but what she stood in. + +The next morning Mr. Hudson found a letter on his breakfast table. It +enclosed a post office order for one pound, and the following note, +which had no address at the head of it: + + "DEAR FRIEND.--Thank you a thousand times for your kindness to a + poor friendless girl. I have found a good place with a lady, so I + send you back what you so generously lent me. God bless you, dear + friend. + + "Believe me, Yours gratefully, + "MARY GRIMM." + +For the first time in his life, Hudson knew what it was to be bitterly +disappointed and angry on receiving back money that he had lent. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE TENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. + + +Two years have gone by and Mary is still living with Catherine King. She +is taller than she was, and of perfect figure. Her face seems less sad +than before. Her mouth has lost much of its hardness, but perhaps her +eyes have not got all their old pathos, their look that besought +sympathy. There is a strange thoughtfulness in her expression. It is a +face calm and inscrutable--a face more beautiful than ever. + +She is not dressed shabbily now, but in a well-fitting though simple +dress. She is delicately shod, and her hair is no longer cut in a +fringe, but the glorious auburn mass is tied up behind in a neat knot +that sets off to advantage the well-shaped head. She forms altogether as +delicious a picture as the eye of man could dwell on. + +Her education has been progressing all this time under the tuition of +Catherine King; and never was a girl so curiously educated. Her mind was +fed solely on such food as Logic, Compte's "Religion of Humanity," and +what her teacher was wont to rather sarcastically call "_Our_ Political +Economy," for it was not the orthodox science of Mill and Fawcett, but +the wild revolutionary doctrines of the Socialists, and of such apostles +of Land Nationalization as Mr. George and his crew. + +Catherine King had proceeded cautiously with the girl, had gradually +moulded her to her will, and by well-directed conversation had imbued +her with her own enthusiasm on these matters. + +Mary was at first much perplexed, and did not know what to make of all +this new light. But the great gratitude and affection she entertained +for her benefactress inclined her to listen to her teaching with +patience and attention, and in time these ideas began to interest her, +and to fill with suggestions her intelligent mind. + +She was soon brought to imagine that she clearly perceived the gross +iniquity and injustice of all existing institutions. She began to feel a +hot indignation against those that accumulate wealth, against the +persecuting hypocritical churchmen, against those that make laws, only +to oppress the poor and protect the rich rogues from meeting their +deserts. She became as bitter a little radical as could well be found. + +She was rather shocked when Catherine King set to work, to prove to her +that religion was a pack of fables, another instrument in the hands of +the rich to oppress and rob the poor, to keep them ignorant, and +frighten them with its bogies into obedience to authority. + +There was a long struggle in her mind before the arguments of the clever +and sincere enthusiast convinced her that mankind knows nothing of a +God, that there is no reason to believe in one. + +Her woman's instincts revolted against a good deal of all this at first. +She did not feel comfortable when it was suggested to her that morality +was but another creation of superstition; that marriage was a terrible +evil productive of infinite misery; that were this loathsome institution +abolished, and were the sexes allowed to enter into temporary +arrangements recognised by law, which could be broken off when the +parties wearied of each other, there would be little of that gross vice +which was undermining society, especially at the present time, when the +new conditions of life made the marriage-tie an intolerable burden that +few young men would undertake to bear, and which was quite out of the +reach of the many. + +Thus was that one side of sociology, which is for destruction and +radical change, put before the young girl's wondering reason; and though +her common-sense caught glimpses sometimes of the other side also, and +though she would often venture to ask very puzzling questions, and point +out fallacies in the course of a conversation, yet, as was natural, the +intellectual weight of the elder woman told in the long run and Mary was +gradually brought over to agree in theory with Catherine's wildest +views. However, it remained still to be seen whether the convert would +be logical or foolish enough to approve of their being carried into +practice, for that is quite another matter. + +Catherine King had acquired a great influence over Mary, not by working +on her gratitude, which was deep, but by the intense strength of her +character. She inspired her pupil with a respect, an awe, an unreasoning +devotion, a sense of inferiority, more like the sentiment which a girl +entertains for the man she loves, than for one of her own sex. + +Yet Mary was of a nature the reverse of weak; but it happened that +Catherine, like some others who have lived her life of stern +self-denial, of passionate and maddening thought, through many long +silent hours of concentration on one great object, had developed a sort +of mesmeric power over her fellow-beings. + +The will of the girl was paralysed in the presence of that other +mightier will, and became as weak as water. This influence became +stronger daily, as the two women saw more of each other--as their +spirits entered into closer communion. + +Sometimes after a long afternoon's earnest discussion on the _one_ +topic, in the mystic between-lights, a strange feeling would steal over +Mary. It was as if her soul had gone out of her, as if she was but a +body having sensation only. Hearing the low, monotonous words as they +fell from her mistress's lips, but not understanding them, her soul, her +will, seemed to be away--to be in Catherine, to be for the time _with_ +the other's mind, receiving its impressions, echoing its workings--to +return to her again when the spell was over; but different from what it +had been, modified by that strange visit, and having brought with it a +portion of that other's nature, a portion which was to cleave to it for +ever. + +Catherine herself was not conscious of this power at first, but when she +discovered it she did not fail to make use of it, and to employ all +methods to increase the fascination. + +She herself returned to a great extent the girl's affection; she became, +to her own surprise, greatly attached to her, fonder of her than she had +ever been of any other human creature. + +Alas! it was no happy outlook for the ill-fated girl that her will +should become the helpless slave of the will of a dangerous mad woman. + +No other woman could have persuaded the child against her instincts that +there was no God, no good--not that she had known much of either in her +short life. + +Such was the education for which Mary was indebted to her new friend, +one that, coming after her Brixton bringing-up, well tended to develop a +strange character--unwomanly, unnatural. She had never known a mother's +love, never had a doll when a child, or a dream of a hero when a girl. + +Very skilful and cunning was the method employed by the Chief of the +Secret Society in the training of her pupil. She did not too +precipitately disclose to her the more startling doctrines of her creed. +Step by step she prepared her mind. + +Thus one day, after Mary had been more than a year with her, the +Malthusian doctrine was the subject of a long conversation between the +woman and the girl. + +"Timid--yes of course they are timid!" the teacher was saying, in reply +to some remark of the pupil--"all our English democrats are so. They see +what ought to be, they even hint vaguely at it, but they never dare +speak out. + +"No one doubts that over-population is the great curse of the +world--they all allow it. Look at the horrors, the misery it produces in +this very city. And what are the remedies suggested? + +"How silly, how weak they are! Read Mill; he saw clearly what we were +coming to, and all he has to recommend as a remedy is prudence in +marriage, and such restrictions. This is nonsense, cheese-paring; +besides, if feasible, it would only lead to ten times the vice there is +now. + +"No, the passion of the beast man is a constant factor in the problem +that cannot be disregarded. Bradlaugh had a little more pluck--spoke +out; and how were his words received! + +"There is only one way of getting out of the difficulty, but that is one +that our virtuous politicians of to-day would never entertain: make it +an offence for anyone to have more than one child; let it be lawful to +kill a new-born infant, and to employ those other measures for +preventing a woman from becoming a mother which are now felonies in the +eyes of the law." + +Mary half understood and shuddered. She said, thoughtfully, "I suppose +that is the only remedy; but it can never be carried out--it is, after +all, too horrible." + +"Horrible!" exclaimed the teacher. "Not at all; that is, if you look +fairly at the question. You are biased by old prejudices. Your reason +will gradually shake them off, as mine has long ago. We are +Utilitarians, we look to the greatest happiness of the greatest number. +Now by the method _we_ propose of checking population, we inflict no +pain. We prevent a multitude of creatures coming into the world only to +be miserable, so there is left a less crowded, a happier race, not +slaving as now to keep starvation off, and often failing even to do +that, while a few fatten on the product of their labour." + +She paused a moment to watch the effects of her words on Mary's face, +then continued: "Man will then know what leisure is, will become a +nobler being; not a slave running a race for bread with machinery. Ah, +Mary! and they call the measures that alone can bring about this happy +consummation cruel, immoral, criminal. It is the religion--the accursed +morality--that tyrannizes over the people, and forces a man and woman to +keep alive their wretched offspring, that is cruel." + +With such conversation did the woman prepare Mary's mind, until, after +they had been two years together, the girl was familiarized with all the +perilous fallacies of the Nihilists, and accepted the theory that murder +is no sin when necessary for the enfranchisement of mankind, whether it +be the secret execution of the tyrants by poison, knife, and dynamite, +or the practical exposition of the Malthusian doctrine by the +destruction of babies. + +And now the teacher considered that the pupil's mind was ripe, that she +could be intrusted with the _secret of the aim_, and was ready to be an +actor in the terrible drama which the Sisterhood was preparing. + +At last the day of initiation came. It was a windy, rainy day of the +spring equinox--a day of tempest and disaster. + +Catherine and Mary had been confined to the house all the day. + +In the afternoon the hurricane increased in fury, and the wind raved so +loudly without that the two sat in silence for some time in the little +parlour, awed and impressed. + +The wild sounds of the storm with its fitful gusts seemed to harmonize +well with the thoughts of Catherine King. She sat by the table with her +brow knit, her eye glittering, and her lips curling occasionally into +strange smiles, as pictures of the work of vengeance that was to be, +thronged to her busy brain. + +Then her eyes falling on Mary, she watched the girl furtively for some +minutes, carefully deliberating, till at last she came to a decision, +and spoke. + +"Mary!" + +"Yes, Mrs. King," replied the girl with a slight start. + +"I want to have a long talk with you. In the first place, did you read +that article on land nationalization in the ---- _Review_ which I gave +you yesterday; and if so, what do you think of it?" + +"Yes, I have read it carefully," said Mary, "but I am not sure that I +properly understand it. The writer appears to me to hardly know his own +mind. He says he does not advocate confiscation, and yet the hints he +throws out as to the working of his scheme seem to me to really imply +confiscation under another name." + +"Of course," said Catherine, "that's just like these cautious +politicians; they don't want straightforward confiscation, and yet they +are dimly conscious that by confiscation only is land nationalization +practical. It requires little thought to come to that conclusion. How on +earth could the state possibly afford to compensate the landlords--where +would the money come from? Capitalists would be shy to lend at three per +cent. to a government that was passing such sweeping measures." + +"And supposing they did raise the money," said Mary, "what an oppressive +taxation would be necessary in order to pay the interest!" + +Catherine spoke with impatience: + +"It's not worth while discussing that matter over again, Mary; it's too +plain. For a state to take possession of the land, and compensate the +landlords for it, is merely taking money out of one pocket to put in the +other, and dropping half of it on the way too." + +"I suppose they will see that at last," Mary said; "but do you think, +Mrs. King, that we are near land nationalization? Don't you think that +confiscation of property is unfortunately a long way off yet?" + +"I do not think it is far off," replied the chief. "I do not mean that +the State will dispossess the proprietors at once by one violent +measure, though I wish the people were strong enough to do so; but all +is tending the right way at present. You see, Mary, this land +nationalization is a very important step indeed. It will be far the +heaviest blow that democracy has ever struck at aristocracy. It is land +that keeps these great families together. Once we have destroyed the +aristocracy of land we can concentrate our energies on the destruction +of the aristocracy of wealth, we will abolish capital." + +Mary thought a little and then said: + +"In that pamphlet on the "International" which you gave me to read, Mrs. +King, there is an extract from a speech of Bakounine. Let me see--here +it is," and she took the book from the table and read: "_After the +rights of private property in land have been got rid of, society must be +wound up; that is, we must abolish the political and judicial system, +which is the only sanction and safeguard of present proprietors. We must +take back everything we can seize, just as fast as we can seize it, as +events shall open out a way._" + +"Exactly so," went on Catherine. "Ah! it is amusing to observe what +blind fools these capitalists, these manufacturers, these employers of +labour are. For the sake of power they have coquetted with Revolution. +They have called themselves Liberals and Radicals. They have become our +allies in our fight with the landed interests. Little do the idiots +imagine that they are but the tools of the Internationalists and of the +Nihilists, that they have to go to Limbo with the rest. We shall soon be +strong enough to dispense with the aid of these wealthy hypocrites who +prey on the people, swallow the results of their toil, and then delude +them with their windy talk, their sham-Liberalism, their rant about +Political economy. The day is not far off when they will bitterly regret +that they have helped us destroy their only allies, and so left +themselves defenceless, an easy prey for us when the day of vengeance +comes." + +After a pause Mary spoke: "How strange it is, Mrs. King, that Political +Economy was once actually looked upon as a Liberal science, was +stigmatized as Revolutionary by the Tories, and now it is clearly seen +to be quite the reverse." + +"That is it!" exclaimed Catherine. "Political Economy is the cleverest +snare the capitalists ever set for the unsuspecting people. It professes +to be so Liberal, so philanthropical, and tries to persuade the workers +that capital is their best friend without whose assistance they would +starve. It is one great organized lie invented by the rich to delude the +poor. The Political Economists, though favourable to the rights of +property in all else, questioned the tenure of land and undermined the +old sanction that supported that right. This science has been a useful +weapon against the landed proprietors, but it is useless against the +capitalists. Its arguments are specious enough. It does not appeal to +first principles, to ancient sanction as the landowners do. It does not +try to prove that the manufacturer has a _right_ to his vast gains, so +disproportionate to those of the real workers, but it sets to work to +try and prove that such a system is positively _good_ for the labourers, +_better_ indeed than any other system would be." + +"Do you think, Mrs. King, that there will soon be any really Radical +alterations in the tenure of land?" asked the pupil. + +"Mary, I know it," replied the teacher with a voice of conviction, "I +know it. The general election that is coming will give us an enormous +majority in the House of Commons. The moderate Liberals are struck with +panic, foreseeing what will happen. The timid leaders of that party feel +that they will be powerless to stem the tide. In a few months a bill +will be driven through Parliament that will astonish the world." + +"But then there is the House of Peers," suggested Mary. "Will the Lords +let the bill through?" + +"The Lords!" exclaimed Catherine with a contemptuous laugh. "Don't talk +to me about the Lords, they will be too frightened about their skins to +dare to offer a long resistance to the will of the people. Now, Mary, +the most important clauses of this great measure will be to the +following effect: any alienation of real property by sale, gift, +testament, or otherwise shall be void unless it be to an immediate +descendant of the holder, except when under certain circumstances the +land courts shall sanction or command a sale for the public good. In +failure of any descendant or of such sanction of the land court, the +land will become the property of the State on the holder's decease--you +understand?" + +"I understand," said Mary rather disappointed, for she expected to hear +something far more startling than this. "But it is not much, even a +moderate like Mill proposed nearly as much as that." + +"Mary," continued Catherine King looking steadfastly at the girl, "it +does not sound much, but nevertheless it is the death-blow to property. +I too would like to see all the old tyrannies swept away at once, but +that cannot be, the country is not ripe enough for that. Now, Mary, you +must remember that there are two methods by which politicians bring +about their ends. + +"The first method is that which all the world sees and hears--the open +action--agitation--the press--debate--culminating in an Act of +Parliament. + +"The second method is secret--this is the work in the dark that, going +far beyond the timid public opinion as represented by Parliament, dares +great things. + +"So we of this Sisterhood, and hundreds of similar associations all over +Europe, are ever on the watch. + +"Our allies--the politicians that work openly, that employ the _first_ +method--prepare the way for us, loosen the foundations of tyranny in +Parliament. Then we come--we that employ the _second_ method, and +complete their work.... Now follow me. This will be the result of this +new Bill. Unless a landed proprietor have children, his estate will +lapse to the State on his death." + +She paused, and the eyes of the two women met. + +Mary had never before seen such an expression in the bright black eyes +of Catherine King. Their pupils were dilated. They blazed with a fierce +intensity of purpose, of passionate thought. They were the eyes of a +madwoman, but a madwoman with a terrible method in her madness. + +She continued in slow, deliberate tones: "Now, after this Act is passed, +supposing that the Secret Societies such as ours come in and _prevent +the landed proprietors from leaving children_, what will happen? In a +generation or two all the land will be in the hands of the people. Do +you follow me?" + +"I think so," replied Mary, in a low voice. + +Catherine proceeded: "Such a scheme may sound impracticable to you at +first, but it is anything but that. We have gone thoroughly into it. It +does not, to begin with, necessitate nearly so many _removals_ of heirs +as you would imagine. You would be surprised to find what a very large +proportion of the land would be recovered by the people in the space of +a few years by no more than say thirty well-selected _removals_. A +little study of the pages of Debrett would soon convince you of this. +The object of our Society is to assist the working of the coming Act of +Parliament by effecting these removals, do you know _how_?" + +Mary had anticipated for many months a revelation of this kind. She was +not taken by surprise, but she turned very pale and said: "How, Mrs. +King?" + +The dreaded moment had come at last, and she felt even as if she was +going to die as she listened to her mistress, who spoke again in calm +but thrilling tones. + +"Mary, I know you well enough to trust you now. When you were enrolled +some months ago as a member of our Sisterhood, you were informed what +would be the penalty of disclosing what was told to you." + +"Death," said Mary, looking up with a brave smile. "It is death, I know +that." + +"I do not mention this because I in any way doubt you. I believe in you +as in my own self. If you are not true, no one in the whole world is. +But it is my duty to remind you of your promise and the consequences of +treason before I reveal to you the secrets of the Inner Circle. Now the +time has come, and you shall know our immediate plan. You already know +how far-spreading our organization is. You know that we have been +training nurses--nurses for the sick and nurses for children--and +domestic servants of all classes. You know how we have scattered these +over the country, and how many there are now at our disposition, +provided with excellent characters and entirely devoted to our cause. +Have you ever wondered--have you ever guessed what all this was for?... +I can see by your face that you have done so.... At the proper time the +secret is revealed to each of these, even as I now reveal it to you. We +seek to find places for these sisters in different capacities, but +chiefly as nurses in the houses of the wealthy landowners--_especially +those houses in which the heirs are yet to be born, or are children_. Do +you understand?" + +"I think so." + +"For the means, we have to thank Sister Jane--a method safe, impossible +of detection, by which the life that is in the way of social good can be +extinguished, painlessly too.... Yes, it is more like sleep than death;" +and when she spoke of death the woman's voice became tender, the fire of +her eyes was dimmed, as a far-away look came into them, and she sighed. + +It seemed as if she was envying the peaceful fate of the babies she was +devoting to an early grave. No wonder that she felt weary at times +beneath all that weight of fierce thought, of subtle plot, of +disappointment. Death was no gloomy shadow to this poor distracted mind. + +Then she pulled herself together again, and said, in a dreamy voice: +"Mary, these Christians believe that their merciful God killed all the +first-born of the Egyptians in one night because they had enslaved his +people and would not let them go. But that slavery was as nothing to +that of the down-trodden millions of Europe." + +The young girl felt as if her heart was becoming cold and dead within +her, but her will was not hers, and she believed altogether in the +righteousness of the cause. She _knew_ that it was her _duty_ to become +one of the assassins--to save humanity by being a baby-killer. + +So, Mary--Mary! Heavens! what a name for a child-murderer!--bowed her +head meekly, and said in a low, passionless voice--a voice that was +without modulation, sounding automatic, as if from one in a trance, one +not knowing the sense of what she said: + +"I will do all you say ... you have me ... body and soul." + +Catherine looked at the white fixed features, and felt a keen pang of +compunction. She came to her senses for a moment.... What was this thing +she was doing? ... sacrificing this poor girl--this one creature that +she loved.... But then she loved her creed still better; and there was +none who could be so useful to the cause as this her pupil; so she +stifled her emotion, and said in a voice grave and collected as ever, +while she rose from her chair: + +"To-morrow, Mary, you shall receive full instructions from the Inner +Circle. Sister Eliza will explain to you what you have to do." + +"I will do all that I am ordered," replied the girl in the same strange +absent tone as before. "Yes, all ... anything...." + +Then suddenly the nature of her duties rose to her mind with such +appalling distinctness that for the moment she was overwhelmed by the +horror of the vision. + +She rose quickly from her chair and paced up and down the room, her face +quite colourless, one hand pressed to her painfully working heart.... +Then, with a cry which seemed full of all the anguish that humanity is +capable of, she threw herself at the feet of her mistress, who stood +looking at her with a stern sadness. She lay there on the ground, her +head hidden in her hands, and the piteous words came out between her +choking sobs. + +"Oh, why was I ever born?... Why were any men or women ever born? Let me +die at once; life is too horrible.... Oh, mistress! Oh, mother! you say +you love me; kill me now then; kill me at once, and spare me this +life--this terrible life." + +But Catherine had now steeled her heart. She hardly heard the pitiful +pleading. Her soul was filled with a wild enthusiasm as she thought of +her long-matured schemes, now so soon to bear fruit. She was possessed +with the _idea_ ... she stood there at her full height; a stately +figure, with her face illumined by the inspiration, having a nobility, a +glory in it, such as even saints and martyrs have worn. Her thoughts +were too exalted just then for her to pay heed to the victim at her +feet, and she said nothing, offered no consolation. + +After this wild first burst of anguish had partly passed, another mood +seized the girl. She leaped to her feet, and with eyes aflame with hate, +and teeth set, exclaimed: + +"Oh! oh! if there is a God how I hate him--no man, no devil could be as +cruel as He is! Why has He made all this misery? Why has He created us +at all? He has arranged things so that in order to save mankind from +still worse suffering we have to kill innocent children. Oh, mother! we +had better all die at once and leave the world to wild beasts." + +Then her former mood returned again, and she threw herself upon the +sofa, weeping bitterly, and her whole body was convulsed with grief and +despair. + +Catherine King had foreseen that such a mental struggle would come to +Mary when the "secret of the aim" was put before her clearly for the +first time. Her experience in other cases led her to hail this paroxysm +as a favourable symptom. + +All the initiated had to go through this agony when the supreme moment +came. This was usually the last, shortest, but fiercest struggle between +the old nature and the new--the old nature of religious instincts, +Christian sympathies and pities, and the new nature that sought to break +through all the tyrannies, to be free of God, of evil and remorse. + +It was an unnatural contest that would rend the poor spirit that engaged +in it until the new nature had gained the victory, then the angel that +is with every soul that is born on earth would go away from it and for +ever, leaving it alone, without _conscience_, free to carry out without +scruple whatsoever _Reason_ should order. + +So Catherine, familiar with the great crisis through which the girl was +passing, said nothing, but quietly left the room, as she knew was the +wisest thing to be done, leaving the victim to fight with her agony by +herself, and little doubting what the result would be. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +LIGHT LOVER. + + +When a man turns his face definitely in that direction, and sets out on +his melancholy road to the dogs, he can get over a good deal of ground +in two years. + +Two years had passed since we last saw him in his Temple chambers, and +in that time Tommy Hudson had travelled a long way down the hill. He had +considerably degenerated. He had drifted into hard drinking, and his +once-refined features indicated the habit too clearly. His practice at +the bar had nearly melted away; solicitors could no longer rely on the +drunkard. + +Feeling his degradation, stricken by remorse, he would make resolutions +of reform which his nature, originally weak and unsteady and ever +further sinking, was unable to carry out. + +His friends shunned him. He had become one in whose company men were +ashamed to be seen. He had recently been black-balled when put up for +election at a small legal club in the neighbourhood of the Law Courts; +and this last disgrace more than anything else hurried on his descent by +driving him to despair and recklessness. + +However, he was still far from being irreclaimably lost, and it was only +occasionally that his condition was demonstratively disgraceful. + +His originally strong tendency for adventure with the fair sex was much +exaggerated by his chronic alcoholism, and was becoming with him a sort +of monomania. A diseased brain made him restless and fearful of +solitude, so that the company of some strange woman or other grew to be +a constant necessity. + +As decent men would not associate with him now--as he was still too +proud to make friends of the loafers, unprincipled, broken-down +gentlemen, and other rats of society who would have gladly welcomed him +among them--he was perforce driven into the at any rate far less +degrading companionship of the free-living members of the other sex. + +But at the end of these two years an event happened that turned the +current of his life for a time. A relative died and left him a few +thousand pounds. + +This brought Hudson to his senses. He made up his mind to live a more +cleanly life. He suddenly abandoned his drinking habits, and really +struggled hard to retrace his steps to respectability. + +He knew that his practice would not return to him at once; so, in order +to occupy his time, he determined to take to literature--he had dabbled +in it before, and was not unknown to the editors of the magazines. He +resumed a novel that he had commenced and put aside years back, and felt +a great delight in finding that he had not to any great extent lost his +power for steady work. + +He had been living this reformed life for a fortnight, when he bethought +him to take a holiday one fine afternoon and visit the academy. One who +had seen him only two weeks before would scarcely have recognized him, +as he walked with a light step along the streets. He was a man once +more. He held his head erect, and there was a happy smile about his +mouth, that spoke of high hope and ambition. He felt a lightness of +heart, an exultation of spirit, he had not known for years. Once more he +had an honest pride in himself, once more the future looked bright with +glorious dreams. + +He had been strolling through the academy--which was rather empty at +the time--for about half an hour, when he remembered that an artist who +had been his friend in former days, and with whom he had taken several +very pleasant walking-tours on the continent, had made himself famous +this year by exhibiting two very well-executed landscapes. + +He referred to the catalogue and soon found where one of these was hung. +He had been before it for some minutes, when he became conscious that a +lady was standing by him looking at the same picture. + +He was rather in her way and was obstructing her view, so he stepped +aside, and taking off his hat murmured some slight apology. + +She bowed and smiled faintly, but it was a particularly pleasing smile. + +He looked at her and was immediately struck by her peculiar beauty. Her +rich complexion, long voluptuous eyes and full well-moulded form, were +indeed well fitted to attract the attention of man. She appeared to be +about twenty-four years old. There was nothing fast in her appearance. +She was well, though plainly dressed. He also noticed that she had tiny +and well-shaped hands and feet. + +He was so fascinated, that without intending it, he was staring very +hard at her. At first she was--or pretended to be--unconscious of his +earnest gaze; then she looked up and their eyes met, hers calm and +wondering, his full of meaning admiration. + +She dropped her eyes and blushed prettily, and then commenced to take a +great interest in the picture before her. + +He stood by her, also pretending to be intent on the painting for about +half a minute, when, as she did not move away, he ventured to speak. + +"I see our tastes are similar. It is a beautiful picture, is it not?" + +She looked at him calmly. + +"Indeed, it is; but I don't seem to recognize the artist's name, Is he +well known?" + +"I don't think he had much reputation till this year; but the two +pictures he is exhibiting here now have been much admired. He has now +become quite a celebrated man." + +"Then he has another picture in the academy!" + +"He has, and I believe it is the best of the two. If you will allow me I +will find out for you where it is. They say it is quite one of the +pictures of the year." + +She hesitated a little before she made a reply. + +"It is very kind of you--I should very much like to see it. But I must +not trouble you." + +"Please don't imagine it will be any trouble to me. Besides I am anxious +to see the picture myself. I used to know the artist very well." + +"Oh! that must be very interesting for you. I have often thought how +nice it must be to know the authors and painters of the books and +pictures we admire." + +"I am afraid you would be very often disappointed in them," he said, +laughing. "I see from the catalogue that the picture is in the next +room. Would you like to go there now?" + +They walked into the room together, and after a few more common-place +remarks and interchange of ideas in front of the picture in question, +the ice was still further broken between them. The two young people +entered into quite a lively talk. He became still more fascinated; for +her voice was low and sweet, and there was a frank, trusting, +communicativeness in her conversation that was perfectly delicious. + +They sat for a considerable time together on the divan in front of the +picture, but they paid little attention to that great work of art. + +Said she, "You must think me very fast to come here all by myself, and +what is worse allow you, an entire stranger to me to enter into +conversation with me." + +"No! It is all my fault. I forced myself upon you. It was very kind on +your part not to snub me for my presumption." + +She sighed. "Ah! I am afraid I was wrong; but you see I am alone in +London, I have no friends here. It is so very lonely for me. It is so +pleasant to talk sometimes with--with--well with people like yourself. I +think I have some excuse, don't you?" + +"Every excuse!" + +"And after all, what great harm is there in it? It is rather +unconventional perhaps." + +"And therefore the pleasanter. I don't see why we should be always tied +down by those silly hard-and-fast rules of society." + +"No more do I! though I am not one of those strong-minded women who +believe in woman's rights. Besides,"--and she laughed prettily--"what +harm are you likely to do me? You don't look like a pickpocket or an +ogre. I am quite old enough to look after myself, even if you do prove +to be anything but what I take you for--a gentleman." + +He bowed and said, "I do not think you need fear me." + +"Dear me," she continued, "how curious it is! Here are we two, who had +never even seen each other an hour ago, talking as freely as if we had +known each other for years." + +"That is the advantage of being frank and straightforward. Those stiff, +reserved people, who are always suspicious of strangers, miss a lot of +pleasure in this world. Now you see we were both dull, moping about here +alone, and now how happy we are!--at least I speak for myself." + +He persuaded her to have some tea in the refreshment room, when she +confided to him a little of her history. The misfortunes of her family +had obliged her to seek a livelihood in the metropolis. + +"I have been trying to start a small school for little boys," she said, +"but my capital was slender, and nobody knows me in London. I have spent +far more than I can properly afford in advertisements, and they seem to +produce no effect. I shall have to abandon that project." + +The barrister's compassion was much excited by the simple tale. "And +what do you purpose doing then?" he said. "But forgive me; I am so +interested that I am afraid I am asking questions I have no right to +ask." + +"Why not?" she replied simply. "I am thinking of becoming a nurse in a +hospital. I had some training of the kind a few years ago." + +"It is rather a hard and unpleasant life I should imagine." + +"Perhaps so--but you know beggars cannot be choosers; but I must not +bore you any longer with my foolish history." + +"On the contrary I am deeply interested--and you say you have no friends +at all in London?" + +"None!" she replied with a forlorn sigh that went to his heart. + +After a pause he spoke again in earnest tones. + +"I wish you would allow me to become a friend. I think it would be very +foolish of us to separate to-day without arranging any plans about +meeting again. We have already agreed that conventionality ought +sometimes to be dispensed with. Here surely is a very good case in +point. I should like exceedingly to see you again; I should be very +sorry if we did not continue this friendship. Have you any objection?" + +"Of course not. I should very much like it," she replied looking at once +into his eyes. "The idea is charming to me. Ah! if you knew how terrible +it is to have no friend, no one to confide in, you would feel for me I +know." + +"I find my own life a little lonely too sometimes," he said, "I am a +barrister--" + +"A barrister!" she interrupted. "Ah! I have long wished to know a +barrister. I have always thought they must be such clever men." + +"Well, I suppose we are quite up to the other professions. But now I +think, as we have settled that we are to be friends, it is not worth our +while to delay about it. Let us imagine we have been friends quite a +long time--and will you do me the honour of dining with me to-night?" + +"Dine with you!" she exclaimed, as if startled by the idea. + +"Yes--why not? It will enable us to learn more of each other. We will +dine at a restaurant, and if you like we will go to a theatre +afterwards." + +She only hesitated a moment, then replied, "You are very kind--you don't +know what a treat you are proposing to me. I have been so very dull of +late--No!" she cried joyfully, "I cannot refuse you. The prospect is too +delightful." + +They passed an exceedingly pleasant evening together. When the play was +over he put her in a cab and they separated. She would not tell him +where she lived, but gave him an address at a stationer's shop to which +he might write; and also made an appointment to meet him on the +following day. + +He walked home aflame with a passion which he fondly believed was love. +He considered that he had fallen into a very lucky adventure. Knowing +well the weakness of his own character, he argued with himself that it +would be an excellent thing for him to be fond of a really nice little +woman like this. An intrigue of this kind would keep him straight. It +had always been one of his maxims that to have a mistress was a grand +thing for a man; it settled him, and preserved him from dissipation. + +It was perhaps a rather wild thing to hope to find salvation in such a +union as the one he contemplated; nevertheless it has happened to many +men of his nature to be regenerated by a mistress. + +There are certain men--not of the meanest order--whose happiness and +success in life, or misery and failure, entirely depend on women. Of an +amorous disposition, love is a necessity to these. If such a man take a +good woman as his mate, he is indeed happy in her. She makes him a god; +she stimulates him to noble endeavour; encourages him in the dark hours; +and raises to success a life that would have yielded to temporary +failure. + +Happy too is the woman who has thus completed the nature of the powerful +weak man, happy in that her benign influence has made a being +intellectually so far her superior yet morally her inferior, admirable +instead of despicable. Happy too is she, in that the man knows it, and +his grateful love burns true and holy until death. + +But the bad woman can as easily drag down such a nature, as a good woman +can ennoble it. A crisis had now come to the life of the barrister. He +had already checked himself on his downward career, he was struggling +after the lost good. Were this new friend of his to prove a woman of the +right sort, he might probably still become a distinguished man in his +profession or in literature. + +But, alas! the Fates were against him. + + * * * * * + +For it happened that this young lady whom the barrister had met was no +other than our old acquaintance Susan Riley--the youngest member of the +Inner Circle of the Secret Society--the one who had known the pains and +joys of motherhood. + +Cat that she was, she had a cat-like love for prowling about in the +evening with no definite purpose, but in search of adventure. She might +be often seen in Regent Street in the afternoon. She would on occasion +allow strange gentlemen to enter into conversation with her. Ah! how +modest and demure she would be at first! By-and-bye the befooled man +would become infatuated. Dinners, suppers, bonnets, gloves and jewellery +would be showered upon her; but at last when the swain thought it full +time that his amours should advance a step further, and leave the cold +regions of Platonic love she would as likely as not turn and laugh him +to scorn, leave him, and start to pastures new in search of fresh game. + +She could talk low and sweetly, this cunning beauty, and her blue eyes +would so well lie of love as they looked up timidly from under their +curling lashes. By the very manner with which she would draw on her +glove, she could make a man believe she loved him. + +The result of the adventure at the academy was that she and the +barrister saw a good deal of each other. Their friendship ripened. She +played her cards cunningly, and soon made her conquest complete. + +She told him a lamentable tale about a runaway husband--a clergyman, she +said. He looked the name up in an old clergy-list, and there indeed it +was, so he believed her tale. She filled him with pity for her forlorn +state. + +A very considerable proportion of Hudson's income found its way, if not +directly, indirectly, into her pockets. She wheedled him well, though he +was no fool. But what young man can look through the glamour that +surrounds a beautiful and clever woman? He deceives himself willingly, +and believes she is an angel, though he knows how silly he is to believe +so. + +Susan understood her man, and she thought it worth her while to take +considerable trouble over his conquest. Cautiously she wove her web +around him. She did not yield her heart (?) too soon, but kept him for +some time in suspense. + +How candid she appeared to be! One day she placed her daintily-gloved +hand gently on his arm, and looking openly into his eyes, said: "Ah! Mr. +Hudson, it is very kind of you to take so much interest in me--to do so +much for me; but I will not deceive you; you must not speak to me again +of love. I cannot love. I am deeply grateful--I like you very much--but +I will never, never love you!" + +He poured out a flood of wild protestations of undying, boundless +affection; he implored, lamented, made oaths, and so forth, as is usual +with men under like circumstances. + +"No!" she went on with a sigh--"no, Mr. Hudson, I dare not love again. I +know how sweet is love--no one better. Sometimes I think I was created +only to love and be loved. But after that one terrible disappointment, I +dare never love again. Oh, Mr. Hudson!"--looking at him with swimming +eyes, and speaking in thrilling tones--"how can I ever trust a man +again?--to trust and be deceived--to love and then to lose! Oh, it would +kill me! I can never allow my poor heart to love again." + +Then of course followed fresh protestations and oaths of constancy from +the victim, to which she only replied by a piteous sigh. + +This sort of thing went on for a fortnight or so; then she got sick of +it. She thought that there had been quite enough of this preliminary +play; and that the time had come for her to yield gracefully to his +importunity. + +One fine Sunday afternoon, they were walking together in Kew gardens. + +"Do you not like me a little bit?" asked Hudson, imploringly. + +"Of course I like you. You are my dearest--my only friend!" + +"But cannot you love me, my darling? Oh! indeed you can trust me--this +is no boy's love of mine! I am old enough to know my own mind. I love +you as few men ever loved a woman, as I never knew that I myself could +love. You are the one thing in the whole world to me. Trust me--this is +no passing fancy." + +A profound sigh was her sole reply. She was rather proud of her sighs; +they were wonderfully expressive. + +"Cannot you love me a _little_, Edith?" She called herself Edith to her +young men as being a more euphonious name than Susan. + +Her answer this time was a nervous stirring up of the sand with her +parasol, and a downcast look and silence. + +"Oh, Edith! I do so hunger for your love," he urged again. "Can you not +give me a little for all this love of mine? Oh, my darling! if you can +only give me back a hundredth part of my love for you, I shall be +satisfied." + +She turned her head--as if to conceal her emotion, but really to hide a +smile that she could not altogether suppress, having a strong sense of +the ridiculous--and said, in accents of piteous pleading: + +"Don't! don't, Tom!--don't take advantage of my weakness." + +"Then you _do_ love me?" he cried, passionately. + +"It is cruel of you to force me to confess my feelings. Oh, Tom!--I +can't help it!--now you know all!--I _do_ love you!" + + * * * * * + +She had still a few pretty scruples which she allowed him to talk her +out of gradually. It was very wrong, she urged, for her to accept him as +a lover--she a married woman!--her husband still alive! But the eloquent +barrister managed to persuade her to the contrary. + +It was a grotesque burlesque of love at which these two were playing. +She, of course, felt no love whatever for the man. Love was a sentiment +unknown to her, though she had the voluptuous nature of a Messalina. She +also knew that his was not a real unselfish love for her. He himself was +more or less conscious of this latter fact. This new intrigue +disappointed him in a way; he instinctively felt that there was +something wrong about this pretty woman--that her society would probably +do him more harm than good. + +His affection for her was passionate enough, but it would not bear +analysis--and he knew it--being made up as it was of equal parts of lust +and vanity. + +A man who has gone mad over a girl in this way will squander everything +he has on her, not because he loves her, not even spending it so as to +benefit her, but merely in display--in suppers, dress, and folly, +whereby the vanity of both is gratified. + +A very selfish love after all is this quasi-love of a man, however +fierce, however self-devoted it appear; and women of the world such as +the Riley know this well. Little wonder, then, that they laugh at their +admirers behind their back; and determine to fleece them well before the +inevitable weariness comes, and the men go off in search of newer loves. + +These two contrived, however, to get on very well together, and their +intimacy continued for month after month, involving much expenditure of +hard cash on his side, of sighs and lies on hers. + +The infatuation of the man increased. He would have thrown away his all, +nay, his life, for this woman. He became her very slave; and yet all the +while he felt that she was not a good woman; he was ashamed of his +ignoble passion. + +Disgusted at his own folly, he took to drink again; he broke through his +resolution of reform, and, turning his face round, began to retrace his +steps down the hill--this time never to come back. + +Susan had wormed out of him all his history, and found that he had +considerable prospects on the death of some relative, so she did not +desert him when his rapidly-increasing drinking propensities made of him +a not over pleasant companion at times; but she tried to play the part +of reformer and beautiful guardian angel of the man. + +In reality, she contrived to sink him further into the abyss, and by +this means make him more and more her slave. While preaching to him like +a saint about his bad habits, she would put in suggestions and +tantalizing thoughts, despairs and regrets that she knew were calculated +to make him unhappy and drink the deeper when she was not by him. She +made up her mind to be indispensable to him; he should be a miserable +drunkard when she was not by; he should not forsake her, at any rate +till his property came in and she had taken her fair share of it. + +Of all the circumstances that combined to drag this weak, vacillating +creature down, none were so dire as his friendship with this fiend in +the shape of an angel. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +KILLING NO MURDER. + + +In the vicinity of one of our great London Hospitals, there is a +pleasant Park. Very diversified in its character: laid out most +artistically in shady groves, sloping lawns of soft grass, retired +rockeries where water drips among giant ferns, and lakes winding in and +out between banks covered with fine trees and exotic flowers. It is one +of the most charming of the many charming oases in the vast Saharah of +brick and mortar. And yet the fashionable world know nothing of it save +by name. It is the playground of the people, and perhaps has never been +visited by any of the daughters of Mayfair, except on the one occasion, +when Royalty went down into that poverty-stricken quarter of the great +city, to formally open these beautiful gardens to the humblest of its +subjects. + +But being within easy reach of the hospital, it was a common thing for +the worn-out house-surgeons, the nurses and others connected with that +noble charity, to snatch a few moments of fresh air in that pleasant +place, in the intervals of their labour among the sick. + +It was early in November, but the autumn had been so mild, and so free +from the usual blustering South Westers, that the leaves were still on +the trees, and the glorious colouring of the foliage was such as to +remind Canadian visitors of their own mellow Indian summer. + +Two young women were walking leisurely by the path which bordered the +lake. The elder of the two, who seemed to be about twenty-five, was of +middle height, well filled out, dumpy she might almost be called, not +over much so, however, but to that extent only that many of the other +sex prefer in a woman. She was pretty, decidedly so, but not of a _good_ +prettiness; she had the sort of evil beauty that tempted the old saints, +the purely carnal attractiveness. + +When a man's met her eyes, he was fascinated; but the thoughts that they +excited in him were of madness and lust, and not of the pure and +chastening delight which the beauty of the true woman inspires. + +Those eyes were large, languid, with full pupils, and lids that +generally half closed over them--eyes that would not look frankly into +yours, though they would voluptuously--eyes that to him who can read the +tale the human features tell, betrayed the lascivious, deceitful, cruel +temperament--the three qualities so often go together--and let the man +that values his manhood avoid such eyes as he would the lord of hell, +who, as the hermits of old believed, created them. + +If the affection of such a woman be cast upon a man he is lost; for it +is not the sweet flower of love that they will enjoy together, but +another, a flower indeed, but a flower of hell. + +The other woman was taller, slighter, much younger, and of a very +different style of beauty; for this other was Mary Grimm, whereas her +companion was Susan Riley. + +The two would-be baby-killers were now members of an association of lady +nurses, and were undergoing their training for ministry of the sick at +the neighbouring hospital. + +They were conversing: Susan in a flippant volatile fashion, not +forgetting to cast sidelong glances of conquest through the corners of +her eyes at the men that passed her, as ever eager for admiration; Mary +in an earnest manner, not observing the people, and while she talked, +throwing, in an absent way, crumbs of bread she had brought with her +for the purpose to the tame swans and ducks that swam on the artificial +water. + +The contrast between the two was immense, and indeed they were at the +opposite poles of womanhood. + +Mary was speaking: + +"And do you really find an absolute pleasure, as you say you do, in +being in the possession of a secret like this, Susan? I cannot say that +I do. It is necessary of course to work in the dark: but I should like +so much better if we could work out our ends openly, before all the +world, and not in round-about ways, in holes and corners." + +Sister Susan laughed. + +"You are not half a woman, Mary; why, you talk just like some silly +young man might. Love a secret! of course I do. All women love secrets. +Anything that smells of mystery and intrigue exerts a fascination on the +feminine imagination. I should not care a bit to be a leader of +revolution in the face of all the world--but to be an executioner of the +unknown terror, the pitiless secret punishment that works in silence, +that strikes in the dark, unseen, unexpected. I must confess that has +for me a delightful charm. It's quite irresistible." + +Mary replied: "Yes, women may love secrets, but--" + +Susan interrupted her with a hard laugh. "Love secrets! I should think +so, indeed; why, a woman is so fond of a secret and considers it such a +precious thing that she cannot even keep it to herself. She must needs +go, unselfish generous creature, and share the treasure with all her +friends. Nasty people hint so, anyhow. Now as you are not a bad little +thing, though a little fool, I'll tell you a secret. I'm going to leave +the hospital soon. I've got a very good _place_ through Sister Eliza." + +"What are you going to do?" asked Mary, deeply interested, for she knew +what "a place" signified, without the emphasis which Susan had laid on +the expression. + +"Nothing less than be a sort of nursery governess in Lord Doughton's +house," was the reply. + +"Lord Doughton!" exclaimed Mary. "Why, Sister Eliza says that he is the +largest landed proprietor in England since his marriage with that +heiress whose estates adjoined his." + +"Sister Eliza is quite right," said Susan. "She makes it her business to +keep a registry of all that concerns the great landed proprietors. Lord +Doughton has been married eleven years; he has three children; the +eldest is a boy of ten, a cripple. Think of that, no less than three to +get rid of. Aren't you jealous?" + +"But you don't mean that a child as old as that has to be--to be--" + +"But of course I do," interrupted Susan sharply, then continued with her +usual heartless flippant tones. "I'll tell you what it is, my girl, the +sooner you get the rest of this sentimentality out of you, the better. +It's sickening." + +"Surely there is a great distinction between removing babies just born, +who have not really begun to live, and killing big boys and men." + +Susan laughed. + +"Bless me, here's a fine moral distinction! What _is_ the difference +pray, Miss Casuist? But turn off here, across the grass. If we are going +to talk of these things we had better go where there is no chance of +eaves-dropping. Our conversation would rather surprise that +shabby-looking old person there if he overheard it, wouldn't it? Let's +go and ask him what is the latest age at which it is justifiable to put +away a human being for the public good." + +"For God's sake, Susan, let us talk seriously!" Mary said. + +"For _whose_ sake? don't know him; but for your sake I'll be sober for a +little time as you hate joviality; you'll be jovial enough though when +you are as old as I am, and have gone through as much. It's by joviality +people who have suffered plenty make up for it when it's all over. +You'll find that out. People who have lived untroubled lives are seldom +jovial." + +They walked on in silence a short distance, then Mary after looking +around her said: + +"There is no one about here; there is no danger of anyone overhearing us +now." + +"Right you are, Mary; so now I'll answer your question. _Did_ you ask me +a question by-the-bye?" + +"I don't think so; but we were talking about this boy of Lord +Doughton's." + +"Ah, yes! to be sure, the sprig of nobility you thought was too old to +die. I've heard of people being too young to die; but you seem to think +that one gets a sort of prescriptive right of living, that life's like +land out of which one shouldn't be turned if there have been so many +years undisputed possession. Droll theory! But I see you are frowning, +so I'll try to be serious. Now, what _is_ the difference between killing +a baby or a ten-year-older? The latter doesn't feel more pain in the +process of being put out of the way; why should his life be considered +to be of more value? Why, bless the girl! We must kill all the _heirs_, +whatever age they may be. Of course we must kill them as babies if +possible, because it is easier to get at them." + +Mary had been scanning with great curiosity the woman's face as she +glibly chattered on in her flippant way. + +"Susan," she asked, "_have_ you ever killed a child?" + +"Yes, one," was the prompt reply, delivered in a cool matter-of-fact +fashion. + +"Lately." + +"No, long ago; not for the cause, before I even joined the Sisterhood, +or dreamed of all the theories and plots my head is now chokefull of. It +was my own baby." + +The two women looked at each other, the one with a hard stare of brazen +effrontery, the other with an expression of terror and disgust. + +"Ay!" went on the elder with a voice which, breaking through its usual +false ring, was full of malice and bitterness. "Ay! you cream-faced +beauty, you are shocked are you? Of course you are right. One should not +kill except for the good of the Society, other private killing is +objectionable. I know all that. But wait until you have gone through +what I have, and see what you will be then...." Changing back to her old +light tone she continued, "Ah, Mary! it was the same old story with me +as with the rest. A warm temperament"--and she laughed as she made this +cool confession--"a warm temperament, a man, and a baby, that's all--and +a little tragedy mixed up with it that won't be worth your while to hear +about now." + +Mary had never liked this woman, she now began to conceive an intense +dislike for her. Susan would never have converted her to the cause, +though she was the very person to win over girls naturally flighty and +wicked. But Mary concealed her dislike as much as possible, for she was +interested in drawing out this strange being, so wicked, so like a +female Mephistopheles, so different in every way to her own ideal, her +mistress, Catherine King. + +"Did you have such a thing as a conscience when you were a little girl, +Sister Susan?" she inquired. + +"I don't know--not much of a one anyhow. I never had the fight you had; +and yet your conscience still raises his head now and then. You are full +of pities, and scruples, and trashy sentiment. I'll tell you what it is. +Mary; I know what you want; I know what will soon make you happier, what +will altogether knock on the head that nasty, teasing conscience of +yours. Would you like to know what it is?" + +"I wish you _would_ tell me the cure; but time is the only one. It is +not conscience though, it is cowardice." + +"Indeed! I should not have taken you for a coward," Susan observed. + +"But I am. It can be nothing else than cowardice. I know it is my +duty--I know it is for the good of the world that I should do certain +things. Of course I will do those things when I am ordered to do so. +But, oh! how I shall shirk that horrible duty! How I shall suffer! I +sometimes think I shall go mad when the time comes." + +"Nonsense. I've heard young medical students talk like that. Yet see how +soon they get hardened into chopping and probing away into our quivering +anatomies. No! You go and try my patent cure for conscience--never known +to fail, cures pain at the heart, prevents softening--testimonials from +Mrs. Jezebel, several empresses of Rome, and many of the nobility and +gentry. Try it, Mary!" + +"Well, what is it?" asked the girl, laughing in spite of her melancholy +frame of mind. + +"_A regular bad man_," replied the other fiercely--"that's my +prescription, my dear. You've got a pretty face enough, so the drug can +be easily 'presented,' as the doctors say. It's not a difficult medicine +to procure. It is not even unpleasant to the taste at first--on the +contrary; but it rather upsets you when it's working its effect and +purging the morbid secretion conscience out of you. Go and get one, one +of your haw-haw club dandies; get him to fall in love with you, as they +will for a time. It's easy to make him do that--work on his vanity, +that's all. Flatter him--you'll catch any man like that. Talk about +woman's vanity--it's nothing to a man's. Then you must fall in love with +him--you may find that difficult, but it is necessary, else the medicine +won't work. Now after a period more or less long--after babies, +coolness, insult, desertion--after your hero proves but a mean, +heartless cad after all--after all this, the devil of a bit of +conscience you'll find left in you, I'll guarantee." + +Mary looked at Susan, wondering at this strange nature, feeling a great +antipathy, yet not unmixed with pity, for the vain, wicked, hardened +creature by her side. + +At last she said, + +"I often wonder what you were like when you were a child, Susan." + +Susan seemed buried in thought, and did not reply for a few minutes. +"You want to know how my antecedents developed the charming being, Susan +Riley? I don't suppose my nature was what some people would call a good +one to begin with; but, child--for you are a child to me--you have +suffered nothing to what I have. Your life at Brixton was an unhappy +one, there ends your suffering; my life as a child, too, was no merry +one. But it was what happened afterwards. It was _a man_ that completed +my education and finished my conscience. Ah, what a bringing up was +mine! I, full of animal life, high-spirited, was kept down by my parents +as few children have been. They, both father and mother, were religious +monomaniacs, cruel, selfish, hard Puritans of the severest school. And +what fools they were too! Just think of it! My father thought that any +person who did not exactly believe in his own narrow views, must be +altogether a child of sin--capable of any possible crime. So my brother, +who would not play the hypocrite enough, was so mistrusted by my father, +that when my cousin, a pretty girl, came to our house to tea, as she +often did, he was not permitted to escort her home afterwards. No! a +man-servant, a sneaking hypocrite, was sent with her instead--that man +seduced my sister, and, I believe, my cousin also. My brother was driven +to the dogs, of course, by the judicious treatment of his parents. I +will tell you what happened to him some day. Ha! there's an education to +drive religion out of you. How I hated the very name of it! How I hated +my father and mother, and all the sneaking, sickly crew that surrounded +them! Anyhow, my dear parents died broken-hearted at their children's +behaviour; that was one consolation for us anyhow." + +Neither spoke for some time, then Mary asked, "Do you think, Susan, +that after I have once removed a child I shall be different, will this +feeling of horror go away then? Oh! it is awful, Susan. I believe even +you would pity me if you knew. My life is now like one long night-mare. +In the day-time I wish that it was night-time again, that I might be +asleep; and in the night it is no better and I wish it was day again; +and I always wish that I was dead. I would kill myself were it not for +my dear mistress. Are many of the sisters like this? Shall I go mad do +you think, Susan?" + +Susan replied, "It is the first step that costs, as we used to translate +some sentence in the French exercise book when I was at school. I can't +give you the original, I've forgotten my French, and piano, and other +accomplishments now; but it means that when you have killed your first +baby you will feel better: that is the experience of all Nihilists. All +have the horrors, more or less, at first. They think that as soon as +they have done the deed some frightful bogie, some maddening remorse +worse than anything imaginable before, will jump up and seize them. It +is the dread of this bogie that does all the mischief. Now, as soon as +they have done the deed, they are so agreeably surprised to find that +this dreaded bogie does _not_ come, that a delightful reaction sets in. +You should see how mad some of them get with joy. As soon as you have +killed your first baby, or boy, or man, your horrors will go. You will +experience immediate relief. It's like having a tooth out." + +"I see what you mean. It sounds natural enough, too," said Mary, +musingly. + +"Of course; and at last you'll become a jovial body like me, and you'll +come to like your duties and take a relish in blood for its own sake." + +Mary shuddered perceptibly, and said, "I shall never come to that I +hope--that is, I fear." + +"Don't be afraid of speaking out, my dear! I'm not +thin-skinned--besides, I take pride in being cruel. I can hate. It +would be well for you if you could. You will always suffer somewhat. You +will have to keep a picture of your duty always before you, between you +and the sight of the blood. You will have to work yourself up to blind +enthusiasm every time you have work to do. I wouldn't wonder if you have +to take to opium. It is not a bad temporary conscience-duller. But look +how much more convenient my state of mind is. I don't require winding +up. I have no scruples. I enjoy my work." + +"And I loathe it," exclaimed the girl. "It is all a matter of +temperament I suppose, Susan." + +"I suppose it is," Susan continued. "Do you know, I have observed that +most voluptuous women are cruel as well. It is a curious fact, Mary. I +sometimes think that my nature is chiefly made up of these two noble +qualities. My man used to call me Faustina. Now you are all made up of +cold duties, and so you will suffer. Hot passions are better for the +Nihilists." + +Mary with difficulty concealed her feelings of disgust, and spoke again. +"And yet I have known what hate is, how I hated my father and +step-mother! How cruel I felt I could have been! But now that I am away +from their persecution the hate seems to be all going. I even sometimes +find myself thinking of my father with pity, wishing I could see him; +yet he was always cruel to me." + +"That sort of hate's no good. You are as fickle in your hates as I am in +my loves. Yours was an _artificial_ hate, such as a saint could acquire +if ill-treated as you were. But mine is a good, genuine, _natural_ hate, +Mary, and I'm proud of it." + +"Ah! I wish I could be brave, and fearless, and thoughtless like you, +Susan." + +"Do you?" cried Susan. "Perhaps I, too, have a skeleton hidden away in a +cupboard, somewhere, my girl. You always see me jolly. Yes! if it were +not for one horrid thing"--she spoke slowly and shivered--"I should be +perfectly happy." + +"What is that?" asked Mary, wondering what possible secret sorrow could +be a constant bugbear to this frivolous being. + +"The fear of old age, Mary," was the reply. "The dread of being old, +ugly--like withered Sister Jane, for instance. Oh! how I fear that +loathsome thing." + +The woman's face actually blanched as she spoke these words, and her +accents betrayed an emotion that surprised Mary. Yes! this indeed was +the one phantom that ever pursued this butterfly creature. This terror +that possessed her was ever present to her, as happens sometimes to such +natures. To be no longer beautiful, to be no longer sighed after by men, +was to her imagination terrible as is the thought of hell to some. + +"Let us sit down on this seat and rest a little, Susan," suggested Mary. + +"Very well; but it's getting late, and my time will soon be up. Ah! I +wish I was like you, Mary, living at home with that amiable old +Catherine King, instead of being boxed up with a lot of foolish women in +that hospital, with strict discipline about being out at nights and so +on. I must say I like my liberty: but luckily this won't be for long." + +"I never could make out how they allowed the rules to be broken through +in my case," Mary said. "There was another nurse who wanted to live with +her mother. But she was told they would not have her in the hospital +unless she lived there altogether, as the rest do." + +"The King has great influence in all directions. She must be very fond +of you, must the King--your aunt as she calls herself now. Ah! I wish +she would adopt me and take me out of this hateful place. I would make +her a most dutiful niece." + +"Yet, most of the nurses seem to be well contented with their home," +urged Mary. + +"Oh! it's nice enough for those women--innocent creatures--they have +never known the delights of sin and liberty. I'm not like them--like +Miss Anerly for instance. She's fun, isn't she? They have put her to +sleep in the same room as I do. She is always at me about saying my +prayers. She kneels down for half an hour at least, before getting into +bed, and when she gets up, she has a sort of way of looking at me with a +superior see-how-much-better-I-am-than-you air, that is sickening. I +often feel tempted to bring out some remarks that will make her open her +weak, little, grey eyes; but of course that won't do. What do you think; +she insists on reading a chapter in the Bible to me every morning before +I get up." + +Mary replied with a deep sadness in her voice. "Ah! it is well for us to +laugh, that know so much, but how happy are these people with their +Bible! They cannot know our suffering. They find such comfort in their +superstition. They say in the Bible that the tree of knowledge is the +tree of evil; we have proved it so." + +"Some wise man once said, Wherever truth is, there too is Golgotha," put +in Susan. + +"That is very true," continued Mary. "Wherever truth is, there too is +Golgotha. I feel that. Now that I know so much, now that I know that all +this religion that keeps society together is a fable, I feel as if I was +no longer as other people, as if I was some other sort of being, +standing quite apart from my fellow-creatures, with such different +instincts and ideas that we can never understand each other again, that +there can never more be pleasant sympathies between us." + +Susan again laughed her disagreeable laugh. "Dear me! Why, you are a +sort of Miltonic Satan, Mary; but it's too late to rant on in this +ignorance-is-bliss style, now, my girl." + +"But don't you feel it yourself sometimes, Susan?" asked the girl in +wonder. "Don't you feel dreadful, when you pass by all these crowds of +happy people, and think that if they only knew what you were they would +loathe you, and tear you to pieces? It is horrible to me to be +separated from all the world by such a barrier as that of our _Aim_. +Never to approach them, never to know their little joys, and hopes, and +affections. They seem only foolish to our eyes, but how detestable would +we appear in theirs if they only knew." + +Susan turned and looked contemptuously into the girl's face. "Why, Mary, +you are talking treason. You'll be going back to your dear Bible next." + +"Go back to the Bible--no, never! It would be better if I could ... +perhaps. Ah, Susan, I sometimes think that mankind will never get on +without religion, that _truth_ will bring worse tyrannies and horrors +than _superstition_ ever did. A fearful outlook--man must have a +religion or die; and yet there is no religion to be had." + +"Oh, Mary, you are a little fool! When will you be wise and cunning like +me? You talk of the horror of being different from other people; I +delight in it. It amuses me to look at the happy simpletons, and know +that I have secrets that would make their cheeks blanch to hear. You +have not got the proper temper for a Nihilist." + +Mary thought in silence for a few minutes, then said, "Susan, I have +often wondered what motives led you to join the society. You are a +zealous member, I know; but yet I can scarcely believe that it was a +good motive, that it was a true love of humanity, an unselfish desire to +benefit the world, like our Chief's, that induced you to become a +conspirator in the first instance." + +"Mary, shall I tell you my real reason?" + +"Do." + +"Because I am a woman--that is a sufficient reason. We women are driven +to do strange things, by motives that cannot be put into words, motives +that we cannot ourselves analyze. But see, here comes the doctor. He's +sweet on me--so he's safe to come and talk with us." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A LOVE THAT DOES NOT RUN SMOOTHLY. + + +The gentleman who was approaching the two girls was a quietly-dressed +man of about thirty-two, but he looked somewhat older. He was tall and +broad-shouldered. His clean-shaved face was massive in its make, and +indicative of power. His expression was grave, and women would have put +him down as plain were it not for his eyes, clear thoughtful brown eyes, +with a noble look in them that inspired confidence and respect. + +Dr. Duncan had acquired a considerable reputation as a surgeon since we +last saw him in the Gaiety with Tommy Hudson. He was still working in +the same hospital--that in which Mary and Susan were undergoing their +training as nurses. + +Taking off his hat, he addressed the girls in a pleasant tone. "I am +glad to see that you are making the best of this beautiful afternoon. +How lovely the foliage of the trees is, Miss Riley; is it not? I don't +think I ever remember seeing such fine autumnal effects in the heart of +London." + +Susan replied in a sentimental voice: "Yes, doctor; but it means hard +work for us I fear. This still dank weather makes nature look like a +sort of huge death-bed, the vegetation rotting slowly, and the steam of +decay hanging over everything. It's just the weather to breed fevers and +rheumatisms. The weakly ill-fed poor will inhale the foul breath of the +dying air, and rot off like all these pretty hectic leaves you are +admiring so much." + +The false voice in which she said this rather jarred on Dr. Duncan. He +looked at her curiously, and said: + +"Yes! but it is better for them than the cold winds and the snow and the +frost after all, Miss Riley. The maladies and deaths _they_ cause are +out of the reach of us doctors, though the remedies are simple enough, +God knows. Coals and bread, that is all that is wanted to stop +nine-tenths of the illness of what is called a good old-fashioned +winter." + +Susan gave the doctor a soft look out of her voluptuous wicked eyes, and +exclaimed in a sort of mellow cooing voice, which she knew how to put on +when she wanted to fascinate: and it was well calculated to effect this +object: + +"Ah, doctor! they say that you give away a great deal of that sort of +medicine among the poor of this district sometimes. How gratefully they +speak of you! You are idolized in the lowest slums. They would die for +you. It must be delicious to be loved by all as you are," and she threw +out a sigh and another bewitching glance. + +But the flattery was a little too thickly laid on for a man of this +stamp, though he liked flattery well enough, as all men do, bad or good. + +He turned to Mary and said, "Miss King, I have been concerned to see how +pale and ill you have been looking of late. I am afraid the hard work is +upsetting you. You should take a holiday. Why don't you run down to the +sea-side for a week?" + +Mary coloured slightly, and said, coldly: "Indeed, I feel very well, +thank you, Dr. Duncan. I generally am rather pale, but I think I am as +strong as anyone can be." + +Susan felt rather annoyed at the manner with which her remarks had been +received. She wanted to monopolize the doctor's conversation. She had +been setting her cap at him for some time, for what purpose it is +difficult to say, unless it were out of mere malice and vanity; for in +her heart she disliked this cold man who would not fall into a violent +infatuation about her, as most others would have done after a quarter +of the love-making she had thrown away on him. + +And now she remembered her time was up. She must return to the hospital, +and perhaps the doctor would walk part of the way home with Mary. It was +most provoking; for she felt that Mary's charms were as great as her +own, greater perhaps, she suspected, when a wise man was concerned, +though that silly child did not know how to employ them. + +"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I wish I could stay a little longer in this +pretty place, and have a pleasant chat with you two, but it is time for +me to go home." + +"I am going home now, Susan," said Mary, "and I will walk as far as the +hospital with you. It is on my way." + +"And on mine too," said the doctor. "If you allow me I will accompany +you." + +Mary made no reply. + +"Oh! how nice," gushed Susan. "It is so lonely to walk down all those +dingy streets by oneself. It is a treat to have somebody with one, +especially--" and the cunning beauty checked herself, and pretended to +be embarrassed. + +They talked on indifferent matters till they reached the gates of the +hospital, through which Susan passed after affectionately kissing the +younger woman, and a parting, "Good-bye, Mary, I'll see you to-morrow +morning; good-bye, doctor." + +"I am going to Praed Street," said the doctor. "That is in your +direction I think. I am going to walk. It will do you good to walk too, +Miss King, if you are not tired. Shall we go together? It will be a very +great pleasure for me." + +"Thank you, Dr. Duncan, I shall be very glad. I don't feel inclined to +go in a stuffy omnibus on such a fine afternoon." + +So they went together through the now gaslit streets, that were filled +with that haze of the still November afternoon, which the true Londoner +loves for the soft melancholy of it. It is all very well for us to abuse +our London fogs; but there are fogs and fogs, and who would exchange +that dreamy poetic indistinctness of effect, which Turner so well knew +how to express on canvas, for all the hard clear outline of your +Southern cities. + +I remember once, in Buenos Ayres, seeing tears come to the eyes of an +old Bohemian of Fleet Street, who had for years been dwelling in that +city of pellucid atmosphere, when one winter evening a genuine English +mistiness made its appearance for a while, reminding that home-sick +exile of his dear dingy city of the far Northern island. + +This was by no means the first time that the doctor had walked home with +Mary. A mutual liking had for some time existed between them; but so far +the keenest observer could not have detected, in a word or look of +either, any signs of serious affection, if such existed. They were not a +demonstrative couple, and did not carry their hearts on their sleeves as +Sister Susan seemed to do. + +The doctor would speak to her in a calm respectful way, paying only +those attentions a well-bred man always pays to a young woman. + +She, very much on her guard when with him, affected a manner that would +have repulsed many less earnest admirers. She would be cold, curt almost +to rudeness, and went so far as to assume, at times, a flippant +cynicism, which she was far from feeling. + +But the soft languor of this November afternoon seemed to have entered +into the girl's soul; and during this particular walk her power of +putting on such defensive affectations failed her for once. + +Said the doctor: "What a strange girl that Miss Riley is; I cannot make +her out at all." + +"She is a very good nurse," replied Mary. + +"Excellent; but she is different from all I have ever seen. She shows +none of the nervousness, the more or less concealed repugnance, all +other girls exhibit at the commencement of this unpleasant training." + +"She is kind to the patients." + +"Oh, yes! She in a way is the kindest of you all. She is never awkward. +She sets to work in such a business-like way, and is so quick and deft. +She is so free from nervousness that she inflicts a minimum of pain on a +patient. She would make a splendid surgeon. But she seems to have no +feeling for them, or, at any rate, conceals it as no novice ever did +before. I have seen her assisting at a horrible surgical case, and she +looked as calm, even absent-minded, over it, as if it had been a case of +gardening, trimming and pruning plants, and not poor human flesh." + +"I wish I was like her: I am very stupid and nervous sometimes." + +"And yet I think I would rather be nursed by you, Miss King." + +"I don't think it is very charitable of us to be criticising poor Miss +Riley behind her back," said Mary, wishing to turn the conversation. + +"Of us! Of me you mean. I am the only culprit. You have been generously +taking up the cudgels in her defence. But we will change the subject. I +have heard nothing of your aunt for some time. May I ask how she is?" + +"My aunt! Oh, Mrs. King! She is very well indeed, thank you, Dr. Duncan; +but I did not know you were even aware of her existence." + +"I only heard, by accident, the other day, that she was your aunt, and +that you lived with her; but I have known of her existence for years." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mary. + +"Oh, yes! She used to speak and lecture on woman's rights, on the +abolition of the House of Lords, and such like questions. I heard her +several times: very eloquent she was too. I was rather a Radical myself +then, but I have changed my views since.... I trust you do not follow +your aunt in _all_ her opinions, Miss King?" and he looked rather +anxiously at her. + +"I think I do, Dr. Duncan." + +There was a silence for a while. The man was evidently troubled, and was +carefully pondering his next remark. Mary regarded him furtively, +wondering what was coming. + +"Some of your aunt's views are rather startling," he said. He was +thinking of one of her speeches he had heard, in which she had upheld +the unsavoury teachings of Mr. Bradlaugh, and had declared her favourite +opinions as to the abominable nature of religion and morality. + +"Startling! yes, I suppose they are startling--truth often is so," she +replied. + +"Is it truth?" + +"Is what truth?" and she turned and looked him full in the face. + +Finding himself driven into a corner, he spoke out boldly. "Miss King, I +hope you will forgive me when I tell you that I feel a deep interest in +you. I hope you will look on me as your friend, and that we shall know +each other better some day. Do not think I am impertinent if I explain +what I meant." + +"I do not think so, Dr. Duncan." + +"Well, I know what your aunt's opinions on certain matters--religion for +instance--are, and I should be very sorry to think that you entertained +the same." + +"Oh! are they false opinions?" + +"I think so; but that is hardly the question. Some false opinions are at +any rate harmless, but these I speak of are certainly bad in their +effects, whether they be true or false." + +"Do you then believe that to know the truth can be bad?" she asked in a +sarcastic tone. + +"I don't say that; but don't you think that when a theory is put before +you, you should be much more careful than usual in your examination of +it, should require much more--indeed, absolute proof--before you accept +it, if it is a theory, the belief in which cannot fail to have bad +consequences?" + +"A theory should stand on its own merits. It is no argument against an +opinion to say that it is an unhappy one." + +"Certainly not; but, surely, unless we are quite convinced that such a +theory is correct--a difficult matter, as a rule--we should be very rash +in not only accepting it, but in acting up to it. Take a parallel case, +Miss King. In a court of law a far stronger and more indisputable chain +of evidence is required to bring about an adverse verdict in the case of +a prisoner charged with a capital crime, than in the case of one who is +accused of an injury to a fellow that only makes him liable to a civil +action. It is in that spirit, I think, we should try opinions on which +the whole happiness of mankind depends. Before we condemn religion, and +put away the system of morality which follows it, we should surely ask +for more convincing evidence against them, than if it were merely a +question of the truth or falsehood of some opinion which cannot +influence mankind much either way for good or evil." + +"Don't you call that an '_argumentum ad hominem_?'" Mary said. + +"I see I have a logician to deal with in you, Miss King. Mind, I do not +wish to discuss religious truths with you. I am not a clergyman. I am +merely throwing out suggestions as to the state of mind with which, I +believe, one ought to approach speculations of this nature." + +"Are you a religious man, Dr. Duncan?--but it is very rude of me to ask +such a question." + +"I am sorry to say I am not. My work is my religion at present, and +fills all my thought." + +"Why should not my work be my religion?" + +"If it was it would be very well. To alleviate human misery is to act +religion. Though I am far from being a religious man, and rarely go +inside a church; though I may be a bad man, I do not question the +fundamental laws of morality, on which I believe the whole happiness and +loveliness of the human race depend. Now, your aunt does this; and +though one may--mind, _may_--get on, and be virtuous, and good, and +lovable, without being what people call religious, I doubt whether one +can be so if one is constantly trying to prove to oneself that _a +priori_ religious and moral systems are untrue--if one comes to think +that no action is _per se_ bad and to be avoided. We must have a +dogmatic morality, Miss King. I don't say that we can altogether _act +up_ to it, but we must _believe_ in it. The evil-living man, who still +admires and respects virtue, is in a happier way, I think, than a man, +good in action, who yet has no belief in good. I know Mrs. King is one +who has carried Utilitarian ethics to their extreme conclusions. This is +a dangerous thing for us poor mortals to attempt. Misery is the result. +Utilitarianism may do for angels--it won't do for us." + +There were tears in Mary's eyes as he concluded. She had been too long +fed on unwholesome doctrine to be in any way influenced by his +arguments. He had merely told her what she already knew too well, that +such a belief as she professed--that truth--was an apple of Sodom, full +of bitterness and sorrow; but, somehow, his kind words brought vividly +before her the utterness of her desolation, and she said in mournful +tones, "Oh, how wicked you would think me if you knew all my thoughts; +how you would loathe me!" + +"Pray, don't say such a thing, Miss King," he exclaimed. "Whatever your +opinions and doubts may be, you are not wicked. Do you know, I have +often watched you in the hospital. I have taken great interest in you. I +saw how sad and thoughtful you were, and I saw how kind you were to the +sick--how patient, how sympathetic. I observed how you felt with their +suffering, not in mere physical revolt at witnessing pain, but with a +true woman's pity. No! I know you are not wicked." + +He spoke earnestly, with a deep feeling, the meaning of which could +hardly be mistaken. + +Mary answered not a word. She was overawed by this man. She felt as if +she could have sunk into the ground with her sense of shame and +degradation. "What, this good man believes that _I_ am good," she +thought. "He has faith in me--affection for me! He loves me for my +kindness to the sick--me, that am training to be a murderess--me, a +baby-killer! Oh, the horror of the thing--the despair of my position!" +She realized bitterly how deep, how irreconcilable must be her +estrangement from her race. "She must never know love--she must steel +her heart--crush her sympathies, and, oh! she must never again trust +herself to talk in confidence with her fellows, especially with this +doctor." + +She could not speak with that choking sensation in her throat, so she +walked on in silence. + +Her companion looked at her and perceived the tears glistening in her +downcast eyes. The doctor had, of late, found himself constantly +thinking tenderly of this lonely, sad-looking girl, whose only companion +was the frivolous Susan. He had, to a certain extent, guessed the cause +of her sorrow, living as she did with the half-insane atheist and +revolutionist he knew Mrs. King to be. He felt a great pity for the +beautiful unprotected creature, in whom he saw such sweet possibilities +of love and all the graces and good qualities of woman. The love that +was coming to him was deep and strong and fierce as was his nature, and +the girl was beginning to divine this. + +No wonder that she was filled with dread when she knew that she had +inspired such a feeling in such a man; for there lay that terrible +secret between them, a secret whose nature he had so little suspected, +when she warned him that he would loathe her, did he know it. She found +that she was on the edge of a precipice, and felt a sick dizziness to +see it, but also a painful fascination. + +They walked on together through the dreamy November haze--both feeling +as in a dream--without speaking, but each in some strange manner vaguely +conscious of the spirit of the other's thought, of a close sympathy that +was fast drawing them together. It was as if their hearts beat, their +souls sung, in unison, to some awful music from another sphere. The +streets and the people were no longer with them. + +So it was, that when at last he spoke, the words were expected by her. +She seemed to have felt their meaning before they came. They had been +led up to by the unspoken emotions of either. + +"Oh, Miss King, if you could only confide in me, and make me your +friend! I would die, to be able to drive away that cloud from your mind, +if I could only see you happy and smiling.... All that beautiful youth +of yours, with its sweet possibilities, being destroyed by these dark +phantoms! Oh, Mary, for God's sake, trust in me! Have you guessed how I +love you? You must have done so. You fill all my thoughts. You know that +you are everything in the world to me.... Oh, my sweet! my sweet! that I +could make you throw yourself on my love. I believe I would make you +happy. I would understand you, Mary, and we would make all your sadness +go. We would go right away from the streets for a time, and walk through +the green fields hand in hand like children again. In the bright, pure +country we should drive all these phantoms right away; our human love +would drive them right away. Mary! Mary!--" and he stopped and seized +her two hands in his, carried away by his emotion. + +They were standing by the railings of the garden of a deserted square, +and the rays of a lamp fell full on her pale face. + +He had raised an image of wonderful joys to her mind--but, oh! so +impossible--so impossible! + +She trembled in his grasp. She dared not raise her eyes to meet his. + +"Mary! O Mary! can it be true? Do you care for me; do you love me a +little?" + +She could not preserve that outward calm any longer, with all that storm +raging within her. She was stifling with it, and for an answer burst +into hysterical sobs. + +"Oh! my dear! my dear!" He folded her in his arms, and his passionate +kisses were on her eyes and on her mouth. + +Then, with a strength that surprised him, she suddenly thrust him off, +and retreating a few yards back, stared at him with eyes dilated with +horror and anguish. + +"Oh! Dr. Duncan!" she cried, with a voice full of such tragedy that the +strong man felt his veins tingle with terror. "Oh! go away! go away, and +leave me.... You do not know what you are saying.... You are mad. Never +speak to me again. Forget me, if you do not wish to be more miserable +than ever man was before. You don't know what I am--what I must be. If +you married me, you would go mad with what you discovered. You would +blow your brains out, and mine too.... I am not exaggerating. I am +talking sober truth. I mean this.... Yes, more.... Think of all the +greatest criminals you have ever heard of. Think of the most hideous, +unspeakable crimes ever invented by man, and then look on me as guilty +of them all--yes, all of them, and worse. I warn you--remember, I have +warned you." + +The intense earnestness of her look--of her speech--terrified him. "What +could she mean? Was she mad?" And he felt sick and dizzy with the pain +of this thought. + +"Now, Dr. Duncan, not another word. I won't bring you any further out of +your way. Good-night." And she walked rapidly away. + +He stood where he was, supporting himself by the railing--for a moment +half-dazed at the shock he had received. Then there came a curious +reaction to him after the first effects of her wild words. He was seized +by a sort of frenzy--by the strongest of all the passions in its very +greatest strength: love--love that is insane, and thinks of +nothing--reckless of crime and consequence--the strong man's love that +can make of him a fiend or an angel. + +His blood tingled through his veins like fire. "Mary," he thought to +himself, "Mary, you must be mine. Even if you _are_ mad, I will still +have you. I do not care what you are. I would be mad too, rather than +lose you. Were you a thousand times worse than you say--if you _have_ +committed every crime--it can make no difference now to me. If you were +a devil, I should have to become devil too, to please you. It must be +love between us--love for good or bad. If it cannot be of heaven, it +must be of hell; but love it must--shall be...." And the usually +self-possessed man hurried through the streets with his brain on fire, +his hands clenched, and his eyes glaring, so that people he passed got +to one side or other of him in fear to let him go by, for his face was +as that of a madman. + +The devil had got hold of him for the time; and after the fit was over, +he shuddered when he remembered how wild and wicked his fancies had +been--how, in a moment, it had seemed as if all the good of years of +careful training had run out of him, and left him a fiend without +conscience or fear, capable of any deed, if by it he could but compass +his desires. + +And so it is with all of us at times. The passionate temptations of a +man reveal to him, in flashes, what horrible depths of possible sin lurk +in his nature--hidden unsuspected, awaiting their opportunity. + +But he had clasped that slight, girlish form in his arms--he had kissed +that unkissed mouth, and drawn madness from it--he was the slave of his +passion for better or for worse. + +Even when he thought more calmly over the whole matter on the following +day, he still knew that his love for the girl was altogether his master. +He still determined to press his suit. + +Even were she really bad, he must risk all, and make her his. But he +knew that she was not really bad in heart, though she might have been in +action. He would gain her confidence, share with her her repentance for +her sin, take on himself her burden. Even had she been the most +abandoned of creatures, he would take her to his arms now. Go back he +could not--would not. + +And yet, of all men this was the one whom none would have suspected +capable of making a rash marriage. Ah! how little we know how we +ourselves would behave when the moment comes! We are all of us mad and +weak then--yes, every one of us. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A WRECK. + + +A week or so after the events related in the last chapter. + +It is about the hour when the theatres close, and the scene is the +interior of the Albion--the well-known tavern near Old Drury, where +actors and others of the male sex are wont to sup, after the play and +opera are over. + +At a table is a man sitting by himself, moodily drinking whisky--which +he takes with very little water--and smoking cigar after cigar. + +At a glance, you can see that he is a wreck--a gentleman who has become +the slave of alcohol. His hand shakes, his eye is fierce and restless, +and his three days' beard and unbrushed clothes show that carelessness +of appearance which are the early signs of a man's going to the dogs +through drink. The recklessness of a man who has lost his self-respect +is apparent in his every gesture. + +This is Tommy Hudson, but terribly changed. He is not beautiful and +refined of features now, but coarse, bloated, spirit-sodden. Not now are +the bright, merry eyes, the hopeful buoyancy of manner; but, in their +place, sullenness, or the sneers and flippancy born of a gnawing +consciousness of degradation and failure. + +This man had known a lofty ideal--so was his fall the greater. + +The life of the young London barrister is perhaps the most perilous of +all for weak natures such as his. Hundreds of promising young lives have +fallen victims to its strong temptations. Living in solitary chambers, +waiting for work that never comes, desponding at his want of success, +the young man is driven out night after night into dissipation--first, +by desire of society; lastly, by a morbid restlessness that makes +dissipation a necessity. + +As long as the man is strong, the whirl of wild amusements may do little +harm. He may, in spite of his rackety youth, become a leader of his +profession. The lives of many of our greatest judges have been +notorious. But, for these few hard ones that do pass through unscathed +or slightly wounded, how many fall and perish! How many, in that +apprenticeship to the legal profession, play so fiercely in the frequent +leisure, that at last, when the work does come, they cannot do it--it is +too late! The giants survive--the pigmies are destroyed. Some of these +Old Bailey men, we know, have drank deeply in the old-fashioned way, and +have thrown themselves into every form of dissipation for forty years +and more, and yet are at the top of their branch of the profession. But, +young man, before you set out to emulate their ways, and live their +lives, remember that they are as one in a hundred, and consider whether +you are stronger than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. + +It is so easy for a jolly good fellow to degenerate into the drunkard; +then to the disreputable drunkard--cut by all his acquaintance; and then +to the wreck. + +Thus was it with the unfortunate Tommy Hudson. His youth, his beauty, +his wit, were all gone; and people now seeing the abject wretch for the +first time would never have guessed what he once had been. + +No wonder that men, observing such things, carry their gospel of +temperance to fanaticism--indeed, no wonder! + +And so this nervous wretch stooped there over his drink, casting fierce, +furtive glances around him like some hunted animal, as is the way of +one on the brink of delirium tremens--ever impressed with an idea that +those around were watching him, and talking of him. + +Dr. Duncan, who had been spending the evening at a neighbouring theatre, +came into the Albion to have some supper before going home. + +His passion for Mary and her strange behaviour, when he declared his +love to her at his last interview, had disturbed him greatly, so that, +contrary to his wont, he had been nightly visiting some theatre or other +place of amusement, with the vain hope of distracting his mind from the +uneasy misery which oppressed it, and almost unfitted him for work. + +Since that interview, she had rather avoided him, and he had held no +conversation with her, save of the briefest and most matter-of-fact +description, in the course of their respective duties in the hospital. + +There was a gloom on the doctor's brow, and his usually keen-glancing +eye was dull of expression. As he walked to an unoccupied table in the +corner of the room, he took no notice of anything that was going on +around him. + +On the other hand, the barrister--who was nervously watching all that +passed, and followed every movement with his eyes--raised his head from +his elbows, and stared at the other with a savage, insolent manner. Then +his expression changed--suddenly grew softer, and a puzzled look came to +his face. He passed his hand across his forehead; shook his head, as if +to throw off some painful idea; looked again; then cried, in a surprised +voice that sounded half-timid, the tone of one who had fallen, but not +beneath all sense of shame--of one doubtful whether his old friend will +acknowledge him. + +"Why! Duncan! Duncan! Is that you?" + +The doctor started--stared at him, evidently puzzled, and not +recognizing the man who addressed him. + +The drunken man continued, in melancholy tones: "Am I so altered as all +that, then? Why, don't _you_ even remember me?" + +The doctor looked at him, and replied, with hesitation: "I do know you. +I know your face, but I cannot exactly--." + +The barrister interrupted him: "I was once your friend, old +man--once--long--long ago." He drawled out these words in a maudlin +fashion; then, conscious that he was just on the point of weeping, he +pulled himself together, and stretched out his hand to seize his glass, +but, in doing so, knocked it off the table, and it broke into pieces. + +"Like that glass, sir," he continued, "like that glass, I'm +broken--broken altogether." + +Then he hung down his head, and laughed to himself in a foolish manner. +Suddenly he raised it again, and cried out, in a savage voice: "Duncan! +Damn it, man! Don't you know me, or are you going to cut me, like all +the rest of them? Eh?" + +His friend recognized him at last. "Why, it is Hudson!" he exclaimed +much shocked at the fearful change that had come over his once intimate +friend. "Hudson! my dear old boy, I am so glad to see you again. What +has become of you all this time?" + +"How many years is it since you saw me last, Duncan?" asked the +barrister in a sulky voice. + +"Between three and four years, I think," was the reply. + +"Don't you think you might have taken the trouble to look your old +friend up all that time? Eh?" + +"So I have," replied the doctor, "several times. But I never found you +in. I have written to you too, don't you remember? You never replied to +my letters though. I began to think you wanted to cut me, old fellow." + +"Yes! now I do remember," said his friend sadly. "It's just like +me--just like me; and now I turn round and reproach you. I'm an ass, an +ungrateful blackguard. Drink, drink--that's what does it, Duncan. It +dulls all the good feeling in a man. Look at me! you are my old chum. I +get your kind letters and invitations, I never reply to them. I am drunk +and chuck them aside. I neglect and quarrel with all my old--my true +friends; I have no friends now, a few harpies only around me who drink +and laugh with me, as long as my pocket gives out a clinking sound. +Forgive me, Duncan." + +The doctor took a chair and sat down opposite his friend. + +The barrister continued after a pause, "How many years did you say it +was since you saw me last, Duncan?" + +"About three." + +"And I have changed so much in that time that you didn't know me. Pooh! +what do I care? It's all over. No good crying over spilt milk. Have a +drink, my boy. What will you take?" + +"Nothing now, thanks; I am going to sup." + +"Nonsense! Waiter, two brandies. If you won't name your poison yourself +I must do it for you. Let's look at you, Duncan. You look fit +enough--not much older. I've heard of you--got all the best appointments +at your hospital--lucky man!" + +The brandies came. The doctor observed that Hudson drank his neat this +time, and then commenced to become quite sober again--a dangerous +symptom. + +"Hudson," said the doctor, "excuse me, old man, but what on earth is the +meaning of all this? You don't look the man you were. You are twenty +years older." + +"Well! I am older, old man," Hudson replied, flippantly. + +"Yes, but only by three years or so. What a fellow you were then, and +now you look as if you were going to the dogs." + +"Going! gone, you mean," the barrister exclaimed with a bitter laugh. +"But do I look so very much worse then, Duncan?" + +"Much worse! Why, man, I should not know you for the old Hudson of +Caius, our stroke, our scholar, our rowdy, jolly, clever, healthy Tommy +Hudson. Oh, my dear boy, if you could but see what you were and what you +are. You must put on the brake. You'll have to come and live with me, +and you'll soon be your old self again." + +Hudson shook his head. "Never! No! no! It's too late--too late now, old +man, you don't know all. I've chucked up the sponge." + +"Nonsense, man. It's not too late." + +Hudson sat up in his chair and appeared quite sober as he replied: + +"It's too late. You don't know what a weak fool I am. It is no good my +making resolutions. No, my boy, 'It's all up with poor Tommy now,' as +that music-hall man sings--and I don't care. I used to try and reform +once. It was no good--Ha! ha! Why it was only three months back, that I +made my last attempt. I actually had resolution enough to live one whole +week of the most abject virtue; think of that! but it was all the worse +afterwards. I've gone a long way further down the hill these last three +months." + +He paused for some time, resting his head on his hand, as he tried to +collect his scattered ideas, then he continued: + +"Duncan, I am the most miserable of men--I am the slave of half-a-dozen +vices. I have drunk them all to the dregs, yet I am not blasé; I wish to +God I were. No, I still love the world, love my vices more than ever, +but cannot enjoy them--and in that is the hell of it. I hate +respectability; I hate work. I love dissipation, and can't dissipate. I +look at steady fellows grinding away for little incomes and I hate them, +I hate myself. No one can pity me--it's all my own fault. I feel sick +and mad sometimes with regret, almost to killing myself--yes, with +regret, and what for? I'll tell you--listen--regret that I cannot fly +about, as I used to before health and coin and all had taken wings. Not +regret for the wasting of any good there might have been in me--not a +bit of it, I am too far gone to envy and admire _good_. Who can pity a +man who suffers from so selfish and ignoble a grief? and yet, dear +Duncan, I believe that such a suffering is as bitter as any the human +soul is capable of--all the bitterer because it can meet no sympathy, no +pity. God help me!--The other day I heard a theatre-girl ask of another +about me, 'Who is that bloated-looking old masher? Doesn't he look an +old beast?' Yes, women have come to talk about me like that; you don't +know, old man, you with your steady mind, what a hell I am in. Despised +where I loved. I gave up all for pleasure.--She is a hard mistress, not +only does she jilt one--chuck one over with a heartless laugh when she +has wrung all the good out of one--but she leaves one without the +possibility of ever getting another mistress. Ambition will not come to +the old rake--Fortune, mind, constitution all gone.--Well, it can't be +helped--Damn it! I can still drink anyhow. Bring me a shilling's worth +of brandy, waiter. What for you, dear boy?" + +"Nothing for me, old man, and don't you have any more just now.--Look +here, Hudson, come along with me--to my diggings--we'll have a drink and +a chat there. It will remind us of old times. I can give you a +shake-down for the night." + +The barrister smiled with that knowing and suspicious smile that is +peculiar to drunkards. "Not to be caught, doctor," he cried, "none of +that gammon for me.--I know your game--but I'm not so drunk as all that. +You are right, quite right, old man; I'm going to hell--but I'll go +there my own way--damn it! the sooner the better." + +"Hush, man!" said his friend. "Those two men at that table are listening +to our conversation. We'll clear out of this. We can talk much better in +my rooms, or your's if you prefer it as they are nearer." + +Hudson glared at the men in question, rose a little from his chair, so +that the doctor feared he was about to engage in a quarrel with them, +but then altered his mind, drunk some of his brandy--neat again--sobered +down, and continued in more subdued tones: + +"No! no! doctor; don't think I am as bad as I appear. I'm a flabby +idiot, but I'm never as far gone as I am to-night. But I've been upset +to-day, Duncan. I saw a girl to-day--for the first time for three years. +She passed me in Oxford Street--a girl that I knew when I was a +different man. She was beautiful then as I had never seen woman before, +and now she is more so. O God! I loved her then; I have often thought of +her since; and to-day I saw her again.... I felt mad to see her beauty; +and I, shabby, bloated drunkard, dared not speak to her, dared not +contaminate her by my companionship. She did not recognize me, I passed +by her, and I have been mad ever since.--Oh, mad! to love and know that +it is too late--too late--to think what might have been. Oh, dear old +friend, pity me, do pity me a little--no one loves, no one pities me +now." + +There were tears in his eyes and his voice trembled--he was becoming +maudlin again. + +"Pity you! of course I pity you, old friend. I know poor human nature +too well to do otherwise. Who am I to judge other's weakness? Good +Heavens! I have been lately on the edge of a precipice myself, and I +know how easy it is for a mind to lose its balance. Come with me, old +man. I too am a miserable wretch even as you are. We will comfort each +other. There is comfort in comforting one's fellows. I will help you and +you will help me. Come along, Hudson," and he rose from his seat, +anxious to get his friend quietly out of the place. + +Hudson looked softened, then he smiled--an inscrutable smile: perhaps it +had no meaning. He swallowed his brandy and got up from his chair. He +was quite sober now and calm, but with an ominous glitter in his eyes +that the doctor understood. He rose and said quietly, "Good night, +Duncan; I can't come with you to-night, but I'll look you up in a day or +two." + +He then paid the waiter, carefully counted the change, and walked out of +the Albion with the manner of a perfectly sober man. + +But the doctor knew that the poor wretch was on the very verge of +delirium tremens, and that a paroxysm might occur at any moment, so +followed him close. + +Once out of the Albion, the madman--before his friend could seize his +arm--leaped back a few yards, laughed a discordant laugh in the doctor's +face, and ran like a deer down the street. + +Dr. Duncan ran after him; but the barrister's veins were full of fire! +his nerves tingled with the poison of alcohol, and he ran as only one in +such a state of fearful exaltation of all the faculties can run; not to +the right or to the left, but straight on, careless whither he rushed, +unconscious of effort--feeling light as the wind, and as if impelled by +spirits. The doctor soon lost sight of him, good runner though he was, +and returned home with a heart heavier than ever. How dark all life +seemed just then to this successful and prosperous man! + +Deep was his compassion for his unfortunate friend--for he knew now that +it would not have taken so much to have seen himself on the same +downward career to destruction. + +His passion for Mary had revealed to him how weak his nature too was, +how circumstances may overset the balance even of the strongest mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +IN GREAT PERPLEXITY. + + +Mary had known what wretchedness was during her old life at Brixton; but +that was almost happiness to the mental agony she was now experiencing. +For the image of one man was ever in her mind; the sound of his voice +rang in her ears; and when the remembrance of his burning kisses came to +her, as it often did, her cheek flushed and her heart beat with a flood +of new emotions that terrified her. + +She could not put him out of her thoughts. She hardly knew whether she +loved him; but, with the exception of Mrs. King, he was her only friend, +the only human being she liked and venerated; and though to be with him +raised only thoughts of pain, yet when she was away from him, there came +to her a worse misery, a want, that made her wish for that sweet pain +again. + +But it could not be; she must not love him; she, one of "the Sisters," +committed to a Cause that killed its children! No, it could not be! She +must suffer and endure in silence, but never know love. + +A first, great love filling her being and a fearful consciousness of its +hopelessness--so great a delight within her grasp and duty preventing +her from seizing it--such was the mental conflict, full of agony, that +had now come to her young life. + +Her feverish restlessness undermined her health. When alone at night, +she would sob through the long hours in broken-hearted despair. She +would go through her duties by day with a listless languor. + +Catherine King noticed how pale and thin and sad the girl was becoming; +but shrewd as she was, she had no suspicions as to the true cause of +this change. + +I have said that a great affection had sprung up between the Chief of +the Secret Society and her disciple. This affection was ever deepening. +The relation between them had long ceased to be that of mistress and +servant; it was no longer merely that of teacher and pupil; but they had +become to each other as mother and daughter. Catherine represented to +the outside world that Mary was her niece; but the girl had of late +fallen into the way of calling her protectress, when they were alone +together, by the more affectionate name of mother. + +One dismal November afternoon, before the lights were lit, Catherine +King was sitting in her chair by the fire sewing. Mary was sitting by +the window, listless, motionless, looking out to the street with a +strange, sad air, as of one that despaired yet was resigned. + +The elder woman occasionally cast keen glances towards her, and at last, +putting down her work, said, "Mary!" + +"Yes, mother!" replied the girl, starting suddenly from her reverie, +while a bright flush came to her pale cheeks for a moment. + +"You seem ill, Mary." + +"Yes, mother; I am not very well," she replied in a low, apathetic +voice. + +"What is it? There seems to be something on your mind. Is it the idea of +the work that has to be done soon that is weighing on you?" + +"No, no! I know it is my duty, mother. I am proud to be a helper in the +Cause. Oh, no! mother, it is not that.... I don't know what it is; but I +fear I am weak and foolish. I am getting nervous.... I am a coward and +unfit for so great a mission." + +"Strange! that is not like you! I think a little change of air would do +you good. We will take a holiday, Mary, and go to the sea-side." + +"Thank you, mother; how very kind you are to me! but indeed I do not +deserve it." + +"You are a good girl, Mary. Happy for me was the day on which I first +met you. Your companionship has been very dear to me. I, who thought +that I had altogether given up tender emotions, that my whole being was +absorbed in my work for Humanity, that I would never again care for any +individual--I have come to love you dearly." She continued absently, not +intending her words for the girl's ears: "Yes! I half regret sometimes +that you should have to be one of the workers, poor girl"--then +recollecting herself again, and putting aside her unwonted softness for +her usual exalted zeal for Humanity that over-rode all lesser +sentiments--"but this is nonsense. How nobler our lives, how happier +even, though severing us from mankind and human sympathies, than the +weak loves and affections of the ordinary men and women! How glorious to +feel we are so far above them!" + +She did not suspect how she sent the arrow home to Mary's heart. Tears +came to the girl's eyes. The sacrifice of human affections might be a +little thing to the enthusiast, but to her, alas! it meant death. But +she had determined that she would not waver in her allegiance; for the +wild theories were to her great truths. She had such entire faith in her +protectress, that she would not have hesitated to tear her heart out for +the Chief and the Cause. + +"Mother!" she cried out at last. "Oh, mother! you _must_ love me! I am +so weak, I do not feel fit for the life that is before me. By myself I +can do nothing. I shall be stronger if I may lean on you--if I may see +you often--if you will let me love you. I cannot explain what I mean--I +do not understand it myself." She spoke in a pitiful voice that +expressed the great yearning that was in her. + +Catherine King looked at the girl in silence for some moments, and the +quivering of her lips showed that she was struggling with some strong +emotion; then she said: + +"I fear we are entering on a dangerous path--but, Mary! Mary! I do +love you ... very much indeed--dear"--she hesitated over the last word +as if ashamed of using it; she had never used it before--"too well, +perhaps ... for it is our duty to look far beyond individual sympathies; +we must steel our hearts; we must be of stern stuff; but I do love you, +child. Come here, that I may kiss you!" + +Mary knew what deep affection it must be to make this woman confess to +such weakness. She came up to the chair where Catherine was sitting, and +knelt before her. The woman kissed her on her forehead, and gently +stroked the soft hair of the girl, feeling a tenderness in her heart +that she had not known for many long years. + +"There can be no harm in our loving each other, I think, Mary," she +said, doubtfully, and with a tremulousness in her one as of +consciousness of guilt, as of one hesitating on the brink of some sweet, +strong temptation to crime--"no harm--but we must not be too +affectionate; we must not fear for each other, or we shall be unnerved +when the battle begins. Now, Mary! don't! don't! My dear child, I cannot +bear it!" for the girl had seized her hand and was kissing it +passionately, while she shook with a paroxysm of sobs. + +"Oh, mother! mother! I am so miserable--without your love I should die! +It is the only thing that makes life bearable. I cannot be strong and +brave like you"--raising her head and looking admiringly at her through +her tears--"but your love will make me braver too. Why are you not angry +with me for being so silly and so weak?" + +The poor child hardly suspected herself what this longing for affection +signified. She did not yet know her own heart altogether; she did not +confess to herself that it was the strange, budding love of a maiden +for a man that brought on this need for the sympathy of one of her own +sex. + +"Weak, weak!" replied Catherine, pensively; "no I do not think that you +are weak--the reverse in this case. These old moral instincts, or +whatever we like to call them--this intense like to adopting means +condemned by antique ethics, for the working of righteous ends, are +difficult to contend with. You have strong instincts which are in +opposition to your sense of duty. Had you been weaker-minded in this +conflict, you would have abandoned duty and followed instinct. In you, +both the sense of duty and the instinct are very strong. It is because +of this--because your nature is strong and not weak--that the conflict +for you is a terrible one--that you are a martyr--as such a martyr as +Ridley or Latimer, who gave up all that natural instinct makes +dear--even life, and things dearer than life, for duty's sake." + +Mary felt that what the Chief said was very true. The instinctive horror +at the nature of her duties preyed on her mind; but she was ashamed as +she considered that she was quite undeserving of these words of praise, +knowing as she did that there was now another element that complicated +the conflict, the nature of which her kind protectress little guessed. + +It has been shown how Mary's Brixton education had made of her a liar; +but somehow although her latter training in Maida-Vale, with its +Jesuitical teachings as to all means being good if for the advancement +of the "Cause," was hardly calculated to cure her of this vice, she +could never lie to her benefactress; and now that she had known Dr. +Duncan, she had begun to feel a repugnance to deceiving anyone at all. +Such is the power of love. The woman looks up to the lord of her heart, +and if he be good, she will seek to be good too; she wonders that he can +look on her as an angel, and she endeavours to come as near as possible +to his ideal. + +So it was that Mary felt a great desire to reveal the fact of her +dangerous friendship with Dr. Duncan to her protectress. She could not +deceive her any longer, and determined to unburden her mind at once. So +she commenced by timidly asking, "Mother, have you ever ... loved? Have +you ever loved ... anyone beside me?" Then she paused, in confusion, not +knowing how to proceed, a deep blush suffusing her cheeks. + +Catherine King stared at her, but evidently did not understand her +meaning. No one possessed keener powers of observation than the Chief of +the Sisterhood; but when pondering over subjects connected with the +Cause she would often become absent-minded, and notice nothing. She had +now drifted into this condition, so replied to Mary in a rhapsodical +tone: "Oh, love, love! what a deep-rooted instinct of life thou art! But +we ill-fated, born into a miserable age, must trample on our instincts +for Humanity's sake. Until the old order is altogether changed for the +new, such as you and I, Mary, can have nothing to do with love." + +The girl's courage melted--she dared not tell her tale just then, whilst +Catherine King was in that mood, so she replied, submissively: "So +be it ... so long as I have your love, mother ... for oh, I am weak, +miserably weak, and love I must have; or I will fail!" + +Catherine spoke again: "Love is, indeed, a noble instinct, Mary, but of +all loves love of Humanity is the most noble, the most unselfish. We +must sacrifice all lesser loves for that one. Future ages will look back +to us as the martyrs of Humanity, my child," and as she uttered these +words the woman's eyes blazed with enthusiasm, and assumed that far-away +look that was usual to them. + +The conversation here dropped. "Martyrs! Martyrs, indeed!" thought the +poor girl, and she fell again into her miserable brooding, and her soul +grew darker and darker, as the early night settled down on the city, and +the gas-lights came out one by one in the dismal, rainy street. + +But on the other hand, to the woman absorbed in her dream of Humanity, +the dingy little room faded away; and to her exalted mind vision after +vision, each more glorious than the last, arose--of future peoples, +perfect, happy, good; and her brain whirled with the magnificence of her +fancies, and her soul wandered in a paradise of beautiful imaginations; +so that there came to her expressive features a nobility, such as the +face of some saint of old drunk with God, on the point of martyrdom, +might have worn. + + * * * * * + +Catherine King was perplexed--she could perceive that the girl's illness +was mental rather than physical. She considered that it was the horror +of the nature of her duties working on a young mind; but she could +hardly account for the recent rather sudden aggravation of these +symptoms in her pupil. + +Loving the girl as she did, she was much troubled. Remorse for the agony +to which she was dooming this young life tormented her; but her thorough +belief in the righteousness of her scheme made her stifle these natural +feelings.--"Yes, it must be--the child must be sacrificed." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A SCIENTIFIC MURDER. + + +On those occasions when Susan Riley obtained the usual forty-eight +hours' leave of absence from the hospital, it was her custom to pass +most of this time in the company of her lover the barrister. + +Now, it happened on the night that Dr. Duncan had come across his old +friend at the Albion, the latter had made an appointment with his +mistress to take her to the theatre after a dinner at a restaurant. + +He had given her the set of keys to his chambers, so that she might let +herself in at six o'clock, and there await his coming. + +Susan arrived at the appointed hour. Hudson was generally punctual when +he had to meet her; but seven o'clock passed, then eight, and yet he did +not come, so that Susan, who had first felt only extremely angry at his +delay, began to be fearful of some disaster. + +This is what had occurred. At three o'clock in the afternoon, for the +first time for three long years, the man had caught a glimpse of Mary +Grimm as she was walking down Oxford Street. + +He recognised her at once. The sight brought back to him a host of +memories and regrets. His mind, weakened and excitable from habitual +alcoholism, was altogether unbalanced by this meeting. + +A senseless passion--such as are the curse of such enfeebled brains, in +which all the emotions are exalted to the verge of madness--possessed +him. It was not that he had, through all these years, nursed any love +for the young girl whom he had only seen for a few hours altogether. He +had almost forgotten her. He had long since given up thinking about her. + +But now, no sooner did he perceive her, than he felt as if she had been +all the world to him ever since that strange adventure in the Temple. He +really believed that this had been the case; and the mad delusion took +command of him and carried him away with it. He loved her--her only, he +thought--the dear little girl who had passed that evening with him in +his rooms--Oh! so long ago, it appeared now to him, not in years though, +but in change of nature. Yes, he was sunk now beyond redemption, he was +utterly lost--a degraded wretch--so he dared not go up to her and speak +to her; he was too foul a thing to approach _her_--and he almost burst +into hysterical tears, as he turned his back to her while she passed +him, that she might not see his face; and then he walked away in an +opposite direction--whither he cared not--in that condition when all +good has abandoned the soul of a man, and it is empty, and will only +open to devils. + +He no longer thought of his mistress, his beloved Edith, or of his +engagement with her. He went into refreshment bar after refreshment bar, +asking at each for brandies, which he swallowed neat and at a gulp one +after the other; so that men looked askance at him, and the bar-maids +who served him pitied him, and begged him to drink no more. + +He did not become drunk, he was beyond that stage; but a fierce +despairing sullenness seized him and was expressed in his features, +which were now as pale as death, with two large eyes blazing out from +darkened circles. + +And so on and on, hour after hour, until the time when we left him +outside the Albion, running away from the one human being who wished to +befriend him. + +All this while Susan Riley, in no contented mood, was waiting for him +in his chambers, which appeared cheerless enough, for no fire was +burning in the grate, and she could find but one candle to place on the +table, whose light only threw out in stronger gloom the dark +wainscotting and sombre-coloured furniture. + +As the tedious hours went by, she paced up and down the rooms, and sat +down in turns. She took down book after book from his shelves but could +find nothing to interest her. Then she opened his drawers and desks, and +looked over some of Hudson's private papers. This was a favourite +amusement of hers when she was left alone in his chambers; and she had +contrived, by reading his letters whenever she had an opportunity, to +learn a good deal about his family, and pecuniary prospects. + +She was examining the contents of a desk, turning over some manuscript, +poems, and articles in a cursory fashion, when her eye happened to fall +on the title of one of these, "La Fille de Marbre." + +"Dear me!" she said to herself, "here is a poem addressed to me. He told +me the other day, when he was in bad a humour, that I reminded him of +the heroine of a French novel he had been reading--'La Fille de Marbre.' +I begin to think he almost sees through me sometimes now, and does not +consider me quite such a perfect being as he did. I will read this +'Fille de Marbre,' and see what nonsense he has been writing about me. I +may learn something about the true state of his sentiments." + +There was an amused smile on her face as she read the barrister's latest +poetical production:-- + + +"LA FILLE DE MARBRE." + +I. + +THEN. + + "Children of pleasure are we: the whole of our life is a play; + With white breasts, music, and wine we while the hours away. + You scorn and revile us and hate us, would put us to torture and shame, + You virtuous! Ah, well! We will not pause in the game, + To be bitter in our turn on you and wax hot. Not we! for we know + Life is too short for such folly. Away all pother and woe! + Think not of the After! Drink deep of the Present! This world's + good enough; + Has infinite sweets: fool he that follows the way that is rough! + + "The maudlin sage drones out, 'All pleasure is vain.' Let him try! + He will weep and rend his clothes with regret that he did deny + These rapturous joys to himself through so many pitiful years. + What do we know of the After? Why brood upon it with fears? + The Now is enough for the wise. Come, ye daughters of joy! + Help me to live as one should. Let thy white feet glance in my hall: + Of all the gifts of the good gods, ye are the sweetest of all! + + "Hark to the sour recluse! He says, 'Woman's a perilous toy,' + That 'the girl is selfish and false, and follows the luck of the dice, + Smells gold afar off as a vulture, with caresses feigned for the rich, + And when the gold is all gone will let her love die in a ditch.' + + "A liar! a coward he! that fears what he does not know. + 'Tis the cold, not the fierce Bacchante's blood, the red gold + mastereth so. + + "For we too have died for each other--we 'selfish' children of vice, + Our passionate kisses are warm, yea warmer than virtue can tell. + Ho! ho! while I live, I will live, nor give thought to God or his hell!" + +II. + +NOW. + + "Cold is the wind and the rain of the autumn night in the street. + My rags are so thin. Chill death ascends from my sodden feet. + Up to my heart. What care I? For I can laugh at the cold. + My head is hot; my blood boils. I have just met a friend of old. + I was proud, I was dying for food, yet dared not beg for a crust; + But he asked me to drink, and I drank--and now I feel as a god, + As a god who has something to give, and so can rule with a nod. + + "I stand by a well-known house, a house of gambling and lust, + Where in the bright-lit rooms, men flushed with the fever of play + Win and lose. If they win, the she-devils rake it away. + Win and lose. If they lose, they must out in the cold and die; + Or if they be callous and tough, why, then become even as I. + + "Ah, me! for yon beautiful woman. Ah, me! for the passionless mart + Ah, me! for the soft, warm flesh that covers the cold, hard heart. + _He_ was lucky to-night at play; look at her wanton grace: + The kisses, the toying hands, the flushed and amorous face, + The moist lips lying of love!--she will lead him up to the gate + Of Ruin and Death and Hell, and leave him there to his fate. + With a low and musical laugh, as of silver as hard and as cold, + At his folly to think _she_ could love--she has treated so many of old. + + "For is it not true that every gem your round white limbs do bear, + And every star that shines in the night of your ebon hair, + Was bought with a good man's soul? Each is a trophy sweet + Of a noble life that was trampled under your delicate feet. + The wine of your mouth is poison unto the fool that sips; + Your fair white bosom is bruised, but not with a baby's lips, + Child never drew life from those breasts, no gentle mother thou art, + No, nor woman! warm blood of a woman ne'er fed such a pitiless heart. + + "And now from the steps of the house I see her descending again, + Again after years, and there gnaws at my heart a twinge of an + ancient pain: + See!--still she is fair! nay, yet fairer! I gaze, as she pauses awhile + To draw a delicate glove on a hand that has toyed with mine. + Lo, from the perfect lip there dies the last shade of a smile, + A smile for the fool she has left, drunk with gaming and wine. + Alas! for that lip and that hand, and those heavy-fringed, amorous eyes. + Oh, the days of passion that were--the days I believed in thy sighs-- + The days when I loved thee so--as now, I hate and despise. + And, lo! I seek in vain to trace on thy mouth, in thine eyes, + A _little_ remorse, a _little_ of woman. Thou knowest well to hide + All feeling; but when awake, and thy lover sleeps by thy side, + Does a serpent gnaw at thy bosom, a shade chill thy heart? Is thy brow, + When thou sittest alone, as unruffled, as coldly tranquil as now? + ... Fool to ask! Heart she has not. Had she ever so little a one, + 'Twould have seared and wrinkled her beauty with thought of the ill + she has done. + + "She has gone! and I stand alone in the rainy, desolate street. + Is it famine or wine?--but never before did my heart so madly beat, + And this pain of my whirling brain: the keen, quick sense of my _Now_! + Unpitied--self-unpitying--I know my want is my guilt. + I feel no remorse for the past--the cup was wantonly spilt. + I do not want pity--I have _no_ contrition. Knowing all that I know, + Had I aught--why, then, that--and my life--and my soul--I'd stake + at a throw, + On the chance of winning once more sufficient to buy her kiss, + To buy the dear false smile--the sweet lies whispered low, + With the poisoned wine of her lips to drug the memories of this, + Till the lies seemed delicious truths.... + + "... I _will_ forget all that I know, + Oh, my love! and only remember how wondrously sweet thou art. + Ah, yes! Thou lovest me well; let me die in one long embrace. + Draw thee closer, yet closer. Let me feel thy breath on my face; + Let us forget all things save our love--yes, even till we die + In dreams of impossible joys, of more than human delight, + Each sweet, passionate secret wringing from love, you and I. + Through the mystical garden of Eros, hand in hand we will go, + Plucking the magical fruits that poison the human heart. + And what if they do? Why we care not! While we live let us live! + We have ate of the magical fruit; we are drunk, and can no more strive. + So hail, mad excesses of pleasure! In spite of cold virtue; in spite + Of Hell, let us know once again, _one_ hour as we used to know! + + "... But why art thou gone in the darkness?... A dream!... + My brain swims to-night. + Hunger may be, or madness.... Ah, this pain at my heart.... Let me go! + It is death ... death in the streets.... Well, I care not--it is + better so." + +"Very pretty indeed," said Susan to herself, when she had read this +poem; "very pretty, though I can't help thinking some of the ideas are +hardly original. I wonder if I am the heroine, if I am this lovely +'Fille de Marbre?' I'm afraid he's hit me off pretty well. Clever of +him; yet, after all, he must be the greater fool to stick to me if he +knows me so well. Yes, he is evidently beginning to understand me. I +must look out." + +She took the manuscript up again and re-read some of it. "Yes, my man! +you were certainly thinking of yourself when you wrote this," she +reflected; "you are just the weak, passionate fool described here. You +are going to the dogs pretty fast. Who knows that you too will not die +like a rat in the streets?" + +She glanced at the clock and started to see how late it was. "Where can +he be? I believe I am getting superstitious; sitting all alone in this +dark room is enough to give one the jumps; but somehow I can't help +feeling that there is something ominous in this ridiculous poem I have +been reading. 'Death, death in the streets.... Well, I care not; it is +better so.' Pooh! what nonsense! I am a fool," she shivered and looked +uneasily around the room; then she rose from her chair, and, drawing +aside the curtain, peered out of the window at the deserted court. +"Where can he be? He has never been late like this before. He has been +drinking like a madman for the last few days. Who knows?--perhaps he may +have foretold his own end in those verses. He may even now be dying.... +But this is sheer folly; he can look after himself. But I must get rid +of these blues. Ah! here is his beloved brandy bottle." + +With the aid of some spirits and water, she contrived to dispel her +nervousness. But still he did not come. She fidgeted about the rooms +vainly seeking something to amuse her. At intervals she would walk up to +the mirror, and contemplate the image of her face with a close scrutiny +to see how the wrinkles about her eyes were getting on--a common trick +of this unfortunate being, whose whole pleasure in life, whose every +interest hung on her youth and beauty, who was haunted by the perpetual +dread of age and ugliness. + +For six hours she waited in the chambers, but she would not go--she +would see the end of this. + +One o'clock boomed out in melancholy tones from the spire of St. +Clements, answered by Big Ben in the distance, and a dozen city +churches. A quarter of an hour afterwards there was a hurried rush of +someone up the stairs, then a long fumbling at the keyhole. + +She went to the door and opened it, and the aspect of her lover, as he +stood there with the light of the passage lamp falling on his distorted +features was so terrible, that she shrunk back in fear. + +"Don't be frightened, Edith, I won't hurt you--only drunk," and he +laughed discordantly as he pushed by her without further greeting, +without offering to kiss her, for which last omission she was thankful. + +He entered the sitting-room, threw himself into a chair by the table, +and buried his head in his hands, as he placed his elbows on the +wine-stained mahogany. + +What a contrast between this scene and one three years before! The +chambers were the same, though not so tidy as of old; then it was +summer. It was now winter, with no fire in the grate, and a cheerless +look about the place. Then there were two, a man and a woman together--a +man young, in the prime of life, happy, hopeful, and a girl of noble +instincts, and lovely as the young Aphrodite. Now it was the same man +but how changed, how fallen! and the woman was another--the evil genius +of the man, just as the first woman might have been his good genius. + +Susan stood by him for some minutes without speaking, too terrified to +bring out the nasty little speech she had meditated before he came in. + +At last she touched him on the shoulder. "Tommy, dear, you are ill." + +He raised his head and stared at her with a look in which there was no +recognition, and quite empty of its usual love, and said angrily, +"Ill--not at all--who the deuce are you?--where's the brandy?" + +He rose and walked to the cupboard, took out the decanter of brandy and +a tumbler, which he half-filled and drank off. + +"Oh, Tommy!" she cried, much alarmed and seizing him by the arm. "For +God's sake don't go on like this--go to bed--I will watch by you, love." + +He flung her from him, and glaring at her savagely and sullenly, cried, +"Love! love! what do you mean by calling me that? Who are you to use +that word? I have only got one love and she is dead. Ha! ha! and I +killed her--yes, killed her, do you hear that?" + +"No! no! darling," she exclaimed clasping him in her arms. "Look at me, +I am your love." + +"You!--not you--I don't know you--she was nothing like you--you are not +Mary." + +"Now dear, be quiet. Don't be so foolish; you are only putting on all +this to frighten me. You'll be sorry to-morrow that you have been so +unkind to your little sweetheart--when you come to your senses. Now +dear, do go to bed, and don't talk any more nonsense about your Mary." + +"Don't mention _her_ name!" he almost screamed. "Mary! Mary! O God! if +she could see me now--Mary--a saint not anything like you--Mary. She +died three years ago, here in these rooms--and I saw her ghost this +afternoon--I killed her--the only thing I loved, and I killed her--Oh! +oh!" + +"No dear, she is not dead--are you sure her name was Mary--was it not +Edith? Come think now--look at me, my poor old boy," and she pressed his +head to her bosom and stroked his hair softly with her hand, in the +hopes of soothing him somewhat. + +"Edith be damned!" he shouted at the top of his voice, as he threw her +off once more. "No, it was Mary.--Her name was Mary Grimm, and she is +dead! dead! dead!" + +"Mary Grimm!" said the woman in a low voice between her clenched +teeth--"did you say Mary Grimm?" + +"Yes, Mary Grimm--an angel whose name your mouth should not pollute by +mentioning." + +"Mr. Hudson, do you remember who I am?" + +"I do, I do. Do you think I don't see through your wicked heartless +wiles. I never loved you really. I was mad for a moment--a drunken +affection--blind with drink. I have only made a beast of myself with +you--but Mary!--Oh, I loved her, as no man ever loved before." + +The woman stood before him, very pale now, biting her lips to conceal +her malice and rage--she hated as well as despised this fool now. + +"What do you mean by saying such things--are you mad, man?" + +"I mean what I say." + +"Very good. You know a woman can never forget or forgive such words as +you have spoken to me." + +"I don't care a damn, if you don't!" cried Hudson. + +She took up her cloak and hat, stood for a few moments looking fixedly +at him, the very picture of intense hate, and hissed through her teeth, +"I leave you--madman! Idiot! You will have the horrors soon, and perhaps +then you will see faces more pitiless and loathsome than even mine--I +leave you to enjoy yourself with them. Good-bye, dear, good-bye!" and +she left his rooms. + +When she had got out of the gate at the top of Middle Temple Lane into +Fleet Street, she did not immediately leave the spot, but stood a few +moments considering her position. She knew the man she had left was on +the verge of a severe attack of delirium tremens. She thought it highly +probable that in his present condition he would not remain alone in his +chambers, but would soon be driven out by the fever within him once more +into the deserted streets. She would wait and watch his proceedings from +a safe distance. It would be amusing. So with this object in view she +crossed to the other side of the road and stood there. + +Her surmise was correct. She had not to wait many minutes. The gate +swung open, and the barrister staggered out. The porter looked out after +him for a few seconds, and then closed the door again. + +Hudson did not perceive her. A new mood was on him. He walked slowly +along Fleet Street westwards, his eyes turned to the ground. + +Suddenly a fantastic idea seized his ever-changing mind. He would go +down Devereux Court. He would look at the doorway in which he had first +found Mary Grimm. + +Susan Riley followed him afar off, like a vulture waiting till its prey +fall. + +At last he came to the dark doorway, and then followed a strange scene, +which the observer, not having the clue to it, merely set down to the +unreasoning frenzy of one mad with drink. + +The poor wretch sobbed aloud. He threw out his arms towards the door, +and kissed the panels against which the young girl had crouched in that +summer evening long ago. Then with a cry he cast himself on the ground +and kissed the stones on which her feet had trod. + +It often happens that when a mind is in the condition his was in then, +exalted by disease, it will for a moment become unnaturally clear and +acute, capable of suffering impossible to the sane. So there arose +suddenly to his crazed mind so vivid a vision of his past--of what might +have been--of what was, so terrible a contrast, that in his anguish and +despair he deliberately dashed his head violently three times against +the stone column of the house; then he rose up to his full height, the +blood streaming down his features, gazed wildly round for a few seconds, +and fell down on his face, insensible. + +Susan Riley, pale, calm, with a bitter smile on her mouth, watched all +this. Then she went to him, turned his face upwards, and gazed at it +with the same unmoved expression; that once noble face, now distorted, +hideous, with the locks steeped with blood lying on the brow, and the +red stream trickling over it. + +"Faugh!" she said to herself, "what a beast a man can make of himself!" +Then she deliberated for a short time what she should do next. + +Of a sudden, a triumphant smile broke out on her face; she laughed low: +"Oh, it is too good," she thought, "what a capital idea--what a scene we +will have!" + +She looked around her stealthily to see that no one was by; then she +drew a small hypodermic syringe from her pocket, and standing under the +lamp by the Temple gate carefully filled it from a bottle of +straw-coloured fluid. After another careful look up and down the two +streets, and at all the windows that commanded a view of the scene, she +approached the insensible man. She stooped down and bared his left arm, +then with one hand she took up a bit of the fleshy part of it, with the +other she pushed the fine tube under the skin, and slowly pressed down +the piston. + +She held it there for a few seconds, then withdrew it, and placed it +again in her pocket. + +"Number one!" she muttered to herself. "Ah, Mary! so quiet and yet so +sly; I shouldn't have thought it of you. You have robbed me of this +fool. I believe you are trying to rob me of that prig, Dr. Duncan. We +shall see, my girl, who wins in this game. I never liked you; now I hate +you, and that's bad for you. I flatter myself I'm a dangerous person to +make an enemy of--subtle and unscrupulous enough anyhow. Yes, Susie +dear, you are decidedly dangerous." + +Then she walked up to Fleet Street and found a policeman. She informed +him that there was a man who had been seized by a fit at the bottom of +the court. + +The policeman accompanied her to the spot, and examined the prostrate +form by the light of his bull's eye. + +"He's only drunk," he said at last. "He's fallen down and cut his face a +bit; nothing serious. We'll take him to the lock up." + +Susan stooped and pretended to feel the barrister's pulse. "Policeman," +she cried, "you must do nothing of the kind. He is not drunk, but +seriously ill. I am an hospital nurse, and understand this case. He +must be removed to the hospital at once, and without delay; do you +hear? It is a question of life and death! Get a cab and drive him to +the ---- hospital; it is my hospital. There will be a doctor in +attendance there who will save him, if any one can." + +The constable still hesitated; but when the sergeant came up her +earnestness overcame the doubts of both, and her advice was followed. + +She saw her lover carried off, and then she walked away to a lodging +where she was known, and where they would put her up for the night. She +was too excited to feel any fear for the consequences of her act as yet. +"Yes, it will be too delightful," she said to herself as she went along. +"I will send Miss Mary her old sweetheart." + +The barrister had not been so far from being the prophet of his own +fate, when he penned those verses to "La Fille de Marbre." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +SUSAN BRINGS MARY TO AN OLD LOVER. + + +On losing sight of the barrister, Dr. Duncan returned to the hospital, +hurried over certain professional duties which he could not neglect, and +then went off to Hudson's rooms in the Temple in the hope that his +friend had found his way home. He did not forget to take with him some +sedative drugs, which he knew the unfortunate man would most certainly +be in need of. + +He did not reach the Temple until three in the morning. + +On mounting the stairs he found both doors of the chambers wide open, +for Hudson had not thought of closing them after him when he rushed out +in his mad frenzy. + +The doctor entered the rooms; they were deserted. He looked around him +and saw the half empty brandy bottle on the table. The mirror over the +mantel-piece was broken, and fragments of the glass were lying on the +floor; the madman, after Susan had left him, seeing his own image in the +mirror, had mistaken it for some other person, and had thrown a chair at +it. The candle was still burning, a fact which proved to the doctor that +his friend had been in his chambers, since he left him outside the +Albion. + +Dr. Duncan went out, and on inquiring of the porter at the Middle Temple +gate learned that Hudson had left the Temple nearly two hours before. + +Alarmed for his friend's safety, he returned to the chambers, and passed +the rest of the night there, vainly waiting for him. + +Morning came, and he could stay no longer; he would be soon due at the +hospital, so he called on a barrister whom he knew to be a friend of +Hudson's, put the whole circumstances before him, and persuaded him to +watch for the return of the man to his chambers, and see that the proper +steps were taken for his safety. + +On going out, he found that he had still some little time to spare, and +it occurred to him that he would not walk directly to the hospital, but +take a road on which he thought he might probably meet Mary Grimm on her +way to the same destination. He knew it was about the hour that she +usually started from home. + +He had been very anxious to find an opportunity of speaking again to her +in private. He determined to discover what were her objections to +accepting his love, and whether they were really insuperable. + +He walked on, until he reached the street in which she lived without +encountering her; so he stood at the end of it, waiting till she came +out, his heart beating with excitement. + +He stood there several minutes, then looking at his watch he saw it was +later than he had imagined; and thinking that he must have missed her, +he was about to turn away sick at heart with disappointment, when +suddenly he perceived her well-known figure approaching him. + +When she saw him, her feelings were as strongly stirred as were his own, +and her face lost all its colour. + +They shook hands in silence, each conscious that the other was too +deeply moved for language. + +Then the doctor spoke words simple in themselves, and with a calm voice; +but yet they seemed to her to breathe forth all the passion that a human +being under that fiercest spell of love can feel. + +"I knew that you walked by this road to the hospital. I have come here +to meet you, Miss King." + +Mary answered nothing. He continued, "I have come to see you, to speak +to you. No, let us go this way," and he turned off into a road, which +was not the direct one to the hospital, but which led through the +neighbouring park, and was little frequented by pedestrians at that +early hour, so afforded opportunity for undisturbed conversation. + +They walked on side by side for some minutes without either speaking. + +"Mary!" then said the doctor--"you must let me call you Mary, even if I +am only to be your friend--I have so longed to see you by yourself, to +learn from your lips what my fate is to be!" + +The girl walked firmly on, but with downcast eyes, hardly seeing whither +she went, but guiding herself in some strange way by the consciousness +of the one who walked by her side. + +After a pause he continued: "Mary, you know that I love you. I must +know--you must tell me--if it is altogether impossible for you to return +that love." + +"Altogether impossible," she replied, in a scarcely audible voice. + +"Altogether!" he repeated after her in a dazed way. "Then I have nothing +more to live for. Oh, pardon me, Miss King! Why should I speak to you of +my happiness or misery? What a selfish being I am, even in my love for +you? And yet I do not think that it is altogether selfish. I know that I +would willingly endure endless misery if by that I could lighten your +burden, my child. Mine is a love that, be it selfish or unselfish, fills +my whole being. Oh, Mary! cannot you love me a little? I would so +endeavour to make your life a happy one." + +His voice was subdued, but full of profound tenderness, and it pierced +Mary's heart with a sharp pain. + +"I know it--I know it," she whispered; "but, oh! it is impossible, quite +impossible." + +They were now on a lonely path among the bushes of the park. They came +to a seat under a tree; Dr. Duncan sat down on it and Mary sat by him. + +"I cannot at all understand your meaning, Mary," he said sadly. + +"Oh why do you love me?" she cried in tones of anguish, "why do you love +me? Try and put me out of your heart. If you only knew my heart you +would do so at once." + +He looked at her for a few moments, then asked in despair, "Do you +dislike me?" + +"Dislike you!" and she raised her head and looked into his eyes as she +exclaimed the words. "Dislike you! How can I dislike you who are so kind +to me? Ah no! Dr. Duncan--it is not that; but have mercy on me--you are +torturing me. It can never be--never--never--I cannot love you. There is +something between us, something awful, and you must not ask me what it +is!" + +She looked so wildly as she spoke that the suspicion of insanity again +flashed across the doctor's mind, but he felt that whatever this burden +of hers might be, it could only increase the vehemence of his love by +deepening his pity. + +"Mary!" he said, "this love is too great a matter to be trifled with. We +must understand each other. Are you right in throwing this love of mine +away? Oh think! if you do love me--and I sometimes half believe you +do--is it right to allow this fearful something whatever it is to +separate us? Why, what should separate us? If you have any great sorrow, +if you are persecuted by any enemy, if there is any horrible secret that +torments you, so much the more reason that you should allow the one who +loves you, and whom you love, to help you, to defend you, and ward these +off. Mary! Mary! believe me, you said the other day that I should loathe +you did I know what this secret of yours was. Believe me, whatever it +was, I could do no less than feel for you the more, love you the more. +For heaven's sake, Mary! let nothing stand between us." + +She looked at him with a terrified air, and said, "And supposing that I +had committed some abominable crime--what then?" + +"What then? I should protect you, fold you to my arms, and help to +soften your bitter remorse into sweet repentance. I would share your +agony and delight in doing so. Whatever this secret is, it would but +deepen the sympathy between us. Oh, Mary! Love can cure every wound." + +"Oh, mercy!" she cried in tones of anguish. "Dr. Duncan! Dr. Duncan! do +not talk to me like this. I shall go mad if you do. I tell you again I +can never know love--never! never! I am the most miserable creature on +earth, and I cannot tell you why." + +He seized her arm in his passion, and said in a voice fierce and +tremulous: "Mary! Mary! this is all wrong. You are throwing away your +whole life's happiness for an utterly false idea. Oh, my sweet love, +tell me all! tell me all! I repeat from my heart, that nothing you could +possibly disclose can lessen my affection. Put the idea altogether out +of your mind that whatever you tell me can make any difference. Mary! +were you the lowest of creatures, I would love you all the more. It +would be all the sweeter to know that I had saved you. Whatever you are, +I am your lover, your slave. Ah, Mary! with such a love as ours will be, +we will be the happiest of people. In spite of anything that has been, +you will be all the world to me until death, Mary!--until death." + +The man had made the girl's heart thrill responsive to his own great +passion, and she could conceal this no longer. "Oh, spare me! spare me!" +she whispered. + +"Then you do love me," he exclaimed. + +She closed her eyes as she spoke in a dreamy voice. "Oh, spare me! this +will kill me. Oh, my love! for I do love you--as I can scarcely believe +woman ever loved man before--you don't know what you ask." + +He folded her in his arms and kissed her lips, but she turned from him, +and rising from the seat stood before him very pale, and trembling, +while the secret thoughts of her heart, that she would fain have hidden +for ever, but could not in that weak moment conceal, were revealed to +him in her passionate words. "Yes, I love you! I will die soon, so it +cannot matter much that I tell you this. I love you! but this must be +the last time I see you. We two cannot love each other--oh, that +I could tell you: and then be clasped in your arms and die there +straightaway--die in your arms dear!--for I cannot tell you and live. +Oh, how delicious it would be--oh, my love!" she clenched her fists and +looked up to the skies--"do not raise these visions of Paradise to +me--only to madden me with the contrast between them and what must +be--glimpses of Heaven through the black clouds of Hell." + +She paused and began to weep. + +Her lover stood by her with both her hands in his. + +He was about to say what little he could to comfort her, when she +snatched her hands from his and exclaimed, as she wiped her eyes with +her handkerchief, "Come away, let us go, Dr. Duncan. I can bear no more +of this." + +They walked along the path in silence for a few minutes, she with a +heart aching with its misery, he puzzled, not knowing what to make of +her behaviour, and feeling a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. + +At last he spoke, and there was a triumphant ring in his voice. "Mary, +you _shall_ be mine! We love each other. In that all-absorbing love we +will forget all your secret whatever it may be." He went on in fierce +accents, carried away by his passion. "Yes, Mary! in spite of crime, or +madness, or the power of hell, it shall be--Oh, my dear! my dear!..." + +At that moment Mary interrupted him with a slight exclamation, and at +the same time put her hand on his arm in order to draw his attention. + +He looked up and saw very inopportunely tripping towards them, with her +usual jaunty step, the plump figure of Susan Riley. + +This young lady's keen glance detected in the looks of the two lovers +that some serious conversation had been going on. + +"Good morning, doctor," she said as he lifted his hat and bowed. "Good +morning, Mary. Good gracious! how glum you look. You seem quite ill; +doesn't she, doctor? Why, what's the matter with you?" + +"I am perfectly well, thank you, Susan." + +"I think Miss King requires a change." + +"I have told her so," remarked Dr. Duncan. + +"By-the-bye, Mary!" exclaimed Susan, "something very curious has +happened which concerns you. An old friend of yours has been asking for +you." + +"An old friend of mine?" + +"Yes! and a gentleman, too; but I will not keep you in suspense. They +brought in a man suffering from delirium tremens last night, a very bad +case. He is a young man, and has the appearance of a gentleman. No one +knows who he is. He has no card on him: his linen is unmarked. Well, he +called out your name several times this morning." + +"My name!" + +"Yes; called out 'Mary Grimm!' 'Mary Grimm!' a dozen times, at least. +Now, yours is not such a common name, is it?" As she spoke the woman's +eyes twinkled with malice. + +Dr. Duncan looked from one to the other. What Susan had said puzzled and +disturbed him. Was this the clue to Mary's secret, he wondered. She +called her Mary Grimm, too; why _Grimm_? + +Mary divined his thoughts, and turning to him said simply, "I _was_ +called 'Grimm.' That was my real name, but when my aunt adopted me I +took her name." Then addressing Susan, "I cannot conceive who this poor +man can be, for I am not aware that I know any gentlemen, even by +sight, except the doctors and students at the hospital." + +Mary instinctively knew what suspicions were passing through her lover's +mind, but conscious of her innocence she spoke without exhibiting any +signs of confusion. His mind was much relieved by her words. "No, it is +not a man that is between us," he said to himself. + +Then suddenly he called to mind the adventures of the previous night. +"How old would you take this man to be?" he asked anxiously of Susan. + +"About thirty," was the reply. + +He quickened his pace unconsciously, and did not speak again till they +were at the gate of the hospital. + +Then he turned to Mary and said, "I will go and see this poor fellow +myself first; then I will come for you. You may be able to identify +him." + +The three entered the hospital together. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Duncan went into the private ward in which the man lay. He found him +asleep and breathing stertorously. Drugs had done their work for the +time. + +The nurse who was in attendance on him had left his bedside a few +minutes before, so the doctor was alone with the sick man. + +He approached the bed. It was as he expected. He recognised Hudson's +face at once, partly concealed though it was by the bandages that had +been placed on the wounds the barrister had inflicted on himself against +the stones of Devereux Court. + +He re-arranged the pillow of the insensible man, and then stood by him a +few moments, contemplating the altered features of his old +school-fellow. + +Dr. Duncan was anything but a religious man, but the idea came to him +then to do a thing which he had not perhaps done for several years. + +Recent circumstances had made the strong wilful man feel as a little +child again. He knelt down by the bedside of his friend and prayed for +him, or rather did something very like it; for his thoughts as he knelt +were not framed into distinct language. + +No _words_ came to his mind, but he was filled with a vague aspiration, +a sense of his own weakness, a consciousness of higher things, a +confident belief that the Universal Mercy would have a pity for his poor +friend infinitely greater than was even his own pity--a prayer without a +petition, without words, or even distinct ideas, but perchance a true +prayer for all that. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +IN THE LAND OF PHANTOMS. + + +When the barrister came to consciousness, he found himself lying in a +bed in an unfamiliar place, a small, light-coloured room, with only the +most indispensable articles of furniture in it. His brain was too +deranged by the effect of the poison to allow him to speculate where he +might be and how he got there. To think was agony, and sent his head +whirling round with a dizzy sickness and horror. + +His reason returned to him in fitful glimpses only, and then he realised +that he was in a room, in bed, and that people who were strangers to him +came in and out. But all around him was changing and indistinct and full +of confused noise, and the bed and room seemed to shake and heave +beneath him as if he were on some small craft tossing on a stormy sea. + +Then all the real faded away from his vision, and his mind set forth to +travel through a land of phantoms. + +The delusions of delirium vary much with the individual. The finer the +fabric of the mind, the more vivid, the less gross become the wandering +fancies; and all the learning and experiences and ideas of its past are +wrought by the disordered brain into long and complicated histories of +agony, all the store-house of the memory is ransacked for instruments of +torture. + +Again, it may have happened in his case that the poison administered by +Susan Riley in some way modified the effects of the alcohol; but, +whatever the cause, his delirium did not assume the form generally +produced by drink. He passed through a long series of strange and highly +imaginative dreams, all full of terrible and consistent adventures of +calamity; and the key-note of every one of these dreams was WOMAN. In +every one was some beautiful evil female form that tempted him on into +varieties of new and indescribably horrible ruin. The dominant idea, the +morbid bias of his mind, coloured each delusion. + + * * * * * + +A desolate coast in the extreme sad North; along the sea stretches a +narrow beach of black rocks; behind this tower huge mountains, bare of +any vegetation, cloven by black ravines streaked here and there with the +ghastly white snow. It is the region of eternal death, of endless winter +sprinkling daily snows to be the sport of the Arctic hurricane. + +A leaden-coloured sea moans incessantly on the dismal beach, and on it +sail fast to the southward, silently, great icebergs riven from the +mountains by the storms. And beyond the lea of the shore, the sea breaks +and shivers beneath the keen blast that sweeps down the dayless gorges +from the awful glaciers. And there is no horizon anywhere around, for +above is a sky of rolling clouds through which the sun never shines, and +the mists of the mountain-tops mingle with the clouds of the sky, and +so, too, does the sullen haze that lies on the grey sea. It is the +region of death--no life, no light, no love. + +On the black rocks between the mountains and the sea, a wretched man is +lying. The deadly cold wind blows through him, but he cannot die. It +seems to him that he has lain there for ages, and will lie there for +evermore, away from all things human; and there is not even so much as a +flower to comfort the castaway--no life, no light, no love. + +Of a sudden, a faint pink flush illumines the northern sky. + +Hope comes back doubtfully to his despairing soul. He raises himself on +his elbows, and looks with straining eyes up the icy north wind at the +new light. + +The rosy light deepens and collects into a form, first thin and vague as +a ghost, then gradually becoming distinct and solid. + +There is standing before him the figure of a woman, a gigantic woman, +whose head reaches to the clouds--a Titan. Her beauty is beyond the +beauty of earth. Her massive rosy limbs are more delicious than ever +Greek sculptor dreamt of, and her long, fair locks blow out all over the +heavens, crowning her head with a golden halo. + +Her lips are red and voluptuous, and pleasure sparkles in her eyes. + +She does not look down at the man, but gazes far away over the mountains +and the seas towards the South. + +A breath of hope thaws the despair in his soul. Life and light and love +are coming back to the regions of death. + +He lies there at her feet and looks up, and his spirit is filled with +the sense of her beauty. His soul is faint with an impossible love for +her, a love greater than the awe he feels in the presence of the +goddess. He lies prone on the ground and longs that her great white feet +may crush him, and that he may die at once. To be killed by her were +sweet! + +Oh, that he were not a pigmy! that he, too, were a god, and might become +fit mate of hers, might know her love! + +His desire, his intense aspiration reaches her. The Titan looks down +upon him with a smile whose meaning he cannot understand; then she +stoops and touches his heart with her hand. + +At that moment his wish commences to be realised. He feels that his body +is extending rapidly; his stature is becoming that of a god. + +But now a fantastic and horrible idea seizes him. As he grows larger and +larger, his senses, his consciousness, spreading through the mass, +dilute lessen. As he increases in bulk, vitality diminishes; the +numbness and coldness of death comes gradually on him. + +As his senses dim, the Titan woman fades away into mist, and all is +darkness. He can no longer hear the sound of the waves, and his body +still increases till it becomes as a vast mountain, the extremes of +which are so far off as to be almost out of sensation. + + * * * * * + +Possessed by this fearful delusion, mathematical calculations kept +running through the barrister's disordered brain--distracting sums ever +repeating themselves, and he could not shake them off. + +Life, the wild train of his reasoning ran on continually. "Life filling +one body--the body doubles in size--then the life is half as strong. Now +my body is three times as big--life is three times as weak--now five +times--six times--now a hundred times. Oh, this numbness is reaching my +heart! Oh, this horrible, horrible death!" and his frame shook and his +muscles were drawn up in hard knots, and great beads of sweat rolled +down his agonised features. + + * * * * * + +Then a hand that waited on him unseen took a cup in which some white +crystals had been dissolved and placed it to his lips. + +As his teeth rattled against it, he drank the draught fiercely, as if +for life, though he knew not what he did. + + * * * * * + +His delusions then became softer, even happy, as of one under the +influence of opium. + +He saw around him an immense landscape--plains and rivers and hills +spreading for hundreds of leagues beneath a blue sky--a nature bathed in +a pellucid atmosphere that lent all a beauty beyond earth. Scattered +over the plain were many cities, and by merely willing it he found +himself walking within any of them--strange, beautiful cities of bright +colour, whose banner-hung streets were thronged with processions of +people clad in a medieval costume. The quaintness of an olden time was +over all. + +All these processions tripped on to one tune, a tune to which they sang +a song in an unknown language--a song low, monotonous, sweet; and the +church bells rang out the same tune perpetually, and the very air shook +to it, and the trees waved to it, and so did the banners that hung from +the houses; and all his own words and thoughts ran on ever to the same +jingle without his power to prevent it. + +Then he turned off from the main into the side streets, tempted by the +glance of a white-faced woman with a face of marvellous beauty, +fascinating, yet ominous, with immovable, inscrutable expression of +features. + +Knowing that he was plunging into danger, horror, death, he yet followed +recklessly, led on by the magic of the woman. And from one side street +she would turn off at right angles into another, and from that to +another, and so on; and each street was narrower than the last and more +gloomy. The brightness and loveliness of the main thoroughfares was not +in these. There were no longer the gaily-dressed throngs and the harmony +of that universal tune; but these streets were silent, deserted, with +dark, moss-grown pavements, in which here and there were pools of black +water. The grim houses rose on either side storey upon storey of black, +hideous stones, ancient, rotten, crumbling with age; and each storey +overlapped the lower, till the upmost of either side of the street met, +high, high up, rickety structures of rotten wood from which black rags +flaunted. And for thirty feet or so up, there were no windows to these +houses--bare, leaning walls alone. After that were the windows, +irregular in size and in position, with wooden balconies running along +them carved into shapes of grinning monsters. + +As he advanced from narrower street to narrower, the silence and the +sense of impending horror intensified. And the woman brought him to a +crevice half-way up in a sort of battlement; a recess which seemed to be +her bower wherein to receive her lovers--a foul recess where was a pile +of bones, and where the dark mould was discoloured with soaking blood. +Then she stopped, turned and looked him in the face; for the first time +her features moved--relaxed into a smile, he fled shrieking. + + * * * * * + +Again in those horrible narrow stifling alleys, which became darker and +filthier as he went on; and though he met no one in them, yet he saw +that from each of the innumerable windows there looked out at him the +beautiful, melancholy, deadly-white face of a woman, with black eyes as +of a basilisk burning out of it. + +None of the women spoke, or moved, or beckoned, or looked glad or wroth. + +But he knew, as he passed by them, that they came down the stairs of +their houses behind him and followed him. He could not see them or hear +them, but he felt their terrible presence. They poured out behind him, +silent, invisible crowds ever increasing. + +He rushed on, but the streets were still ever narrower and loftier; oh, +the deadly fear that was on him, the desire to find escape to the broad, +bright streets again, and flee this horrible thing! + +But he could not--it was not to be--not broader but ever narrower were +the foul alleys that he hurried through. Would he never come out to the +light? Was he altogether cut off? Would he reach some blind alley and be +at the mercy of the pursuing crowd? + +At last the streets were so narrow that the houses altogether joined. He +found himself no longer on the stone pavements, but going through the +crazy houses themselves. He passed along old wooden corridors that shook +and crumbled beneath his tread, while below were black depths of rushing +water--open sewers whose filth was alive with fearful reptiles; then +along great galleries, and through rooms; door after door, yet no escape +for the phantom-pursued wretch. And the rooms were of all characters, +but all deserted and all terrible to the fancy. Now he was in a garret +with noisome walls, with their dirty paper torn, waving in a cold wind, +and hideous vermin crawling over it; now in a magnificent boudoir with +sofas of purple pile and great mirrors, and a thousand nicknacks +glittering with diamonds, a chamber heavy with voluptuous odours, fit +nest for some loveliest, young Hetaira or Cleopatra's self, but always +with some unspeakable loathsome thing in it; then into cellars, foul +charnel-houses strewed with bones--bones of men that a voice within him +told had been former victims of the horror, even as he should be--and so +on and on and on before the nameless terror, fleeing from the unseen +women that were ever noiselessly following. + +At last he felt a breath of fresh air on his cheek. O, God, was it +escape at last? + +No! No! He was at the end of an alley, but it terminated on the foul mud +of a river bank, a broad, dark river--no escape, and the crowd behind +neared--neared--they had surrounded him--seized him.... + + * * * * * + +Once more the precious crystals calmed the overwrought brain for awhile. + + * * * * * + +The mouth of a pit--a pit of endless depths of suffocating darkness, and +this darkness and the suffocating poisonous density of the air of it +increased with the depth. + +A pit of indefinite breadth, it might be a hundred miles or a hundred +yards or of no breadth at all, for it was in a realm beyond the limits +of space. + +In the middle of the pit--that is at an equal distance from the edges, +and on a level with them--the wretch was poised. + +He breathed labouriously--a difficult painful expiration, an agonising +inspiration; and as he breathed out the air he sank--sank into the +darkness of the pit--down into the suffocating darkness, into horror and +death. + +Then he gasped for life; drank the difficult thick air and rose again to +the surface; with each expiration sinking, with each inspiration rising +to the lighter air of the surface. + +There was present to him all the agony of the drowning with a horror +such as no death can give. But when he rose, he was not able to stay +above the pit long; for he could not hold his breath--after a few +minutes he was forced to breathe out--breathe out and sink down--down +into that unutterable horror. + +And the whole mouth of the pit was domed with a gigantic dome of +millions of human heads, grinning, laughing, jeering at the wretch; +mocking him that he could not stay on the surface but must breathe out +and sink again--the heads of beautiful, bad women, some that he +recognised as erst the companions of his orgies, the hideous heads too +of satyr-like old men, that shook with palsy as they grinned with lust, +in which he seemed to recognize his own distorted likeness; and heads of +horrible things not describable in the language of the sane world. + +So up and down he rose and fell between the grinning faces and the +suffocating darkness, each time weaker, more unable to fight upwards to +life, each time sinking deeper, staying longer in the stifling depths. + + * * * * * + +Once more the hand that ministered unseen, placed the glass to his +chattering teeth; the crystals again did their blessed work, and his +delirious fancy changed. He was in an old ivy-grown parsonage in a +pleasant, western village among hills and apple-orchards; a child once +more in his old home. He wandered up the valley, by the crystal +trout-streams, between the heathery hills; a child so glad, so pure, and +he wept bitterly for the very delight of the flowers and all the beauty +of the land, wept, though so simple and innocent; with a foreboding of +future sin and misery and vain, vain, regrets. + +Then the clouds darkened and gathered, and a girl walked towards him by +the river bank, a beautiful girl with golden hair and purple eyes, with +a great sorrow in her young face--and she passed, seeing him not, +turning not aside, though he stretched out his hands in passionate +yearning and pleading--but he could not step one step towards her, nor +could he cry out to her to stay, though he knew that she alone could +save him. + +Then another woman followed, beautiful also, but with the eyes of a +snake; and she saw him and looked into him till his heart chilled and +his veins tingled, but with a terrible fascination. To look at her, to +love her was death; but he would look and love notwithstanding, and die +with a laugh of joy on his lips. + + * * * * * + +"This is the poor wretch, Mary. He is asleep now. Do you think you can +recognize who it is?" + +It was Susan who spoke; she and Mary were standing alone by the bed-side +of the unconscious Hudson. + +Mary scanned his features closely--a look of pity on her face; but in +reply to the other's question, shook her head--she did not know him. + +"Yet from what he said this morning he evidently knows you," went on +Susan. + +"I cannot remember the face--and yet there is something in it"--Mary +said, doubtfully, as she paused to consider again the altered features. + +"I think I know what he is," interrupted Susan. "I made out from his +ravings that he was a barrister." + +"A barrister!" cried Mary, and she started back and her cheek blanched. +Yes! she knew him now. And was this poor wretch so changed, so degraded, +indeed the bright, young man who had first befriended her? + +"Oh, Susan, I know who it is now. Poor fellow! poor fellow! I have not +seen him for years--Then he was so different, so noble. Oh! what could +have caused this? He was my first friend in the world, when I had no +others and was sorely in need of one! Oh! what can I do? what can I do?" +and she wrung her hands with anguish. "Oh, Susan! if I had but known of +this." + +Susan interrupted her. "If you had but known you might have prevented +this. Yes! I dare say." + +"What did the doctor say, Susan? Will he recover?" + +"The doctor says the case is a bad one; but then the man is young, so +there is hope of recovery, unless--unless something happens to +complicate the mischief." + +So strange was the tone in which the woman uttered these last words, +that Mary turned round and looked at her, and felt a great terror creep +over her when she perceived the glitter in her eye and the sinister +smile about her mouth. + +Even a coward will become recklessly brave when possessed by some strong +passion. Susan was at heart a coward, yet she now did what she well knew +was an extremely imprudent thing. She could not control herself; her +malice overcame her fear of consequences. She so hated Mary, the girl +who she believed had robbed her of two lovers, that she could not resist +the dear temptation of torturing her, of watching her agony as she +played with her feelings like a cat with a mouse, though she was aware +how perilous the amusement was. So she went on with a voice that could +scarcely conceal her delightful sense of triumphant cruelty. + +"Now, Mary, listen carefully to what I am saying--I know who this old +lover of yours is. We of the Inner Six know everything. Nothing can +escape our vigilance--no treason especially"--and she looked earnestly +into the other eyes. "This Mr. Thomas Hudson--you see I know him--has +just come into a considerable fortune--poor fool, if he had but known +it! His uncle died two days ago. It's a pity you did not know that, is +it not, Mary?" + +"I don't know what you mean," exclaimed the girl, "and I don't +understand how you can speak in so heartless a manner. Has this man ever +done you any injury?" + +"That is not the question, my dear Mary," said the woman in bland tones. +"Now follow me carefully and don't interrupt. This Mr. Hudson, you see, +is now entitled to a large landed estate. Now Mr. Hudson may marry, may +have children, may leave tyrants after him to hold the people's land. We +should have to remove those children, should we not, Mary?" + +Mary made no reply, so Susan, after a pause, continued: "But, on the +other hand, if Mr. Hudson happened to die now, the estate would go to a +certain old gentleman who is over seventy. This old gentleman is +unmarried, and is hardly likely to beget children if he does marry; so +when he dies in his turn, there will be no descendant of his to take the +land, and so it will revert to the State--that is, unless he dies before +this new Landed Property Act is passed, and becomes law--an improbable +contingency; as next session of Parliament will certainly settle +that--you follow me, don't you, Mary?" + +Mary, scarcely knowing what she did, replied with an affirmative motion +of the head, but she said nothing. + +Susan proceeded: "Now, Mary, this is the question: which will be the +better plan, to put this Thomas Hudson out of the way now, and so secure +this property to the people by one stroke, or to wait till by-and-bye +and then contrive, not without much danger and difficulty, perhaps, to +put away his children? I consult you because I look on you as one of the +cleverest members of the Sisterhood. Let us have the benefit of your +opinion." + +The malicious woman never took her glittering eyes off the girl as she +said these words, and waited for an answer. + +But the girl only trembled, and turned deadly pale, staring at the other +with fixed dilated eyes. She could not speak, for she felt a strange +numbness creeping over her whole body, gradually intensifying, and +paralysing her every sense. + +Susan left her in suspense for a minute or so, gloating over the agony +of her rival, and then continued in a cold voice, calmer and more +deliberate than most women would employ when discussing how a gown was +to be made up, or some such equally important matter: + +"To me it seems absurd to miss such a glorious chance. What an +opportunity, too, of watching the working of Jane's poison! So I +have--look here, dear--" She raised one sleeve of the man's shirt, and +pointed to a small blue spot, surrounded by a slightly inflamed circle, +which stood out in contrast to the white flesh. + +Susan then looked up with a smile into the girl's face, but when she +perceived the expression on it, she felt frightened at what she had +done; for Mary was gazing straight in front of her with a fixed stupid +stare, as if not understanding what she heard or saw. Susan dropped the +man's arm and ran towards her, just in time to support her as she fell +fainting to the ground. + +Having now satisfied her malice, the cowardly element of the woman's +nature came to the front again. She shook with fear, and cursed her +folly at having told this thing to Mary; why, the girl in her hysterical +weakness, or in the delirium that might come of this shock, might easily +reveal the whole transaction. + +She laid Mary down on the floor, and stood staring at her without +rendering any assistance for a few minutes. In her fear, she had lost +all her presence of mind. Then somewhat recovering herself, she was +about to employ measures to bring the girl back to consciousness, when +her eyes happened to fall on the barrister. + +One of his eyes was covered by the bandage across his forehead, but the +other was open wide, staring fixedly at her out of the pale face, while +his swollen lips moved, as if trying to give utterance to words, but +unable to do so. + +The sudden sight of this, the suspicion that he had perhaps overheard +and understood all that she had revealed to Mary, completely unnerved +her, and in the shock of the moment she screamed aloud, so that Dr. +Duncan and one or two others hearing the cry ran into the ward. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +SUSAN GOES TO CHURCH. + + +The doctor soon discovered that Mary's was no mere passing fainting-fit. +The girl was evidently seriously ill, the symptoms being those of acute +brain fever. + +Her nervous system had for a considerable time been dangerously +overstrained by the mental agony resulting from the conflict between her +love, and what she considered her duty; so that even without the final +shock described in the previous chapter, she would have most certainly +succumbed in time. + +She was put to bed in a room by herself, and a messenger was sent to +Mrs. King to acquaint her with the illness of her niece. + +Susan Riley was now terrified at all the mischief she had caused. She +was beside herself with fear. For the time, out of her many interesting +qualities, cowardice became the dominant one; voluptuousness and cruelty +slumbered a while. + +She felt she was between two great perils. On one side was the +barrister, who at any moment might recover his reason sufficiently to +accuse her of his murder, on the other side was Mary, who might divulge +everything in her delirium. A slight accident might send her to the +gallows. She was tortured by the dread and the suspense. + +She could not attend to her duties properly that day, but wandered about +in a distracted objectless way, at short intervals taking glimpses into +the two wards where her victims lay, but carefully avoiding being seen +by them. + +In the evening Dr. Duncan contrived to meet her alone on the balcony +that surrounded the hospital. + +"You look very ill, Miss Riley," he observed. + +"I am," she replied hastily. "I am worried about Mary." + +All her old flippant manner had departed. She was evidently much +concerned about her friend's illness. "She has a heart after all," +thought the doctor. + +"I wanted to speak to you about Miss King," he said; "I have not clearly +understood from you yet why or how she fainted. Did she recognize the +man?" + +"I don't know," replied Susan, hap-hazard, and not considering what she +was saying. "I don't think her fainting had much to do with seeing him +in any case. She has been very ill for some time." + +The doctor nodded his head as in acquiescence to this view. "Yes!" he +reflected, "it must be so; the mere sight of poor Hudson, even if she +has known him at some time, would not have been a sufficient cause by +itself." + +He remembered, too, how on the previous day Mary had stated that she had +no male acquaintances, save those connected with the hospital. He loved +her too well to mistrust her. He knew she would not deceive him, so the +fact of Hudson's having called out her name in his delirium gave him no +uneasiness. + +"What do you think is the matter with her, Dr. Duncan?" asked Susan +timidly. + +"I am afraid it is brain fever," was the reply. + +"Is she delirious?" she asked anxiously. + +"Not at this moment, but she doubtlessly will be." + +"I will go and see her, Dr. Duncan." + + * * * * * + +Susan was exceedingly anxious that she alone should sit by the bedside +of the sufferer, and overhear her ravings. She begged so earnestly for +this that she was allowed to have the special nursing of Mary. + +Her behaviour on this occasion quite won her the esteem of Dr. Duncan, +who naturally could not divine the real motives of her anxiety for her +friend. She was so untiring in her attention, so jealous of anyone else +relieving her, and was so evidently upset by the critical condition of +the girl, that the doctor could not but put it all down to a real +affection. He came to the conclusion that he had greatly misjudged this +woman, and he began to entertain a respect and liking for her. + +Susan was indeed too anxious, and her health began to suffer in +consequence. She did her best to conceal her nervous state; but at last +it was so patent that Dr. Duncan, in spite of her protestations, +insisted on her abandoning her work of love (or rather of fear), and +ordered her away for a holiday. + +She seemed almost heartbroken at having to part from her friend, and the +doctor was more surprised than ever to find that the frivolous woman +could exhibit so much devotion. + +So within a fortnight from the commencement of Mary's illness, Susan, +prostrated by sheer terror, and with her nerves thoroughly unstrung, +went down to a little sea-side village by herself, to recover her +strength. + +And even there she ate out her heart with that perpetual fear. She was +no longer the same woman. She did not flirt with men. She avoided her +fellow-beings. When indoors she would sit brooding, with knit brows, +starting and trembling at every noise. When out of doors she would +wander up and down unfrequented portions of the beach, pale and haggard, +and make a long circuit when she saw anyone in the distance, were it +only a fishing-lad, so as not to pass within recognisable distance of +him. + +For a strange thing had come to Susan Riley. It will be remembered how +she explained to Mary, in the course of a conversation, that the +experience of all Nihilists was as follows: They suffered from the +horrors _before_ committing the deed. They were wont to fear that, as +soon as their hands were red with a first murder, some frightful bogie, +some maddening remorse, worse than anything imaginable before, would +leap up and seize them; but as soon as they _had_ committed the deed, +they were so agreeably surprised to find that this dreaded bogie did not +appear, that a delightful reaction would at once set in, they became mad +with joy. "As soon as you have killed your first baby," she told Mary, +"your horrors will all go. You will experience immediate relief. It's +like having a tooth out." + +But now Susan, in her own person, found this process altogether +reversed. + +She had felt no compunction, no horror, before the deed. She had +murdered her lover, the barrister, with a light heart. But, lo! now that +she _had_ done the deed, she was haunted by the terror--the avenging +Furies never left her. She was consumed by a perpetual and awful fear. + +She would start out of her disturbed sleep, twenty times in a night, to +see distinctly before her the disfigured face of her victim, looking +into her very soul, even as he had looked that last time in the hospital +ward, with his one unbandaged eye. + +In her first panic she thought of leaving the country and concealing +herself in some foreign town. But she soon perceived that this would be +a most imprudent step. The chances were, after all, that her crime would +not come to light. Even if Mary or the barrister did accuse her, it +would be better for her to remain at home and brazen it out than to +invite suspicion by flight. + +Besides, she remembered that though it might be comparatively easy to +hide herself from the justice of the law with its clumsy machinery, it +would be altogether impossible to escape from the vengeance of the +secret societies. + +She knew that, if Mary accused her of murdering the barrister--if the +Sisters discovered that she had made use of the secret of the society to +satisfy her own private malice--her fate was sealed. + +She knew how the Nihilist societies all over the world were connected +with each other. She knew that wherever she might hide herself, she +would be hunted down and executed by their agents: first, because death +was the punishment always awarded to one who prostituted the methods of +the societies to work his own private ends; and secondly, because the +Sisterhood would decree her removal in their own defence, so as to +anticipate the law, and obviate all chance of her betraying them, did +the police succeed in tracking and arresting her. She saw clearly that +flight was worse than useless, so remained where she was. + +Dr. Duncan had promised to write to her every day and report the +progress of Mary's illness. + +On one fine Sunday morning, a few days after her arrival at the +sea-side, she received a letter from him, which considerably allayed her +fears for the time. She felt almost cheerful after reading it, and ate +her breakfast with some semblance of appetite, to the delight of her +landlady, a sympathetic soul, who pitied and took great interest in her +sick lodger. + +For in the letter occurred the following passage: + +"That poor Mr. Hudson died this morning. His constitution seemed unable +to rally after his last attack. He never spoke a single word since you +saw him last. He became totally paralysed. His case, indeed, was a very +unusual one in some respects." + +"Ah, then, she was safe," she said to herself. "He was dead--had died +without revealing anything--there could not be produced a tittle of +evidence against her now--he would be buried by this time--even if they +dug him up again," she chuckled to herself. "No examination could betray +her work. The poison of the Sisterhood was too subtle." + +Again, even if Mary disclosed what she knew, who would believe her? Her +story would be put down as the delusion of a madwoman. Yes! she was safe +now. + +She felt then quite her own self again, and was so full of will joy, +that she must needs put on her bonnet and start out for a long walk +across the sands--she was too jolly to be still. + +"Take care now, Missy, take care," said the motherly old landlady in a +warning tone as she observed her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. "You +have had good news in that letter, but that doesn't make you strong and +well all of a sudden, though you feel so just now. Don't go and tire +yourself, or you'll be as bad as ever again to-night." + +"Nonsense!" replied Susan impatiently as she tripped merrily down the +stairs. + +As she walked down the village street, she met all the people going to +church, and being a stranger she was naturally thoroughly inspected and +criticised. She soon noticed this, and fear having been driven away, up +came her old vanity again, and she ogled the men unmercifully. + +An idea struck her, she too would go to church. It was the proper thing +to do in the country--besides, it might afford her an opportunity of +captivating some young squire or other local grandee. + +"What a lark!" she said to herself. "Fancy _my_ going to church." + +She entered the church, and was placed by an old gentleman, who acted as +pew-opener, in an empty pew which was in a very prominent position. + +Once there, all her pluck and gladness seemed to run out of her finger +ends again quite suddenly. + +Her old landlady was right. The letter had only produced a temporary +relief, a reaction all the more quickly fleeting, that it was so +intense. The Furies had not left her yet. + +It was a strange sensation that came over her. The silence of the church +before the service commenced, the number of quiet faces--faces that had +assumed that look of solemn misery which the rustic considers proper to +the sacredness of the day and place--seemed to mesmerize her. A sense of +vague terror crept over her, her nerves were strung to breaking. It was +as if some explosion, something horrible, was about to happen at any +moment. + +The wretched woman was on a rack of mental agony and suspense. She could +not move and leave the church; she was held there by the mesmeric gaze +of all those quiet faces, which she believed was concentrated on +herself. + +Everything that occurred through that awful hour was as a separate stab. +And all was so deliberate too, so cruelly deliberate. + +The old clergyman mounted slowly into his pulpit, and putting on his +spectacles deliberately, looked at her for a moment or two. It was +horrible! + +Then commenced the slow, deliberate, monotonous words of the service, +each an instrument of torture. She rose, and sat, and knelt, without +knowing what she did, with the other people. + +At last came the dreary intoning of the ten commandments. + +On hearing the first, she suddenly remembered that there was another +further on, the sixth, which said, "_Thou shalt do no murder_." She felt +as if her face must express her guilt, when these words were drawled +out. She would be betrayed to all those people. + +She waited for it without breathing. Her heart seemed to stop. She +thought she would die when it came. + +One by one the commandments seemed to boom out in her ears like some +distant death-knell. + +Slowly the last words of the fifth were uttered by the sleepy old +clergyman. He actually paused before the sixth to adjust his spectacles. +"Oh! it was done on purpose," she thought. "They knew all!" She could +not suppress a low groan, and then a dark veil seemed to fall over her +eyes. + +"_Thou--shalt--do--no--murder._" + +Her head swam, a great roaring sound filled her ears, but still louder, +above it, rang out those awful words. + + * * * * * + +"A sort of epileptic fit," said the village doctor rather vaguely to the +squire as he met him at the church door after the service. "Poor thing! +I wonder who she is. We took her home to her lodgings. It seems she's +been here about two weeks. The landlady says she's been very strange and +in low spirits till to-day, when a letter cheered her up. There's the +danger of sudden reaction and excitement, you see," rubbing his hands +and winking with one eye in a knowing way at the squire, who himself was +a choleric man, with a tendency to apoplexy. + +Endowed with a vigorous constitution, she soon recovered from the +effects of the seizure, whatever it was. + +But she could not shake off the terror. The Furies would not let her go. + +She felt that she must go mad if this continued. She even contemplated +suicide. + +Then she took to opium, and was never without a bottle of laudanum in +her pocket, from which she would take frequent sips. + +Yet she _knew_ that she was quite safe. She tried to prove this to +herself. She tried to laugh away her senseless fears, but it was no +good. The horrors will not give way to logic. + +Though human law could not punish her, she suffered enough in all +conscience to satisfy those strictest lovers of retributive justice who +would require even more than a tooth for a tooth. + +A month of this condition robbed her of a considerable portion of her +beauty. Her peachy complexion was no more; her cheeks were sunken and +sallow; and the crows' feet about her eyes were as those of a woman +twice her age. + +Curiously enough, it was the very loss of beauty which at last brought +about her recovery, and prevented her from becoming a hopeless lunatic. + +The horror had to battle with a formidable foe--vanity, and, indeed, had +ultimately to retreat before it. + +Her great dread of age and ugliness saved her. + +She observed the fast deepening wrinkles, the fading roses, and felt +greatly alarmed. "This must not be allowed to go on," she thought. "I +must live more healthily. I must get calmer, or all my beauty will go." + +So now she had another idea, though it was an unpleasant one, to occupy +her thoughts. + +The horror did not now altogether absorb her mind--one terror distracted +her attention from the other. Thus monomania was averted. + +It is better to be possessed by two or even a legion of devils than by +one alone. + +So, gradually, she became something like her old self again, but not +quite so. She had lost a good deal of her nerve, and could not +altogether abandon her laudanum drinking. The horror faded away, but the +wrinkles would not. She could not smooth those crows' feet out. Her +cheeks resumed their roundness, but not all their purity of complexion. + +This soured her temper. Her old jovial flippancy, objectionable though +it was, gave way to a still more objectionable cynical ill-humour, which +made her hurt the feelings of others whenever possible. She could not +help revealing this at times even to the men she wished to fascinate. +She made a practice of saying very nasty things on all occasions, and +became a very disagreeable person generally. + +She never returned to the hospital to resume her duties as nurse, but +when she was fairly recovered from her strange illness, she went up to +London, reported herself to the Secret Society, and threw herself with a +zeal she had never displayed before into its machinations. With +congenial villainy and occasional laudanum, she hoped to drown thought +and so recover her lost beauty. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A DARKENED MIND. + + +As soon as Catherine King heard of Mary's illness, she hurried to the +hospital in her great anxiety. She loved the girl with the intensity +which characterised all her passions--loved her far more dearly than her +own life and happiness--almost as much as she loved the "cause" itself. + +Pale and trembling with fear for her darling, the usually cold, stern +woman appeared before Dr. Duncan. + +"Let me see her," she said, in a choking voice. + +"Dear Mrs. King," he replied, "I think it will be better for her if you +do not see her just yet. Sit down and I will tell you all about her. +Pray do not alarm yourself." + +"Is it dangerous?" she interrupted in the same tones, seemingly not +having heard what he said. + +"We cannot tell yet; she has received a severe shock. It may prove to be +merely a passing attack, or it may be--" + +"May be what?" + +"Brain fever." + +Catherine looked down on the ground, and thought a little before she +spoke again. "You say she received a shock. Who gave her a shock?--what +was it?--who was it?" and the look of a wild beast that has been robbed +of its young came into her eyes, as she waited for his answer. + +The doctor knew that she could easily acquire the information from +other sources, so thought it best to tell her all that had occurred at +once. + +"The poor girl has appeared to me to have been unwell for some time, +Mrs. King--to have had something on her mind, some great worry that has +been destroying her peace and undermining her health." + +"Oh, yes! I know all about that," exclaimed Catherine, impatiently; "but +the _shock_--what do you mean by that?" + +"The shock would not have affected her in the way it did, if she had not +been in the unstrung condition I speak of, Mrs. King." Then he told her +how a patient suffering from delirium tremens had been brought into the +hospital, how his attendants had heard him call out the name of Mary +Grimm several times in his delirium, how Mary had been brought into his +ward to see if she could identify him, and how she had fainted away on +seeing him. + +After he had completed his narrative, Catherine rose from the chair and +paced up and down the room several times, a deep frown on her brow. Then +she stopped, and facing the doctor commenced to question him in a calm +but abrupt manner. + +"_Did_ she recognise him?" + +"I don't know; she is not in a state to explain anything yet." + +"Was anybody by when she saw him?" + +"Yes, one of our nurses--a Miss Riley." + +"Ah!" + +After a pause she spoke again: + +"Then the man has not been identified." + +"Oh yes, he has! I recognised him. He is a barrister; his name is +Hudson." + +Catherine turned her face away that the doctor might not read the +terrible expression that had come to it, and which she could not hide. +She asked one more question: + +"You say he was heard to call out the name of Mary Grimm several +times--who heard him?" + +"I believe it was Miss Riley." + +"Ah!" + +Any man who has ever been possessed by a mad love for a woman, and +suddenly has certain proof brought before him that she has deceived him, +that there is another man whom she loves as she never loved him, can to +some extent realise what were the feelings of Catherine King, as she +listened to the doctor's narrative. + +For the love she felt for Mary was of a kind not very uncommon among +women, especially when one of the two is of a more masculine nature than +the other. It was as the deep tender love of a strong man for a weak +timid girl. It was a love accompanied by passionate jealousy. This demon +of jealousy now possessed Catherine. She choked with rage and vexation. +"What!" she reflected, "this man, this miserable drunkard, has robbed me +of Mary's affections! The gross ingratitude of the girl too, and her +deceit!" She remembered Mary's story about the barrister's kindness to +her when she first ran away from home. Doubtlessly she had been holding +clandestine meetings ever since. This accounted for the treacherous +girl's melancholy of late. + +As all these thoughts and erroneous though not unnatural suspicions +flashed across her brain, she felt so bitter a hatred against the viper +she had cherished to her breast, that she could have choked her there +and then; but she concealed these emotions as much as possible, and said +to the doctor in a calm voice: + +"Let me see this man." + +A jealous curiosity seized her to discover what this rival of hers was +like. + +"Certainly! you may see him if you wish to do so," Dr. Duncan replied; +and he took her into the special ward where Hudson was lying, insensible +just then, enjoying a respite between the horrible visions. + +She stood by the bed and looked at the miserable man with an expression +of indescribable loathing and hatred which she could not conceal. The +doctor observed it. + +"Will he live?" she asked turning suddenly to him. + +"I think so. It is a bad attack; but then he is a comparatively young +man," he replied. + +She turned away from the bed with a gesture of disgust. + +"Take me out, doctor. I won't see Mary to-day, as you think it better +for her to be quiet. Besides, I don't feel well; I am rather dizzy, I +should like a glass of water, if you please." + +After her glass of water, she left the hospital and walked home rapidly, +as miserable, as savage, as all the pangs of jealousy could make her. + +For several days she endeavoured to come to some resolution concerning +Mary. To love, perhaps to marry this barrister, must of course +altogether cut the girl off from the Secret Society. Why, there was but +one thing to do--Mary must be removed, must be killed. Yes, Mary, the +only thing that she loved must be killed--she was a traitor to the +Cause! + +Catherine's mind was distraught by the conflicting passions her +discovery had excited in her. + +She nearly went mad with them. + +At one moment she felt that she hated Mary with the greatest of hates, +that she could laugh to see her suffer and die before her sight; at +another moment, the woman would lie on her solitary bed moaning in +despair over her lost love. + +And even when her mind was calmer, it was so miserable to sit in the +dark little parlour all alone; there was no Mary there now to caress and +converse with. + +One day she collected all the girl's little effects, her work-box, her +two or three books, and after kissing them each passionately a dozen +times, put them away together in a cupboard in her own bed-room, where +she could visit and kiss them again privately at intervals. + +But the next day, the remembrance of the girl's perfidy, of her love for +a man, so excited her jealous hatred again, that she turned all the +treasures out of the cupboard, tore them up and threw them in the fire, +feeling a grim satisfaction in so doing. + +But an hour after she repented again with moans and tears for what she +had done. + +She felt as if she had been tearing her own heart strings out. She hated +herself for her cruelty in having destroyed all her darling's little +favourite things. + +The ruthless Nihilist, in short, acted generally in much the same silly +fashion as the greenest school-girl would have acted under similar +circumstances. + +Dr. Duncan was very surprised to find that day after day passed, and yet +Catherine King did not call at the hospital to make inquiries about her +niece. + +At last he wrote to her. He informed her that Mary's illness had taken +the form of brain fever, but that she would in all probability recover. +He also incidentally conveyed to her the same bit of news which had so +relieved the fears of Susan Riley--the death of the barrister. + +This letter caused a revulsion in the woman's feelings and greatly +excited her. She started for the hospital as soon as she received it, +and on arriving there asked for Dr. Duncan. + +She was shown into a waiting-room and the doctor soon appeared. + +"Well, doctor, so she is much better?" + +"Not exactly that, Mrs. King, but progressing favourably." + +"Can I see her?" + +"I think she is asleep. Sleep of course is of the greatest importance +just now, but I think if you desire it you might see her without +disturbing her." + +"Is she in her right mind? can she recognize people?" + +"Hardly yet; the fever is still on her, but she does not exhibit much +delirium." + +"So the 'shock' is dead?" + +"The unfortunate Mr. Hudson, if that is what you mean, is dead, but I +don't consider the shock of seeing him was the real cause of your +niece's illness. It would have come sooner or later without that." + +"Indeed! Then what do you consider was the cause, Dr. Duncan?" + +"As I told you the last time you were here, Mrs. King, there is +something on her mind." + +"There is," said Catherine, "and I think I know what it is." She spoke +irritably, as the thought of the love which she imagined existed between +Mary and the barrister rose to her mind. + +"And until that something is taken off her mind she will never recover," +continued the doctor. + +"The something is gone now, Dr. Duncan," she said, looking straight into +his eyes. + +"I hope that is so," he replied doubtfully. + +"What a fool the man must be not to understand me," thought Catherine; +but the doctor had very good reasons to know that it was not love for +Tom Hudson that weighed on the young girl's mind. + +"Well! let us go and see Mary now," she said. + +The girl had been placed in a small private room by herself. When they +came to it the door was opened by the nurse who was in charge of the +patient. + +Catherine looked keenly at the young woman, then turning to Dr. Duncan, +exclaimed: + +"I thought you told me the other day that Miss Riley was nursing my +niece." + +"She has been nursing her," replied the doctor, "but we have sent her +away for a holiday. She has been much overworked lately, and is far from +well." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Catherine. + +"Yes, she is not at all well, and her anxiety about your niece, who is a +great friend of hers, seems to have upset her very much." + +This information very much puzzled Catherine. "Susan is not the person +to get overworked and ill," she reflected, "and still less the person to +get anxious about a friend, and she's gone off without giving me any +notice. There is some mystery in all this, but I will get to the bottom +of it." + +She entered the room and walked softly up to the side of the bed. + +The room was darkened, but there was sufficient light to enable her to +clearly distinguish the features of the sick girl. + +Mary was lying there sleeping peacefully. She had been in this condition +for some hours. It was the first natural and refreshing sleep that had +come to her fevered brain since her attack. Nature was working her +remedy in her own fashion. + +Catherine stooped and looked intently at the quiet face. She saw that it +was pinched and white and that a circle of dark purple surrounded the +closed eyelids. + +She also noticed how thin had become the arm on which the head was +lying, the poor head off which all the beautiful hair had been shorn +close. + +But there was a happy smile on the half-parted lips of the sleeping +girl, her dreams were sweet. + +Catherine looked at her for several minutes without moving or speaking. + +All her anger and jealousy melted away now, before her great pity and +her great love. She asked herself reproachfully how she could have +harboured one hard thought about her darling. The poor child could not +help loving the man who had befriended her, and now he was dead. It was +all the more incumbent on herself to cherish and console the poor girl +in her affliction. + +At last she made a sign to the doctor that she was ready to go, and they +left the room with silent tread. + +She did not speak till they were once more in the waiting-room, then she +asked, simply: + +"How often may I see her?" + +"Every day," he replied. + +"Then I will come every day, and oh, Dr. Duncan!"--she seized his hand +passionately--"I can see you are a good man. She is all the world to me. +Do your best to make her well again, spare no pains, I implore you! But +of course you will do all that; pardon my folly, but I love her so much, +I forget what I am saying." + +"You can rely on me to do my best I think, Mrs. King," he replied, as he +pressed her hand. + +So Catherine came every day to the hospital, sitting by and ministering +to the sick girl when she happened to be awake, or if that was not the +case, contenting herself with one long, yearning look at her sleeping +form. + +The fever left Mary in a very weak and precarious condition. + +Her reason did not wholly return to her. Her memory of everything that +had passed was very imperfect, and came only in flashes. She seemed to +have forgotten all about the Secret Society. She had no remembrance of +having stood by the barrister's death-bed and heard Susan's cold-blooded +confession. She even could only recognize in a vague way the friends she +had known before her illness. + +But all that occurred around her during her convalescence was written +indelibly on her memory. She did not forget the slightest incident. + +So, as all that did occur around her at this period, as all her +experiences consisted merely of the kind attentions of her friends, +doctors, and nurses, her mind was occupied entirely by the consciousness +of all this sympathetic care. A sense of boundless gratitude possessed +her; it was the one idea or emotion of the poor feeble intellect. + +It moved to tears the most callous of her nurses, hardened to pitiful +sights, to see how grateful the girl was for every little attention. In +an imbecile way, she would fondle and stroke with her thin hand anyone +who performed some slight service for her. Her eyes swam with love as +they followed the movements of all those kind people. All the passions +and sorrows and fears seemed to have departed from the weakened mind, +leaving only this gentle love. + +Sometimes, but rarely, her expression would suddenly change; a look of +terror would come to her eyes; she would start up in her bed, staring +wildly and pointing at some imaginary object. It seemed to always assume +the same form; for she would cry whenever it appeared to her: "Oh! there +is the shadow again--the black shadow!" or words to the same effect. + +For days after one of these attacks, she would be silent and sullen, and +pay no heed whatever to the events and people around her. + +Dr. Duncan noticed that these painful relapses would nearly always +originate when Catherine King was by her. Mary seemed to be fonder of +her adopted aunt than of any other of the people that she saw. She would +shower her caresses on her as she would on no one else, though she only +half recognized the woman as one who had known her and been kind to her +before her illness. + +But it happened sometimes that she would gaze fixedly into the stern, +pale face, as if trying to recall to mind some forgotten association; +she would look puzzled, draw her hand across her forehead, turn her eyes +away with a sad and pensive expression, and at last be seized by the +imaginary horror of the shadow that I have described. + +Sometimes, too, the sight of Dr. Duncan seemed to awake in her some +dormant memories; but in this case, after gazing at him in the same +earnest, puzzled way, not a look of horror but a wonderful smile of love +would come to her face; and she would stroke his hand caressingly, in a +simple, artless fashion, making the strong man himself feel as if he +could scarce prevent himself from bursting into passionate tears over +her. + +But Catherine King, led off the scent by the episode of Tom Hudson, +never for a moment suspected that any tender relations had existed +between Mary and Dr. Duncan, though she was rather surprised on one +occasion to hear the crazy girl--who was in one of her affectionate +moods--call him "Harry," which, by the way, she had never done when in +her right senses. + +Seeing how Mrs. King's presence occasionally produced an injurious +effect on his patient, Dr. Duncan persuaded her to diminish the +frequency of her visits. + +Mary's strength gradually returned, till at last, after she had been +laid up for two months, it was decided that she could leave the hospital +with safety. + +So one afternoon, Dr. Duncan called on Mrs. King to inform her of this, +and was shown into the little parlour where the heads of the Secret +Society were wont to hold their councils. + +As he waited for her to come into the room, he picked up a book from the +table and read a page or two of it to while away the time. It was a +pamphlet on some social question published by the "Free Thought +Association." He threw it down in disgust. "Yes! I must get Mary out of +this house," he said to himself. "This is no fit place for her." + +As soon as Catherine came in, he communicated to her the object of his +visit. + +"Mrs. King, I have brought you some good news. Your niece is now so much +better that I think we ought to get her out of town as soon as we can. +That is all she wants now. She will quickly recover her health in the +country." + +Catherine's face brightened up with the great joy she felt; she had been +so eagerly looking forward to the time when she should have her darling +all to herself again. + +"I am so glad to hear this, Dr. Duncan," she said. "It is very kind of +you to bring this news to me in person. I will take her to the sea-side +without delay. When do you think she could start?" + +"Very soon. But, Mrs. King, if you have no place in view to which you +would like to take her, I have a suggestion to make. The sea-side is +very well if you have really good lodgings; but, as a rule, you can't +get the care and cooking in sea-side lodgings that I should like Miss +King to have. It will not do to risk anything with her at present. Now +my sister, who is a widow with two little children, lives in a cottage +near Farnham, in the prettiest and healthiest part of Surrey. I have +talked to her on the subject, and she would be so pleased if Mary would +pay her a visit. She would get pure air and good country food there. I +believe it would do her a great deal of good, far more so, indeed, than +going to some strange lodging in a sea-side place. She would have +pleasant society there, too, and I know that she and my sister would get +on well together. Farnham is only about an hour from London, so you +could easily run down and see her, and stay a few days occasionally. +Now, Mrs. King, let me persuade you, as you love your niece, to agree to +this." + +Catherine first frowned, then the picture of that poor thin face rose to +her mind. + +"It would do her good, you think?" + +"I am sure of it, and I have yet another reason for her going down +there: after attacks like those your niece has suffered from, it is +often advisable to change all the associations of the patient for a +time. It is better, sometimes, that there should be a complete +separation from old intimates, especially relatives I think it would be +unwise if you lived entirely with Miss King for the present. To see her +occasionally, though, would of course do her good." + +The woman was grievously disappointed, but she said: + +"Yes, I have heard that. It is hard for me to be separated from Mary; +but I know it will be good for her. I will accept this kind offer of +yours. You are a good man, Dr. Duncan," she added, as he rose to shake +hands with her before going. "I am very grateful to you; and what is +more, I admire and respect you. Excuse my eccentric way of putting +things, but I always mean what I say, and, alas! there are very few +people to whom I would say those words." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES. + + +"Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?" + +The speaker was a pretty healthy-looking boy of five. + +The young girl whom he addressed as Aunty Mary was leaning back +languidly in a comfortable arm-chair, which had been placed under the +shade of a fine old beech-tree, standing on the lawn of a small but +beautiful garden. + +At the back of the lawn was a cheerful-looking little cottage, almost +smothered in flowering creepers. + +The girl was propped up on pillows, and there were wraps around her to +protect her from the spring wind. She was evidently in a state of +convalescence from a serious illness; and, indeed, she still seemed so +fragile that one would have said she was hardly likely to see the +ripened fruit of the blossoms that made the apple orchard beyond the +garden look so lovely on that early spring day. + +As she lay back, a closed book in one hand, and a bunch of violets and +primroses, which the children had just brought her, in the other, her +large wistful eyes were gazing pensively through an opening in the green +foliage, to where below the orchards, at some distance off, there +stretched a broad sheet of blue water rippling in the soft wind, +surrounded by dark spreads of moor and glittering streaks of yellow +sand, backed afar off by undulating hills of heather. + +It was indeed a lovely view, as lovely a one as even beautiful Surrey +can show. Not many Londoners know this Frensham Pond, as it is called, +and all that sweet valley of the upper Wey into which its waters drain, +though these are not more than thirty miles from the metropolis. + +The little boy who spoke was sitting at the girl's feet with his head +resting on her lap. + +He had been looking up into her face for some minutes silently, in a +solemn wondering manner, as she gazed over him towards the lake in an +absent-minded mood. + +"Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?" + +"Why do you ask such a funny question?" she said as she stroked his soft +curls. + +"Cos mummy says, 'Good people is always happy and laugh, but bad ones +cry and are sorry.' Oo never laugh, Aunty Mary, but oo are not bad, are +oo?" + +"You silly little boy!" interrupted a little girl who was a year younger +than her brother, "you know poor aunty's not well. That's why she don't +laugh. You'd cry, you'd be very naughty if you felt bad like aunty +Mary." + +"You little darlings!" cried the girl as she pressed them to her with +warm affection and kissed them. + +"But oh, Aunty Mary," continued Bobby, who had a great taste for +philosophical disquisitions, and was especially fond of adducing +arguments to prove the fallacy of the doctrine as regards retributive +justice, which those in authority over him tried to inculcate into his +acute little mind. "But oh, Aunty Mary, I believe that Anne (the cook) +is an awful bad woman, and yet she laughs very loud." + +"She isn't bad, Bobby!" emphatically denied the sister. + +"She is! doo know, aunty," and he spoke in a tone of mysterious +confidence, "doo know--mummy told them not to tell me; but I know--Anne +drowned all the poor baby dogs. There was six of them. Isn't she very +bad to kill all the poor little baby dogs, aunty?" + +To the surprise of the children, Mary's response was a flood of +hysterical tears. Weakened by her illness, and in the early stage of +convalescence, she could not contain her feelings, and the innocent +words of the babies pierced her heart with bitter memories. + +At this moment the mother of the children approached the group. + +"Oh, mummy!" cried the puzzled Bobby running up to her, "poor Aunty +Mary's so bad. She's so sorry because the little baby dogs is killed." + +Mrs. White was an active pretty little woman in a widow's cap. Her face +had a calm serenity in it, a great amiability which was yet free from +weakness, and which at once fascinated anyone who looked at her. + +No one could know the sister of Dr. Duncan and fail to love her. + +She came up to Mary and kissed her, and soothed her in her own sweet +feminine way. No influence could be more soothing than hers. To lessen +affliction was with her a gift. + +The girl feeling tranquil again, put her arms round her neck and kissed +her. + +"You have been out too long, dear," said Mrs. White. "Come in now. I +want you to lie on the sofa, and hear me play a new piece of music Harry +has just sent me." She had observed before how beneficial an effect +music had on the girl, and she knew when to employ it. + +For such was this woman. She would notice all the little tastes of those +who were with her, especially of this sick girl, whom her brother had +confided to her care, and unobtrusively, without the object of her +attention ever guessing it, she would do the right thing to please at +the right time. + +Mary had not been long in this pleasant cottage among the Surrey hills +before she conceived a great affection for this good woman and her three +little children. + +At times now she was very happy; but it was a painful happiness, for she +was frightened at the very greatness of it, feeling that it could not be +for long. When the shadow, as it often did, came across her mind, it +seemed all the more horrible and dark in contrast to the innocent light +around her. + +So her sadness deepened. The thought of the terrible future preyed on +her mind. The knowledge that she was pledged to perform a fearful duty, +made her tremble at the deliciousness of this new life, this glorious +paradise, of which she was allowed a passing glimpse, but which must be +for ever closed to her. + +This prevented her brain from recovering beyond a certain point, and on +some days her memory would leave her, and she would be like a child +again, a helpless, lovable witless creature, to see whom was to bring +tears to the eyes of the hardest. + +One circumstance, happily for herself, was entirely erased from her +memory, never to return to it--this was Susan's confession of the +barrister's murder. She distinctly remembered going into the ward and +recognizing her old benefactor, but on what happened after that, her +mind was a complete blank. She knew nothing of Susan's cold-blooded +explanation, or of her own fainting-fit. + +Mrs. White was a truly religious woman, and Dr. Duncan, thinking it +well, if only from a physical point of view, to divert the girl's +thoughts into ways of consolation, had hinted to his sister that Mary +had been educated by an atheist, and so most probably herself +entertained rather strange opinions on the subject of religion. + +Thereupon the woman, without obtruding it in any way, yet contrived to +bring before the girl's observation, how intimately religion entered +into the daily life of herself and others, how in sorrow they were +comforted by their faith, and looked forward to happiness beyond the +grave. + +All this seemed so strange to the girl at first. She looked on with a +mild mournful wonder, yet envied this mental state so entirely opposite +to her own. + +"The simple happy people," she thought. "Ah! that I was like them and +did not know." + +The two entered the drawing-room of the cottage, a cheerful room, whose +graceful ornaments and profusion of flowers reflected the spirit of the +lady of that peaceful abode. + +Mary was forced by her hostess to lie back on the sofa; then Mrs. White +sat down at the piano and began to play. It was a new piece of the +German school, not cheerful exactly, certainly not melancholy, but full +of a dreamy exaltation, suggestive of wanderings into some glorious +realm. Indeed, it breathed all the rapture of religion. + +Mary listened to it, feeling really happy as that noble harmony filled +her soul, and for the moment drove away the shadow altogether. + +She felt as if she were floating away into a shadowless heaven on that +flood of music, and odour of flowers, and sunshine, that harmonising +together pervaded all the room. + +Then the music stopped. + +After a pause Mrs. White said, "How do you like that, dear?" + +"Oh, it is beautiful! too beautiful! It makes one so sad afterwards!" + +"Do you find that? I don't at all." + +"It seems to carry one away into some altogether impossible happiness, +and when it is over one feels a regret for it. It is like waking out of +a very pleasant dream." + +"Poor dear, you won't talk like that when we have got you round. I'm a +witch, and I foretell lots of happiness for your young life yet." + +"You are always happy, Mrs. White." + +"Of course I am. I should be a very discontented person if I was not, +with everything to make me happy as I have." + +Mary sighed. "And this woman," she thought, "has yet lost her husband, +she has lost her love forever, and yet is happy! Could I ever be happy +again if I lost mine?" She would have liked to have asked her a question +yet dared not. She wondered whether the widow was happy because she knew +she would meet her love in another world. "She could not be happy unless +she believed this. How sweet must be the lives of such as this woman, so +full of love and joy, which even death, they believe, cannot destroy. +How different," she thought, "from the agony, the despair, of those like +me who know no world but this, who, when their loved ones are taken from +them, lose them for ever. Ah, the hopelessness of it!" She felt that she +was alone in the world, altogether cut out from the innocent joys and +beliefs, for she had tasted the fruits of that poisonous tree of +knowledge. + +At last she said, + +"Music generally raises one curious idea to me, not altogether sad but +so strange. That last piece did not raise that idea though, but made me +feel wonderfully glad while it lasted." + +"And what is it that most music suggests to you then?" asked Mrs. White. + +"It is very curious. It makes me feel as if I was all alone, far away +somewhere, apart from other beings, and that all else was nothing but a +series of pictures passing by me. Did you ever read Greek plays, Mrs. +White?" + +"Dear me! no! never. Why, you don't mean to say that Greek too was one +of your studies?" + +"No! but my aunt has read me translations of some of the Greek plays, +and she explained to me the spirit of them. I often feel when I am +listening to music as if I was the central figure of one of those old +tragedies, a being hunted by a relentless fate; and sometimes it seems +as if all that comes across me in life were incidents and characters in +the play--characters subsidiary to mine, instruments of the Fate which +is the key-note of the play, some knowingly, some unknowingly. Those +who harm me will not be punished, those who are kind to me will not be +rewarded; they are but the blind tools of the same Destiny. For in my +play there is not, as in modern plays and novels, a retributive justice +setting all things right at the end, but this pitiless Fate, careless of +anyone. It is a fearful fancy and it seems to haunt me." + +She said this in a languid dreamy way, beating the sides of the sofa +nervously with her thin fingers as she spoke. + +The idea was a common one of hers, and as she said, haunted her, with +many others of like nature, born of that most pernicious habit of +self-introspection which her recent education had inculcated. + +"It's not a very healthy fancy, dear," said Mrs. White; "but we'll soon +drive it away. Life is not a Greek drama if that's what a Greek drama is +like. No human being stands alone in that way. There is no relentless +Fate. We are all bound together by something better than that. I am sure +I don't feel like a subsidiary character to you"--and she laughed +merrily--"but as your dear friend who loves you very much." + +"Oh, I wish I could believe all that you do, Mrs. White. I am altogether +lost in a maze of contrary ideas. I don't seem to know what is right or +wrong now in the least--since my illness. I am getting so puzzled about +everything--" a little hysterical half-sob, half-laugh divided her +sentences. "I don't think my head will ever get right again--when I try +to think my brain gets quite sick and dizzy, and I don't know where I +am." + +"Poor little girl! but you must not think at all, at present; you've got +to please your friends by being quiet and allowing them to get you well +again." + +"I wish I was good and unselfish like you, dear Mrs. White." + +"Nonsense, child--I am not more unselfish than other people. What +greater pleasure is there than to make others happy? It's not so +unselfish after all to do what is the pleasantest to oneself." + +"Ah! that is it--I am beginning to feel it. There is only one thing +about which I am quite certain." + +"And that is?" + +"That to help others, that to love, is the only happy thing on earth. It +is so nice to love. Sometimes when I am altogether miserable I can make +myself happy by thinking of all the dear friends that I love, and +planning little things I can do for them.--Ah, my dear friends! I would +die to help them--Love! It is the only thing I do understand. I have +grown so weak that I cannot realize now all I once thought and knew, and +believe in it as I did--but I do love." + +"And what more is wanted? I do not believe that any human being is +altogether miserable as long as he can love. Love, dear, is the key of +all happiness. Religion is love. Scientific people may talk of their +discoveries--may talk about our having no wills, about our being +machines--excuse me, dear, for I am not clever in these things--but can +they explain this love? Not a bit of it. No machinery, no evolution, no +fortuitous concourse of atoms--you see I know some of the learned +terms--can make love, I know!" + +The simple woman spoke with conviction. This was her favourite, indeed, +her only argument against materialism. She would listen to no other +arguments for or against. This one, in her opinion, entirely crushed +vain philosophy, so there was no necessity to look further into the +question. + +She felt rather proud of her logic and eloquence, so looked through the +corners of her eyes at Mary, to see what effect her speech had produced. +She was disappointed to discover that it had not impressed the girl +much. + +"But oh, what a puzzle this life is!" said Mary. "There can be no doubt +that to love humanity, that to work for the happiness of the race, is +far higher than merely to love and help our friends. But it is so +difficult a problem; the interests of humanity and of the individual are +so often entirely different." + +Mrs. White looked thoughtful. The idea expressed by Mary was evidently +rather novel to her, and she did not know whether it ought to be +considered as an orthodox one or the reverse. Anyhow as being something +new, it must be regarded, with suspicion--it might be some subtle +fallacy of materialists and socialists--so she said, + +"To work for humanity is far beyond most of us anyhow. We must be +content to love and help each other, or do nothing. I don't think we +poor simple women need trouble ourselves much about humanity. We must +leave that to wiser heads, and even they seem to go wrong as often as +not when they make the circle of their sympathy too wide. + +"Besides how much nicer to love people you can be with and see, how +pleasant to make them smile! To love humanity generally, and to think +only about nations and races instead of individuals, must be rather a +cold sort of a love. I am a weak woman and must love something I can +touch. Now you see I am not so unselfish as you imagined," she laughed, +"and I like to get an immediate reward for anything I do, and you will +have to give me a reward at once dear for all this learned lecture, in +the shape of a nice kiss." + +At this juncture the maid announced that the tea was ready, so the +debate on love was postponed till another day, the artless prattling of +the little children, who then came indoors, turning the conversation +into a very different groove. + + * * * * * + +Gradually by weakness and human love, Mary was brought over to doubt her +old teachings. "Were they after all infallible? Was religion true? +Surrounded by all the mysteries of life, with all these loves, these +emotions, these profound instincts, was it not presumptuous folly for +man to despise their whisperings, and from the limited data of science +to argue that there was no God, no religion, no free will, no _a priori_ +ethics?" + +Mary begun to yearn after that religion of love which she saw so +beautifully exemplified in this woman. + +At times, when she felt her head turn as if her senses were altogether +going, when the shadow rushed on her mind as if to darken it suddenly +and for ever; she would clasp her hands and shut her eyes, and repeat to +herself the word, "Love! love! love!" in a monotonous passionate way. +She felt as if doing this prevented the darkness from utterly closing on +her. The uttering of this word seemed a charm to her in her half-witted +state. It was her first attempt at prayer. + +In this weak imbecile condition, love, as she said herself, became her +master idea. She loved, loved that one man, and also in another way, her +friends, especially her benefactress Catherine King, and this kind +sister of Dr. Duncan. + +Her mental disease seemed to have intensified this emotion; and well it +was so, perhaps, for it relieved her overwrought brain from the presence +of the shadow, which otherwise would have alone occupied her thoughts +and oppressed her constantly. + +Her love for the children was an intense one. She had never played with +children for years, hardly ever when herself an infant, and she had +actually come to consider them as a sort of half-conscious creatures, +for Catherine generally talked about them as if they were so, when +advocating her strange views as to their removal if they stood in the +way of humanity's progress. + +But now Mary, being in close companionship with babies, felt a true +woman's sympathy for them, and fully realised the horrible nature of the +work she was pledged to. + +The natural result came at last. Her mind underwent a gradual change; +but it was not till after a long time, not without much doubt and +wavering, that she finally made a certain step of supreme importance. +This was no less than a determination that she at any rate would not be +guilty of child-killing, however expedient it might be for humanity. She +made up her mind to acquaint Catherine King with this resolve at the +earliest opportunity. + +But this left her still in a great perplexity. That intolerable secret +would still be on her mind. She could not betray her benefactress. +Though herself innocent of blood, she would still know of the terrible +work of the Sisterhood; she would be constantly hearing of its results, +and yet not be able to utter one word to save the children. + +Painfully she reflected what she ought to do, but could see no way open +to her; and as the problem daily stood out more terribly bright before +her, and yet daily more insoluble, her reason began to wane once more. +What health she had gained was being gradually lost again. + +She felt that she was dying and she was glad to die, poor perplexed +child, for whom circumstances had made life so portentous a problem! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +CATHERINE KING VISITS MARY. + + +So it was that Mary by degrees began to entertain a half belief in +religion, or rather she had come to altogether believe in a religion of +her own--a vague religion that had no dogmas, but the key-stone of which +was a profound faith in love. That was the cross to which she clung, a +reality; she knew nothing else for certain, of Gods or creeds. They were +as yet dark and shifting to her vision. She could not immediately accept +all the beliefs of her new friends. + +But this mysterious love that carried her soul so far above merely +earthly things, opened possibilities, nay certainties, of higher +mysteries. She could no longer accept the cold ethical schemes in which +she had been educated. She thought the reasonings must be fallacious +that were so opposed to these divine supersensual instincts. + +Taught by nature herself, she worshipped in her way the unknown God, +whose sole revelation to her was love. + +At first she would listen with sad wonder to the little prayers that +Mrs. White's eldest children would lisp at their mother's knee, in which +they invoked their God's blessing on their mother, Aunty Mary, all their +kind friends, and even their pet animals. It was very beautiful and +sweet to have this belief she thought. + +She fell into a way of _wishing_ a sort of prayer of her own, when she +got into bed at night. + +At last she would even kneel down by the bedside, as she had seen the +children do, and pray earnestly in a more definite manner. + +It was the crying out of a soul in darkness, a prayer true as was that +of the publican in the parable. It was a prayer to the unknown God +somewhat in this wise: + +"O God! if there be a God, O God of Love! God of the Christians! if, +indeed, thou art; I love Thee. I do not pray for myself, except that I +may die. But oh, bless all my dear friends, and especially Mrs. King, my +mother; make her happy in knowing Thee; and make Harry happy, make him +not miss me much, and not be very sorry when I am gone, but give him a +true good wife. And, O God, let me die soon, else I shall be the curse +of him I love, and ruin his happiness. Take me away from him and let me +die." + + * * * * * + +As Mary's cure was no longer a question for medical science, but +depended solely upon the cheerfulness of her surroundings and such like +natural remedies, Dr. Duncan had not considered it necessary, so far, to +visit his sister's cottage. He was afraid, too, lest his presence might +distress the girl, and decided not to see her until her convalescence +was at a more advanced stage. + +He also hinted to Mrs. King that it would be well if she too abstained +from seeing her niece for the present. + +Mrs. White kept her brother fully informed by letter of the progress of +the patient. Of late these letters had not been quite so hopeful as they +were at first. She told him that the convalescence which at first had +been so rapid, had reached its limit; that Mary's health was no longer +improving, but seemed to her to be even retrograding. + +At last she wrote him a long letter in which she expressed her great +anxiety about the girl. She begged him to come down himself, and also to +send down Mrs. King, as it was possible that the woman's presence would +be of benefit to Mary. "At any rate," she wrote, "send her down for a +couple of days, the experiment is worth trying." + +"She is sure to be right," thought the doctor as he read his sister's +letter, so he called on Mrs. King and told her that it would be +advisable now for her to visit her niece, but he asked her to make this +first visit a very short one, merely to run down one afternoon and +return the next morning, then, if the effect on the girl was +satisfactory, the visits could be frequent and of longer duration. + +Catherine was of course overjoyed at the prospect of again seeing her +darling, and arranged to go to the cottage on the following evening. + +So the next morning's post brought Mrs. White a letter announcing this +fact. + +She went out upon the lawn with Mary after breakfast with the intention +of breaking this news to her. + +Mrs. White had never been able to quite make out what were the exact +feelings between Mrs. King and her niece. Mary always exhibited a +strange dislike to speaking about her aunt. She never voluntarily +introduced her into the conversation. She seemed troubled when +questioned about her; and yet, on the rare occasions when the girl was +more communicative than usual on this subject, she always spoke of +Catherine King in terms of the highest praise. She evidently entertained +a great admiration and love for her. + +"Mary," said Mrs. White when they were upon the lawn, "I have good news +for you, your aunt is coming to see you." + +Mary clapped her hands with childish joy, "Oh! I am so glad," she +exclaimed. "I have so looked forward to this. I have been waiting so +long; I thought I should never be allowed to see her." + +"She is coming this evening and will stay till to-morrow morning, so you +will be able to have a long talk with her." + +Mary stood still and her brow became clouded. "Yes, I have much to talk +to my aunt about," she said, slowly. + +"You never speak to me about her, dear. I should like to know her +better. She must be very fond of you." + +"She likes me much better than I deserve," replied Mary, sadly. "I have +been very ungrateful to her." + +Mrs. White, who was too true a woman not to suffer from curiosity, after +a little thought said: + +"My brother tells me that Mrs. King has some rather startling political +and social theories." + +"She has," replied Mary, rather curtly. + +A long pause followed. + +"Has she succeeded in converting you to her views?" then inquired Mrs. +White. + +A look of distress came to Mary's face. "I don't know," she cried, in an +excited, nervous way. "Don't ask me now about those things, dear Mrs. +White. I am too ill to think." She passed her hand across her forehead +as if to wipe away some painful vision. + +Mrs. White took the girl's hand tenderly in hers. "Forgive me, Mary +dear," she said. "It is cruel of me to worry you with inquisitive +questions; but I will be good now." + +The little woman reproached herself bitterly for having so thoughtlessly +caused the girl pain, and turned the conversation into another channel. + +Throughout the day, Mary was strangely excited and changeable in her +moods. One moment she was wild with delight at the prospect of seeing +again her beloved chief; the next she felt sick with fear, as she +thought of the confession that she had to make; for she had made up her +mind to tell Catherine all--her doubts as to the righteousness of the +cause; her love for Dr. Duncan; she would throw herself at her feet and +make a clean breast of it. + +She endeavoured to divert her thoughts by taking up any employment she +could to fill up the tedious hours of this exciting day. In the +afternoon, she begged Mrs. White's permission to relieve her at her +usual task of bathing the youngest baby and putting him to bed before +tea. + +He was soon splashing and chuckling away in the bath, while Mary was +assiduously sponging him, playing and laughing with him in an unusually +happy mood for the time. + +While she was engaged at this performance, there came a ring at the +entrance bell; but she did not hear it. + +Soon after she heard the voices of two people who were mounting the +stairs leading to the nursery. + +The door opened, and her hostess entered with a smiling and excited +face. + +"See whom I have brought to see you, Mary," she said. + +Mary looked up and perceived, closely following Mrs. White, the tall +figure of Catherine King. + +The sudden meeting produced a strange shock and revulsion of feeling in +both the mistress and pupil. + +Mary dropped her sponge, but did not move from where she was kneeling by +the bath. Her face and neck and ears turned a vivid crimson, and she +looked aghast at Catherine, deprived of all power to speak for the +moment, so startled was she at this abrupt appearance. + +The effect on Catherine was no less strong. She had entered the room +with her heart beating with joyful anticipation, like a lover's when at +the door of his mistress's house; but as soon as her eyes fell on Mary +engaged at so unexpected a task, she turned pale and involuntarily +stepped backward a pace. + +She stood looking at the girl without speaking, her eye going +alternately from her to the child in the bath. + +The sight of the naked baby that lay between them, now squalling loudly +at being neglected, suggested strange and fearful thoughts to both their +minds, and either knew of what the other was thinking. + +It must have been many years since the head of the Secret Society had +seen a naked baby, and now to come suddenly upon one, and with her +favourite pupil tending it, too, forced her to realize, in a vivid way +she had never done before, what her scheme meant. She felt a strange +sickness and vertigo when she looked at the innocent being before her. + +Mrs. White was not unnaturally very astonished at the curious manner of +the meeting of this affectionate aunt and niece; but she came to her +senses first, and as no one else seemed inclined to break through the +awkward silence, said: + +"There is the dear girl; she looks much better, does she not, Mrs. +King?" + +This broke the spell. Mary sprang to her feet and rushed into +Catherine's arms, kissing her with great warmth. + +Catherine returned the embrace in a shy manner that seemed cold; she was +ashamed of being effusively affectionate, especially before strangers; +but she felt as if her very soul was going out to the girl who hung +about her neck. + +She said in a quiet voice: "I should have come long ago, you know, Mary, +but the doctor would not hear of it." + +She still held the girl's hand in her own, unwilling to part with it. + +"I know that. But, oh! I have so longed to see you, aunt dear--and I +have so much to talk to you about!" + +"We will have a long chat together to-morrow morning, Mary, before I go; +but you must not tire yourself now. Indeed you do look better--much +better," and she stepped back so as better to see her pupil. "What +should we have done without you, Mrs. White? Ah! I have reason to be +grateful to you for your kindness to my niece." + +"But, oh! I am altogether neglecting Tommy!" cried Mary; "poor little +chap, sitting there all alone, covered with nasty soap-suds!--no one +paying the slightest attention to him! Aren't they naughty, Tommy? No +wonder he cries, poor little man!" She was beginning all her tender +woman's nonsense with the child again, when her eyes suddenly met those +of her mistress, and she became confused and silent again before that +sad, puzzled gaze. + +Catherine felt she ought to say something complimentary to the mother; +it was the usual thing, she supposed; so she spoke in a curious, +constrained tone, hesitating between the words as if repeating a +half-learned lesson: + +"That is your--youngest--I presume--Mrs. White? He is a--a fine--a fine +boy." + +Mrs. White smiled involuntarily at the stiff manner of the woman; could +this be the kind, sympathetic aunt whom Mary had praised so warmly? + +"Yes," she replied; "he is the youngest of the three--a great friend of +Mary's; isn't he, Mary?" + +"Ah!" ejaculated Catherine, and lapsed into awkward silence again. +Everything was so strange to her that she could not collect her thoughts +at all. + +"Leave him to me, darling--I'll dry him," said the mother to Mary; and +the little mortal was soon dried, chuckling and crowing again in a warm +blanket. + +He looked at the stranger and laughed, pointing to her with his chubby +fist to attract her attention. + +"He has evidently taken to you, Mrs. King," said the proud mother. +"Isn't he a fine boy?" and she handed him to her--the baby stretching +out his arms and kicking lustily in his eagerness to be taken up by a +new friend. + +Catherine mechanically took him in her arms and held him in a +constrained, stiff way, looking at him as if he were some entirely new +animal to her, and as if she did not know what to make of him, or +whether he was dangerous or not. + +It had doubtlessly been a long time since she had held a baby in her +arms, though she discussed them a good deal in the abstract. + +The extreme awkwardness of her position, and the uncomfortable look of +her face, as she stood with the infant White in the middle of the room, +would have made Mary laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, +were it not that the hidden meaning of the scene made her heart bleed +with pity and sorrow. + +It was indeed a relief to Catherine when the baby was put to bed and +they went downstairs into the drawing-room. + +The invalid, tired out by the day's excitement, was sent to bed shortly +after tea, and the two women were left alone. Notwithstanding the +incongruity of the society, the evening passed pleasantly enough. + +Catherine soon became herself again, now that distressing phenomenon, +the baby, was no longer present. + +Mrs. White, who could soon make anyone feel at home, discovered that her +guest was very fond of chess, a game which she herself played a little. +So after a long talk over Mary's illness, the chessmen were brought out +and they sat down to a game. + +But as they played, the thoughts of both wandered constantly to the same +subject, one in which both were deeply interested--the fate of Mary +Grimm. Both loved the girl, both were anxious about her future, and +either dreaded the influence of the other. + +Catherine King instinctively felt that her own influence over her pupil +would be lessened by her association with Mrs. White; she dreaded that +Mary's new surroundings would unfit her for her work in the Secret +Society. + +So, too, did Mrs. White fear Catherine. She knew how devoted Mary was to +her aunt, how thoroughly she believed in her wisdom and goodness, and +she also knew from her brother what objectionable views Catherine held +on the subject of religion and morals. She felt how perilous it must be +for a young girl to have faith in such a teacher. + +Thus it happened that as they played at chess, the two women were +playing another more subtle game at the same time. Each was endeavouring +to sound the other as to her views and intentions with regard to the +girl. + +But both were cautious, and would reveal nothing of their plans. + +At last, towards the end of the game, Mrs. White asked: + +"Do you think it will be well for Mary to return to her hospital work +after so serious an illness?" + +"Check!" said Mrs. King. "You can only save yourself by sacrificing your +bishop--I beg your pardon, Mrs. White, but I have not considered that +matter yet. I shall certainly not permit her to return to the hospital +for a long while yet." + +After a few more moves, Mrs. White spoke again: "I hear that you are a +great politician, Mrs. King?" + +"I take deep interest in social questions, but I am afraid you would not +consider my views quite orthodox, Mrs. White." + +Another long pause ensued. + +"That white knight of yours is much in the way of my schemes; but I +think I shall get him out of the way very soon," said Catherine, who was +deeply interested in the game, and was too confident of success to fear +the result of thus disclosing her tactics to the enemy. + +Mrs. White started; the words seemed ominous, for she was just then +thinking what a dangerous foe to Mrs. King her own brother would prove, +as Mary's lover, how he would frustrate her plans. + +So, from that moment, she began to take a peculiar interest in the game +before her. She was possessed by a fancy that whoever would win that +game, would win Mary. She remembered the old legend of the Angel and the +Demon playing for the man's soul, and she felt a strange awe, when she +looked at the dark frowning face of her adversary contemplating the +pieces before her. + +It was soon evident that the game was in Catherine's hands; a few more +moves and the Mate was inevitable. + +Mrs. White was filled with quite a superstitious terror and despair, as +the end approached. She was ashamed of her folly, but could not help it +in the presence of this woman. + +Catherine had been observing her face with some amusement; she had, with +her peculiar faculty of placing her mind in sympathy with that of +another, half-read her thoughts. She divined that Mrs. White was +identifying the game with another more important one that was yet to be +fought out. Her eccentric mind was seized with a curious inspiration. +She suddenly, as if by accident, upset the light chess-table with her +elbow, and the pieces rolled rattling to the floor. + +The eyes of the two women met. + +Catherine smiled and said, "I should have won I think, but this accident +makes it a drawn game. _The Fates won't reveal their secret._ But I must +not keep you up any longer, Mrs. White; I know it is long after your +usual bed-time," and she rose from her seat as she spoke. + +"Why, the woman is a witch!" thought the startled little woman, as she +showed her guest the way to her room; "but I believe the White Knight +will be too strong for her game nevertheless." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +CATHERINE'S DISCOVERY. + + +Catherine left the cottage with its uncongenial atmosphere of babies and +innocence, on the following morning, but before going she expressed a +wish to have a quiet talk with Mary. + +They went out into the garden together, and sat down on the seat under +the great beech-tree. For some time neither spoke. Catherine was looking +across the moor to the lake, strangely softened by the beautiful view. +The sternness faded from her brow and mouth as she gazed at it, and her +thought travelled along gentle and unwonted ways for her. + +But Mary sat motionless with downcast eyes, oppressed by a great fear. +It was a dreadful thing for her to think of the confession she was about +to make. + +At last Mrs. King remembered that she had little time to spare, so broke +through the silence. + +"Mary, dear! I wish to talk over a few necessary matters with you, that +is if you are sure you are strong enough now, if you think that +conversation won't hurt you." + +Mary indeed felt very ill; a strange sensation came to her heart as if +it was about to stop, but she pressed her hand to it, and said firmly, + +"I am quite well enough; I particularly wish to talk things over with +you, mother, for I have much to tell you. I have been so anxious to see +you and explain all to you--though I hardly dare--but I must, I must!" + +"Don't be frightened Mary, don't be anxious! You must not worry +yourself. We wish you to get well; so put our secret entirely out of +your mind, at any rate for the present. You were very unhappy, dear, +when you were with me. I am not quite certain why, but I think I can +guess. Now, Mary, tell me if there is still anything on your mind, has +the weight, whatever it is, been removed?... Don't be afraid of telling +me all; I shall not blame you, poor child." + +Very tender was the tone in which she uttered the last words as she saw +Mary's pale, frightened face. + +The girl took the woman's hand in hers and kissed it. "Yes, mother," she +said in a scared excited manner, "there is still very much on my mind. +Oh! how can I tell it to you? What will you say? But I must, though I +know you will hate me when you hear it." + +"You loved him then, Mary, loved him very much?" said Catherine sadly, +half reproachfully. "I think you ought to have confided in me, dear; but +never mind, don't cry, I am not angry with you, my poor child." + +Mary looked up through her tears, and asked timidly, "Did he tell you +then, mother?" + +"How could he have done so, Mary? I never saw him alive." + +"Alive! but he is not dead--whom are you talking about, mother?" + +"Why, of Mr. Hudson, to be sure! Good heavens! what a cruel fool I am! I +had no idea that they had not told you. Oh, Mary, I am so sorry!" + +A very strange look came to Mary's face, half of bewilderment, half of +terror. She put both hands to her forehead, and her brows knit, as if +she were endeavouring to recall some terrible memory. + +"Mr. Hudson!" she said in a dreamy voice as if speaking to herself. +"Yes, I know he is dead--but how do I know it? Who told me? I can't +remember. Something horrible happened to him--oh, my head, my head!" +and an expression of pain passed over her pale features. + +Catherine kissed her forehead. + +"O, Mary, what have I done? I ought to have known."... + +The girl interrupted her. "But I did not understand you, mother. Did you +ask me whether I loved him very much?" + +"Yes, darling! but let us not talk about this now!" + +"You are mistaken," went on Mary quietly. "There never was any love +between Mr. Hudson and me. Why, I only saw him once. He was very kind to +me three years ago. I told you all about it. I was, of course, very +grateful to him, and liked him very much, but love never entered my +head." + +"Is that so?" cried Catherine eagerly, clutching tightly the girl's arm. +"Is that so? Oh, I am so glad, Mary! If I had only known this all these +miserable weeks!--Oh, my darling, my darling, I have been so unjust to +you all this time! I believed that you loved this man, and I thought it +was so cruel, so wicked of you to keep this from me. I began to hate +you, Mary--ah! if you knew what I suffered all those sleepless nights +thinking how all that care and love of mine had been wasted on you. And +now to find I was wrong! Forgive me for suspecting you--Forgive me, my +darling! Oh! it nearly killed me when I discovered, as I thought, that +you loved him. I could have killed you, I hated you so. It was only +after I heard he was dead that I began to relent, and I did not forgive +you even then. No! not till I saw your poor, thin face in the hospital, +and I could hate you no longer. Oh, my darling--you have made me so +happy! Will you forgive me?" + +A man who has had a serious quarrel with the woman he loves, and finds +that he was in the wrong, that he has behaved unjustly, could not have +shown a more passionate tenderness over the reconciliation than did this +strange woman. She was carried away by her joy; she looked pleadingly +into the girl's eyes as she seized her hands and begged for her +forgiveness. + +Mary shrunk back from her. She was shocked and frightened at this +unwonted display of profound affection. She felt sick with shame and +sorrow, for she knew she did not deserve all this love; she knew that +when she told her story, all the woman's triumphant happiness would +change again to a bitterer misery and hate than ever. How to tell her +kind protectress that she had deceived her--that she did love--though +not Hudson, and that this was a live love, not a dead one! She could +never be forgiven for that. She would be spurned--hated; and she sobbed +as she buried her head in her hands, not daring to show her guilty face. + +But she determined to deceive her no longer, so throwing herself at +Catherine's feet, she exclaimed wildly, "Oh, mother! mother! you are +killing me; don't talk about forgiving _me_! don't love me any longer! +don't speak to me kindly. I am a wicked bad girl and unworthy of your +love, indeed I am." + +"These people have been spoiling Mary with their religion and +sentimental nonsense," thought Catherine as she observed the girl. "She +has been brought round to feel a horror for our work. She wishes to be +absolved from her duty, and she is afraid of my anger if she asks me to +free her." + +Then she said aloud, "Mary, dear, I know all; but don't worry about that +now. You have come to feel a horror of the work we have to do. You are +weak, but I cannot blame you, poor girl. You wish to leave us, to be +free. We will see what can be done. For the present do not worry at all +about the matter." + +Catherine was so overjoyed at finding her suspicions with regard to +Mary's love affairs unfounded, that she now said a good deal more than +she really meant. She never for a moment entertained the idea of freeing +Mary. The girl would be far too useful to the Society, for the carrying +out of that scheme that was dearer to the woman than was even the +happiness of her darling. But it was well, she thought, to humour her +now that she was ill. It would hasten her recovery to remove this +weight of anxiety from her for the time. When this weakness was passed +the girl would see clearly again, be brave once more, and return to her +allegiance. + +"Oh, mother," cried Mary, "you are so generous, so unselfish, I don't +know how to tell you all; you will, I know, be angry; but I must tell +you now. I cannot deceive you that have been so kind, so good. You don't +suspect the half of what is on my mind." + +"Well, dear, tell me then. It will do you good to relieve your mind of +it." + +Then the girl steeled herself for her task, and continued in a calm +though tremulous voice, casting down her eyes, not daring to meet the +woman's gaze. "Mother! I have changed--I have come to think that perhaps +we are all wrong. We that know so little, are we not rash in believing +that good will come of what we propose to do? May it not be altogether +bad from every point of view to do this terrible thing, even if it does +produce a great good in another direction? Oh, mother! I have come to +see what love is, I have come to see how these Christians love. It is +not as you taught me they did. I cannot believe all these instincts are +false." She paused; though she was determined to tell the secret of her +heart to Catherine King, she could not bring herself to do it; the words +would not come. + +"The poor little children, mother!" she cried passionately, raising her +head, "Oh! since I have been living among them--if you had been living +among them you too would have felt as I do. Oh, mother, mother!" + +The girl's excitement overcame her, she could speak no more for the +choking sensation in her throat. + +Her words stung Catherine. "You have indeed changed!" was all she could +reply, in a dry, stifled voice. + +"Ah! but that is not all," cried Mary. "Oh, my God! my God!" and she +wrung her hands with anguish as she met the stern glance of the Chief. +The girl's new faith and love were contending with the strong influence +of her old mistress, and the conflict seemed to tear her heart. + +"Go on!" said Catherine, in the same tones as before. "What more have +you to say?" + +Mary endeavoured to proceed--to confess her love for Dr. Duncan without +further hesitation or digression. She made a great effort. But the weak +brain could do no more. It became suddenly paralyzed. Her thoughts froze +within her, and she could not utter a single word. A dazed look came to +her eyes. She looked at Catherine with a vacant smile. All memory of the +subject of the conversation vanished in a moment from her mind. + +Bitter indeed was the resentment and disappointment of Catherine, as she +listened to what Mary had said. She had not suspected that matters were +so bad as this. She clearly saw that her pupil had definitely deserted +the Cause--that she had become a Christian. + +But she noticed the girl's condition. She saw it was impossible to +discuss the question further then, so said, in as collected a manner as +her conflicting emotions allowed: + +"I must leave you now--good-bye, Mary, good-bye. I will write to you--I +must think about all this. I don't know what to say now." + +She kissed the girl, rather coldly this time, and turned to go. + +Mary stood quite motionless during the embrace, as if in a state of +unconsciousness. + +But after Catherine had gone a few yards across the lawn, the girl awoke +suddenly from her stupefaction. She took two or three rapid steps in the +direction of the retreating figure, then feeling her strength fail her +she stood still, and stretching out her arms, shrieked out, "Stop! stop! +stop!" + +Catherine was startled by the wildness of the cry, and turned round and +looked at her. + +"Stop!" once more cried the girl with fierce energy as she approached +the woman. "You _shall_ know before you go--I _do_ love him--not Mr. +Hudson--but another--Dr. Duncan!" + +It had come at last. + +Catherine strode up to her and grasped her by the arm. + +"Do I hear you aright? You tell me _that_--you love him?" she exclaimed +savagely. + +Mary gave one low wail and fell fainting to the ground. + +One of the little children who was at the other end of the lawn saw her +fall, and ran indoors to tell her mother. + +Mrs. White was soon on the spot. She found Mary lying insensible on the +grass, and standing by her, deadly pale, with her fists clenched, and a +fierce glare in her eyes, Catherine King. + +"What was the cause of this?" asked the little woman, as she +administered restoratives to the girl. + +Catherine made no reply. The Fury of despairing jealousy had possessed +the woman; she scarcely knew where she was, in the first burst of her +mad anger; but after a few moments she recollected herself, and said in +a hard voice that concealed every emotion: + +"My presence seems to do her harm. I will go away. Good-bye, Mrs. White; +I see the fly has arrived," then abruptly, without another word, she +walked out of the cottage gate and was driven off. She never so much as +once turned her head to look at the insensible girl. + +Mrs. White was intensely amazed. "And this," she thought, "is the aunt +Mary describes as having so much affection for her!" + +The White Knight had indeed considerably foiled Catherine King's scheme. +It even looked as if he would checkmate her soon. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +CONDEMNED TO DEATH. + + +It was evening, in Mrs. King's parlour in Maida Vale. Darkness had set +in, but the wretched woman who was sitting over the neglected and nearly +extinct fire, alone with her gloomy thoughts, did not rise to light the +lamp. + +After nearly a week of stormy and conflicting emotions and ever-changing +plans, the troubled mind had calmed somewhat. Catherine had decided to +put the matter of Mary's desertion before the Inner Circle, and was even +then awaiting the arrival of Sisters Susan and Eliza, whom she had +summoned for that object. + +Mary must die! Looking at it from every point of view, she could see no +other way out of the difficulty. The girl could not be a wife and a +baby-murderer, or even an innocent accomplice of baby-murderers at the +same time. Yes, Mary must die! But Catherine could not trust herself. +She could not look at Mary's case with an unbiassed mind. Her great hate +and love of the girl prevented her from considering the question merely +as it affected the interests, the safety of the Secret Society. She felt +this keenly, so, as she above all things desired to act with strict +justice, and knew that her present mood might as readily drive her to +undue leniency as to unnecessary sternness, she determined to leave the +judgment of Mary entirely in the hands of the other sisters of the Inner +Circle. She would put the whole case before them: she would abide by +their unimpassioned verdict. + +But yet she could scarcely doubt what that verdict would be. How could +such a society exist unless deserters were removed beyond all +possibility of their becoming traitors? + +So Catherine sat in the deserted room awaiting the two Sisters who were +to decide her darling's doom. How dreary that room now appeared to the +miserable creature! There was no Mary there now to lighten it, and she +knew that there never again would be. The only human affection of her +heart had been ruthlessly trampled upon. Were it not for the scheme she +would have died; but she still had that to care for, and for that alone +she must live for the remainder of her loveless life. + +At last there came a ring at the street-door bell. She started, she felt +fearfully nervous now that the interview on which so much depended was +so near. + +The maid-servant ushered in Sister Eliza and Sister Susan. + +Sister Eliza, fresh from the comfortable and substantial dinner, at +which she had just been presiding in her Bayswater boarding-house, +looked stout and beaming as usual; but Susan Riley looked pale and ill, +her eyes, surrounded by dark circles, glittered strangely, and their +contracted pupils showed that she had not yet abandoned her practice of +laudanum-drinking. She was even then excited with the drug; her brain +was on fire with it. + +Catherine rose and motioned the women to two chairs. Until the +indispensable green tea came up they spoke little and on indifferent +matters. The anxiety and nervousness of the Chief communicated itself to +the others: even the volatile Susan was subdued in her manner. + +The servant brought up the tea and went downstairs. Then there was a +complete silence for some minutes, each waiting for another to speak +first. Catherine was staring fixedly into the fire, with a look on her +face that awed the two women, they imagined that some great calamity +must of a certainty have befallen the Cause. + +At last Sister Eliza spoke, she could bear the suspense no longer. + +"Sister Catherine, you say you have summoned us to discuss some +important matter?" + +The Chief looked up, and replied with a forced calmness in her voice: +"Yes; I wish to put before you the conduct of one of the Sisterhood--of +Mary Grimm, in fact." + +"I suspected her!" put in Susan eagerly, the shadow of fear passing from +her face; she had not forgotten her hatred for Mary, though so far she +had found no opportunity for gratifying it. + +"Mary wishes to leave us," continued the Chief. + +"So I suspected," broke in again the exultant voice of Susan. + +"I have discovered that she has formed an attachment with a man." + +"I knew it, and you have called us here to decide what shall be done +with the traitor?" + +"She is not a traitor yet." + +Sister Eliza spoke next. "But if you do not take care, she soon will be +a traitor, Sister Catherine. I too have heard something of this before; +she is in love with that doctor. You should not have allowed her to go +to his sister's house at Farnham. I thought at the time it was very +imprudent." + +"It was the inevitable, Sister Eliza--the girl was dying," replied the +Chief. + +"It would have been safer had she died." + +"Perhaps so; but the question before is, what is to be done now?" +Catherine spoke sharply. She was considerably nettled at the cool and +unfeeling way in which the sisters entered on the discussion, though she +knew that it was unreasonable on her part to expect anything else. + +It was Susan's turn to speak, and she did so in an irritatingly calm and +business-like voice. + +"I can only see one answer to that question." + +"Well!" + +"Mary must be put out of the way." + +A long pause followed; the three women sipped their strong tea in +silence. + +Then Catherine said, "That is dangerous--now is it necessary?" + +Sister Eliza raised her eyes in wonder. What was the Chief hesitating +about? what doubt could there be? + +"Necessary! of course," said Susan. "We cannot allow her to leave us and +betray us to her lover the doctor." + +"She is no traitor," exclaimed Catherine indignantly; "whatever happened +she would never betray us." + +"I am not so sure of that," said Sister Eliza. "Mary is no traitor; she +is devoted to you, Sister Catherine, and to the Cause. I know all that. +But now consider the facts: She loves this doctor. She is surrounded by +a religious family. May she not, too, come to accept this religion in +time? Why, she is sure to do so! The influence of those she loves, and +with whom alone she associates, must mould her opinions. Now, when she +_has_ become religious, do you think she will quietly read in the papers +the accounts of our doings--murders as she will call them, and do +nothing--hold her tongue? Of course not! Religion will command her to +save the children by betraying us. It cannot be otherwise. However much +she loves you, Sister Catherine, let her once come to look on our Cause +as wrong, duty will force her to tell all. That religion which enjoins +its followers to abandon wives and children for its sake, will not allow +your safety to stand in its way. You must not leave her at Farnham." + +Too well did Catherine know how true all this was, but in her anxiety to +be strictly neutral and unprejudiced, she would not allow herself to be +convinced yet, she would even plead for the girl, and endeavour to find +any arguments that might tell in her favour. + +Susan spoke next with tones of ill-concealed malice. "I tell you, Sister +Catherine, that this Mary among the buttercups and babies down there at +Farnham, cannot but be a fearful danger to us. Buttercups and babies are +frightfully demoralizing to soft-hearted novices like that weak girl. +Sister Eliza is right. There are but two alternatives. She must give up +her doctor. She must leave his people in the country, and come back to +us in London, or she must be removed. She is weak--she is in +love--weakness and love make religion and treason." + +Catherine shook her head as she answered, "You know well, Sister Susan, +even as you speak, that the first of your alternatives is quite out of +the question. To come back to us would kill her. She will never do our +work. She is unfit for it. She is not of the proper stuff. We must, +whatever we do, absolve her of her engagements. We must abandon all hope +of her becoming one of us again." + +"Abandon your favourite pupil!" exclaimed Sister Eliza, "but is it +really as bad as this? Are you sure she cannot be brought back?" + +"You know, Sister, what it must mean to me to abandon her," replied +Catherine. "You must know. But I see no remedy. It is useless to force +her. If I asked her, she might, but I doubt it, return to us, only to +die of a broken heart."... She paused till she could command her +emotion, and till the pain at her heart subsided, then commenced again +in a calm and proud voice: "Now that I have heard your opinions I will +tell you all. Sister Eliza, what you have just foretold as likely to +happen, has happened. Not only is Mary in love with the doctor, but her +love and her new associations _have_, as you said they would, made her +look with horror on our Cause. She _has_, in her weakness of mind, +forgotten all the teachings of years; she _has_ accepted the religious +creed of fools; she _has_" ... but she paused suddenly, her fury was +carrying her away; with a great effort of will she calmed herself once +more and concluded, "Such being the state of things, I ask you, +Sisters, what must be done?" + +Sister Eliza replied in a serious voice: "There can be no mercy shown in +this case, we cannot risk the whole of this glorious fabric we have +built up with such toil and care, we cannot endanger our great Cause for +one weak girl's sake. She must die." + +"I agree with you," said Catherine slowly and still quite calmly. + +"She must die," said Susan with a slight ring of exultation in her cold +voice. + +Catherine rung the bell and the maid brought up a fresh supply of green +tea. + +There was a silence for some minutes--during which the Chief looked +broodingly into the ashes of the now extinct fire. + +Susan broke the silence. "The next question is--how--" + +Catherine started from her black reverie. "How what?" + +"How the deserter is to be removed with the greatest safety and +expedition." + +Catherine shuddered visibly, then she spoke again--"Sisters, you have +never known me weak or vacillating or cowardly." + +"Had you been so, you would not have gained the confidence of such a +Sisterhood as this is," replied Sister Eliza. + +"No! I thought I was above all foolish weakness, but I find I am not so. +This is the first time that we have had to take away life for the Cause, +but do not imagine that I shall ever again behave in this manner. I +confide this to you two, for you will understand me--you will not +consider I have forfeited my right to be the Chief of the Sisterhood, +because on one exceptional occasion I cannot be altogether as I would +be. Think of it!--This girl has lived with me so long. I believed I had +in her one who would have been of the very highest service to the +Cause--I am disappointed--I feel this more than you suppose. Now, I wish +to have nothing personally to do with the--the removal of this girl," +she could not bring herself to utter Mary's name now. "Arrange it among +yourselves. Tell me when it is all over. I do not feel strong enough to +go into this matter--besides, it is not necessary I should. But after +this," and she raised her voice to tones of haughty determination, "no +one will ever see me weak again. Unpitying stern justice should be the +only sentiment of one who aspires to lead such a Cause as ours." + +But Susan, who was full of malicious ecstacy this evening, did not feel +inclined to spare her Chief all further pain. She was filled with a +delicious lust for torturing anything that came across her. It was her +way when she felt happier than usual, so she said, "But, Sister +Catherine, we must at any rate have your advice. This is a very delicate +task we have to perform. How are we to get at Mary while she is in the +country? It will not be easy. She knows our rules, our methods of doing +things. A very slight mistake and we are lost. Who can we send down to +do this thing? I would go myself, but she knows me, dislikes me, and +would at once divine my object. Now I have a plan by which she can be +removed with the very least amount of danger." + +Catherine felt sick with disgust and horror, but she could not refuse to +listen--it was her duty--_her duty!_ she had to keep that idea +constantly before her during the interview, so that she might not fail +in this terrible ordeal. + +"What is it?" she asked in a feeble voice--she could not bear this +torture much longer. + +Susan spoke deliberately and without making any effort to gloss over the +horror of her proposal. + +"There is only one of us that Mary loves and trusts--that is yourself, +Sister Catherine; is it not so?" + +"It is." + +"Well," continued the torturer, "as you alone of us would have any +chance of seeing her at Farnham--" + +"Impossible," interrupted Catherine with a smothered shriek, as she rose +from her chair, her hands clenched, quite forgetting herself beneath the +scourges of that devil's tongue. + +Susan smiled--"You understand me, Sister Catherine--I do not propose, +after what you have said, that you should do the deed. I will do it +myself if you will it. But what I mean is this: To effect this removal +with safety, Mary must be induced to leave the country--she must be +brought to town, to some house, where she can have a relapse, and where +we can nurse the invalid." The woman smiled again her evil smile as she +watched her Chief writhe beneath the words--"Once in town, in this or +some other safe house, I will guarantee to produce a relapse, and that +once produced, it would be hardly difficult to administer Sister Jane's +preparation, without ever arousing the patient's suspicions. Then we can +call in the doctors--even her own dear doctor--without fear. They won't +be able to bring her round from that relapse I think." + +Sister Eliza, after a little thought said, "I quite agree with Sister +Susan. This is the only really safe method before us, and there is +absolutely no risk in it if we work carefully. It is true that you +alone, Sister Catherine, have sufficient influence over the girl to +bring her to London. It will be well for you to write to her. I should +suggest you tell her that, seeing how her views have altered for good, +you have decided to absolve her from her vows. Ask her to come up and +stay with you for a few weeks. Write in affectionate terms. She is sure +to come, and she will do so for none else." + +"Like Judas Iscariot betraying her with a kiss," said Susan, who could +not resist the dear temptation of giving this thrust. + +Catherine started as if stung but said nothing. Sister Eliza frowned, +and her face flushed with indignation, when she heard this gratuitously +unpleasant remark. + +"What do you think of my proposal, Sister?" inquired Susan of her Chief, +eyeing her furtively. + +Catherine pondered in silence for a while. She saw that this was, +indeed, the only safe method; she would have liked to have had nothing +to do with the execution of this just decree--but that, she said to +herself, was cowardice on her part. Her instrumentality was necessary, +at any rate to bring the girl to town, so she replied in a low weary +voice: "So be it--you are right--but there is one thing"--and her voice +trembled--"she must not come to this house--I must be spared that." + +"You need not even see her, Sister Catherine," said Eliza. "I know a +little furnished villa on the Thames. We can take it for a couple of +months. Persuade her to come there for a visit. It is just the place +that a convalescent would be taken to. You will only require one +servant, I can supply you with one from the Sisterhood. Leave all the +rest to Sister Susan and myself; I understand your feelings on this +matter--I do not think you need be ashamed of them. It is the first time +I have ever seen emotion come in the way of your duty, and you have +resisted it nobly, Sister." + +"Then," said Sister Susan, "all is settled. The cottage by the Thames +shall be hired. Can we get it at once, Sister Eliza?" + +"It is ready for immediate occupation: we can enter the day after +to-morrow." + +"Good; then you will write to Mary," said Susan turning to the Chief. +"The sooner this business is completed the better for us all." + +Catherine was not listening; she was staring again into the embers, her +brow knitted into a deep frown of pain. The image of her pupil--her Mary +whom she was about to sacrifice--rose before her. She yearned to see the +girl once more--only once more before she betrayed her to the +executioners. She could not strive against this great desire, so she +said: + +"Sisters, I will not write, I will go myself down to Farnham--I will see +her--I will ask her with my own lips to come; she will not refuse +then--I know." + +"Can you trust yourself?" asked Eliza doubtfully, and scanning the +woman's sad face, keenly. + +"I should not advise that measure," urged Susan, apprehensively. + +But the masterful spirit had come back again to Catherine, and she said +sternly and with authority, "I will do as I say, Sisters." + +Eliza knew by the tone that the Chief was in no humour to listen to +contradiction now, so she rose and said: + +"Then all is settled--I will at once take the cottage. Write to me, +Sister Catherine, and let me know exactly when Mary is to arrive in +town. I will meet her at the station, make some excuse for your absence, +and take her with me. I think I can do that better than anyone else. As +Susan herself allows, Mary dislikes her, so she had better not appear on +the scene at first. We will now leave you. Good-night, Sister! remember +_Courage and the Cause_, but I need not repeat that to you. Good-night!" + +"Good-night, Sister!" said Susan with a happy smile. + +Catherine had broken down at last; she turned her head from them and +made no reply to their salutations. + +Sister Eliza looked at her Chief thoughtfully for a moment; then made a +sign to Susan, and they went out together. + +Catherine sat alone in her chair over the dead fire. For hours after +they had gone she remained there brooding, motionless, in agony; and +when at last she rose with a shiver to retire to her bed, it seemed as +if many years had passed over her head in that time, so old and haggard +appeared her features. Her eyes were red but not with weeping--for she +could shed no tear--but hot and dry with a tearless anguish that could +never find relief. + +But she determined--even if she died of the agony of it--that she would +do her duty. "_My duty! My duty!_" she kept murmuring to herself in her +fierce resolve; and she had strong need, indeed, to keep the Cause +constantly before her mind, in order to enable her to do this thing she +had to do--"My duty!--my duty!--but oh, it is hard--hard!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +AN EVENTFUL DAY. + + +Mary's health improved rapidly after her interview with Catherine King, +painful though it had been. A great weight was taken off her mind by the +full confession she had made. + +One day, about a week subsequent to that confession, as the weather was +warm and seemed to be settled, Mrs. White, who was ever planning some +little amusement or other to distract the girl from her gloomy thoughts, +proposed that they should drive with the children the next morning to a +certain pleasant wood on the banks of the Wey some five miles off, and +take their lunch with them. + +The children were delighted at the prospect of a picnic, and watched the +preparations that were made for it during the afternoon with the keenest +interest. When everything had been packed up ready for the morrow, a +telegram was brought to Mrs. White. + +She read it, and a smile of pleasure lit up her face. "Mary," she said, +"I am afraid we must postpone our picnic after all. My brother Harry is +coming down here to-morrow to see us." + +Mary blushed slightly. "The poor children will be very disappointed if +they do not have their picnic," she replied, feeling compelled to make +some remark to cover the confusion which this sudden news produced in +her. + +The widow looked at her with rather an amused expression. "Well, Mary," +she said "after all there is no great necessity for altering our plans. +Harry can come with us. I will telegraph to him that we will meet him at +the station. It is a pity though that he has to return to town in the +evening." + +The morrow proved to be a beautiful day. It was in the month of May, and +the pulse of young life beat with pleasurable quickness through all +animate Nature. + +Mary felt unusually well and happy as they drove through the fresh +morning air to Farnham station, where Dr. Duncan was to be met. The +spirit of the spring stirred her blood and exhilarated her in an +unwonted fashion. She could have sung for joy. Her heart felt full of +love for these innocent friends around her, for the glorious sunshine, +and for the kind warm breeze that kissed her pale cheeks and ruffled her +soft hair. + +She wondered how it was that the Shadow seemed to be so far away. That +sick dread, that terrible presence which she always felt to be so near, +so ready to fall, even in her happiest moods, seemed this day to be +removed to a vague and immense distance. It had never been so far off +before. A presentiment came to her that it was soon to be removed +altogether, that it would fall away from her, and that she would know +peace at last. It was as if the happiness of death was coming over her, +so deeply calm was her delight. She mused to herself how sweet indeed it +would be to die on this delicious spring day, with the fresh breeze and +the sunlight around her--to fade away and be at rest, ere the sun set +and the darkness and the cold came on, bringing with them the shadow. + +The carriage with its merry party at last reached Farnham Station. The +train by which the doctor was expected had not yet come in, so they had +to wait there for some minutes. + +The cessation of the motion of the carriage turned the course of Mary's +thoughts. Her happy dream passed away. A vague uneasiness stole over +her; and she began to realize, in a vivid manner she had not done so +far, that this was to be an eventful day in her life--she was to see +her lover. What could she reply if he asked again that question so sweet +and yet so bitter that he had asked her on that misty autumn afternoon +in London--so long ago it now seemed to her? + +Things had much changed with her since then. She was no longer the +infanticide, the atheist, the wretched being separated from all human +sympathies. She asked herself whether marriage with the man she +worshipped was now altogether so impossible a happiness as it had been +then! She thrilled at the thought. What should she reply were he to ask +that question again? + +She knew not what she ought to do, all the future seemed still so +unsettled and cloudy. It was true that she had told Catherine all--that +she had abandoned the Sisterhood; but was that enough? The secret was +still with her. The Society would some day commence its horrible work. + +So her thought was confused between a great dismay, and a dream of +wonderful delight, and her perplexed mind could make nothing of the +puzzle. She could not marry this man with that secret on her mind--she +ought not to keep that from him--yet how could she betray Catherine King +and the Sisterhood. + +The bell rang, there was a bustling of porters, and then the train from +London thundered into the station. + +Mary forgot her trouble for the time: with eyes dim with emotion, she +looked out timidly yet eagerly from under the cover of her broad straw +hat, as the passengers trooped out into the white road. + +Yes! there he was at last, handsomer than ever, he seemed to her, and +she was filled with pride to see how his noble head towered above all +the men by his side. + +He came out and joyously saluted his sister and her children, then he +shook hands with Mary quietly, his clasp of the little hand that was so +dear to him lingering almost imperceptibly, and he felt that she was +trembling. + +But it was no time just then for love-making. The children were +clustering round their uncle, pestering him for the chocolate or other +delicacies which they knew he would have brought down for them. So +laughing and joking, the merry party drove off at a rapid pace along the +dazzling white roads that wound among the pleasant Surrey hills, until a +spot was reached where the carriage had to be left. Then they carried +the kettle and provisions for a hundred yards or so through the woods, +till they came to a place on the river bank where a huge oak tree spread +its branches over a space of soft green turf. Here they pitched their +camp and lit their fire. + +Beautiful indeed is this portion of the county of Surrey. Between +Farnham and Godalming the river Wey, whose surface is here never +disturbed by the frailest boat, winds down a valley of great loveliness. +Steep hills descend to its waters, clothed with fine trees and close +bushwood; the mossy interspaces being glorious with a profusion of +wood-anemones primroses and hyacinths in the early part of the year, and +of purple foxgloves in the ripe summer. For a considerable distance no +road is visible to one following the river, nor any sign of man's +presence. Indeed so wild and lonely is the scenery, that one might +easily imagine oneself to be on some unexplored stream of the Western +World, instead of being in the county of Surrey, an easy day's march +from Charing Cross. + +It was a day to be remembered by all of that party as a happy one. To +Mary it was to be the sweetest so far of her young life. + +After lunch the two lovers separated from the others. They walked +together through the woods by the river bank, and he gathered for her a +nosegay of the wild spring flowers. + +After a short time he stood still, and turning to her said, "Ah, Mary! +how I have looked forward to seeing you again! And how well you are +looking! I did not dare to hope that you would recover so quickly. You +know how impatient I must have become at being so long banished from +your side; but I thought it better not to come here till you were much +stronger. It would have been cruel to come and trouble you before!" + +"Trouble me!" she exclaimed raising her eyes to his with a look of +surprise. + +"Yes, Mary!" he continued sadly, "for whenever I saw you before, my +presence seemed to cause you pain and sorrow." + +She turned her eyes from him and gazed pensively towards the distant +hills beyond the river. + +He spoke again in a troubled voice, "Mary, oh, Mary! do not turn away +from me. Look at me and reply to the question I am going to ask. You +must do so!" he raised his voice in passionate earnestness and seized +her hand. "You must reply, this last time, I know you will; for you are +too kind and womanly to torture me any longer with suspense." + +She looked up at him without speaking, but he read encouragement in the +look and continued, "Mary, I must speak to you again of my love. It +grieved you once. You told me all hope was impossible. You implored me, +in a manner that terrified me, never to speak to you of love again; but +you confessed you loved me a little." + +He hesitated when he uttered the last words, and waited with an intense +anxiety for her reply. + +"I do!" she said with a simple earnestness, "I love you very much." + +"My darling!" he cried, "my whole life is yours. Even if you still +refuse to marry me, I can never again love another after loving you. But +what did you mean by those cruel words you spoke before? You told me to +go from you, never to see you again. You said love between us was +altogether impossible. You do not still think that? Oh, tell me, Mary. +It is cruel to leave me in this fearful suspense." + +She looked down on the ground and said mournfully, "I don't know--indeed +I don't know." + +"But it is not so impossible now as it was then?" he cried eagerly. + +"No! it is not," she said in a low voice speaking to herself rather than +to him. + +Then an infinite joy rushed into the man's soul, and his eyes sparkled +and his cheek flushed. He had come down here in an almost hopeless +spirit; he remembered how emphatic she had been before in refusing his +love--with what horror and vague hints of an impassable barrier between +them she had rejected him--and, lo! now she had allowed that his heart's +sole desire was no longer impossible of attainment--there was hope for +him, nay more, there was certain victory! + +He raised her face to his and kissed her passionately on her mouth and +eyes. This time she did not tear herself away from his embrace, but +remained in his arms trembling. + +He released her and gazed with keen delight at her beautiful flushed +face. + +She was frightened at his passion, and was filled with wonder that he +should feel thus towards her. She understood how she or any woman could +love this good and noble man; but why should he worship in this way one +so unworthy as her! He must surely have mistaken her true nature; she +must in some way have unwittingly deceived him. + +"Then I may hope to make you my wife?" he asked in a voice of ecstacy. + +She lowered her eyes again. "You ought not to make _me_ your wife. You +deserve a good woman," then she continued timidly in a low voice that +was delicious to him, "Would it make you much happier, dear?" + +"Dear!" How that word coming from her lips for the first time stirred +him! + +"Happier!" he cried. "Oh, my darling! my darling!" + +A blush half of joy, half of shame, again suffused her cheeks, and she +said, "For your sake, to make you happy, I would do all you willed; but +still--still--I doubt very much--whether I should make you happier if I +consented to be your wife." + +"I have no doubt at all about it, my darling," he exclaimed; "but I +don't want you to marry me, to please _me_ only;" then looking at her +face he was satisfied on that point and said no more. + +He seized her hand, and they walked on through the green woods hand in +hand, now conversing in low tones, now in happy silence. + +They acted as most true lovers do under like circumstances, and felt, as +most true lovers do, that no others since the world began could have +loved so well as they. It was all so strange to Mary; too sweet, too +near Heaven to endure long, she fancied. It was the first real +love-making that had passed between these two. Never had their spirits +been so near before; they understood each other now, and each confessed +that they must for the future be all in all to each other, come what +might, but Mary would make no promise to marry him yet. + +He perceived that it was not mere maidenly coyness that prompted this +refusal, and that there was some serious reason for it; but he was +content, she loved him, loved him in a way that shut out all other +possibilities of love for both. + +"I will be your wife or no one's, Harry," she at last replied to his +passionate pleading, and they sealed the compact in a long delicious +kiss. + +"Mary!" he said, "I do not know why you will not promise to marry me +by-and-bye, but I will not press you for your reasons now. There is +plenty of time to do that, and I know you will give in at last. Oh, my +sweet! it is enough, it is more than I deserve, to know that you love +me, to know that you will not drive me from you, that I may often be +with you. Do you remember how cruel you were in London, when you told +me to go away from you for ever, when you forbade me ever to speak to +you of love again?" + +"Yes, but it is different now," she said gently. + +"And you really love me?" + +"Why do you ask me what you know so well?" + +"And I may come and see you as often as I like?" + +"I did not say that." + +"But I may." + +There came a pause, then she said, "Promise me something, Harry." + +"I will promise anything you wish." + +"I want you to promise me not to come here again until I write to you." + +"How cruel!" + +"No! I am not cruel, Harry, you do not understand; but I must think over +all this, I do not see things clearly yet, I must think," she stopped in +the middle of the sentence, and an expression of agony passed over her +face, as the memory of her secret came to her mind. + +"Oh, Mary! don't you love me well enough to trust me yet?" he asked +reproachfully. + +"It is you who are cruel now. Oh, Harry, you know it is not that. You +know how I should like you never to leave me at all, you know that, +but...." + +"I _am_ cruel! Tears in my poor little pet's eyes too, and I have +brought them there by my brutality," and he stooped to kiss her eyelids. + +"Harry! Harry! Ah, if you knew what makes me hesitate! If you knew and +could help me! But there is no one that I can go to for advice--no one!" + +There was a keen anguish in her voice as she uttered these words. + +He seized her hands. "Mary, my love, cannot you come to _me_ for +advice?" + +"I cannot without betraying the secrets of others." + +"Is it this secret then that prevents your marrying me?" + +"Yes," she said sadly. + +"You think that you ought not to marry me without revealing it to me, +and yet you cannot reveal it; is that it?" + +"Yes, Harry." + +"Why, you silly little pet," and he kissed her, "is that all the +difficulty? We can soon get out of that. Don't tell me the secret. I am +not such an ogre that I wish to know all my little wife's secrets. Is it +your idea that a wife is bound to tell her husband every single thing? I +am afraid few wives take that view. Anyhow, I will relieve your +conscience by ordering you not to tell me that particular secret. I +shall be very angry--oh! I can be very angry, if you ever dare to let +out a word of it." He spoke playfully and kissed her again. "Now, are +you satisfied, pet?" + +"But, oh! that is not all, Harry. Supposing this secret is one that I +cannot reveal, and yet one which I ought to reveal, as it affects the +happiness of many other people. Supposing that by saying a few words I +could save much misery to hundreds. Oh! what can I do? What _am_ I to +do? How can I live happily with this awful thing on my mind?" + +She uttered these words in accents of the wildest misery. He looked +puzzled and very grave. He suspected that some mad socialist scheme of +Catherine King was at the bottom of this mystery, but he was, of course, +far from having the faintest idea of the real nature of it. + +"Mary," he said, "I have more than a suspicion that Mrs. King has +admitted you into some wild Political Secret Society, that is destined +to regenerate the world in some way or other. If that is your secret I +think you can keep it to yourself with an easy conscience. These people +talk a good deal of sedition, but have not the pluck to carry out their +preaching. They will never do any harm, you will see." + +"You do not know, you do not know," she said hurriedly and alarmed that +she had allowed him to guess even so little as he had; "but I must not +say more now. Do not talk about this now, Harry, please. I will think +over what you have said. In a day or two I shall see things more +clearly, and I will write to you." + +"And say in your letter 'Come to me.' Will you promise that." + +"When I write it will be to ask you to come to me, Harry." + +"That will be delicious! to receive from you, your first love-letter, +and with that sweet invitation in it, too. How anxiously I shall look +for it each day!" + +He gave her the nosegay he had gathered, and slowly they retraced their +steps to the merry party under the great oak tree. Then the doctor had +to leave them to catch his train to town, and he walked off with the +proud step and the glad eye of a true man who has won his sweetheart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE TAKING AWAY OF THE SHADOW. + + +When her lover had gone, a strong inclination came over Mary to be alone +for a time, she felt so perplexed and yet so happy. Taking in her hand +the nosegay of wild flowers he had gathered for her, she went off by +herself for a stroll in the woods, to think quietly over all that had +happened and that was to be. One moment the idea that she might some day +call the man she loved so dearly by the sweet name of husband, made her +heart beat quick with delight. The next moment her hope died out, and +she shuddered as she thought of that secret of hers which must surely +divide them for ever. How was it all to end? But, on the whole, she felt +very happy. She could not feel miserable on this day. A great part of +the shadow had already been cleared away. Possibly, but how she could +not tell, the rest would go too--she even felt sure that it would be so +soon. + +She reached the river again, and sat down on a mossy bank by the side of +it, and now the excitement of the day began to tell on her yet enfeebled +brain. + +Lulled by the slumberous hum of insects, the gentle rustling of the +leaves overhead, and the dashing of the stream across its shingle bed +below, a drowsiness, or rather a waking dream, stole over her senses--a +delicious, weary calm full of changing visions. + +It seemed to her as if the sky and hills and trees were further off +from her, vaster, lovelier than of earth; and a music of birds was in +the trees such as might have charmed some grove of the innocent Eden. It +was as if the trance of him who has eaten of the magical Indian herb had +fallen on her--a trance magnifying, glorifying all her surroundings. The +warm breeze was as a lover's kisses on her cheek and neck, so lovingly +it played around her; an intoxicating delight was in the scent of the +flowers; and the air she breathed was as liquid joy. And it seemed to +her as if she were quite alone in the midst of this beautiful Nature. +She forgot all about the picnic and the people that were not far from +her, all about the great world beyond. She was a being alone, the +solitary Eve of a lovely Eden--alone save for one god-like man who had +just left her. + +She felt the delight, the glory of the garden, and that was all; so, +scarcely knowing what she did, she took off her shoes and stockings, and +dipped her pretty feet and ankles in the stream as she sat by it, +singing softly the while in a mellow, dreamy voice even such a chant as +some lone Lorelei or sad, soul-less Undine might have sung by the sunny +Rhine. Then she took up the primroses and hyacinths her lover had given +her, and separated them; some she fastened in her straw hat, the rest +she strewed in her lap. + +She remembered that they had all been plucked by him, and she laughed +low as she kissed them one by one. Then she threw them up so that they +fell over her head and shoulders in a soft shower; and she sang again a +song, not of words, but breathing forth inexpressible delight--a song +that at times almost trembled into sobs with the very fullness of that +delight. + +She formed a beautiful picture indeed, as of a half-crazed Ophelia; but +there was no occasional touch of sadness in _her_ mood, for she knew +that her love was true to her and kind, and the shadow was so far away +now--away--away--beyond the glorious woods and gardens, below the faint +horizon, sunk under the world--and gone for ever, it seemed to her +imagination--there would be no more shadow now. + + * * * * * + +But two fierce eyes were watching her unseen. Someone had approached +noiselessly as a snake, and stood motionless a little way off, looking +at the girl with a fixed and intent stare through the dense bushes. + +The intruder was a woman with pale face and deep-sunk, flashing eyes, +and with lips lined at the corners as with much anguish. She stood there +concealed by the foliage, her fists clenched, her body leaning forward, +rigid, as of a tigress ready to spring on its prey. + +The happy girl sang on and played with the flowers unconscious of the +danger near her. + +The woman was Catherine King. She had come down as she had promised, to +carry out the mandate of the Secret Society, with a Judas kiss to invite +Mary to her destruction. + +On reaching Mrs. White's cottage that morning, she was informed by the +maid that all the family were away, that they had gone to picnic in the +woods. + +"They will be back early this evening, then?" asked Catherine. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Very well, I will wait for them," and she went into the little +drawing-room. + +She waited there for about half-an-hour. She sat first on one chair, +then on another; then paced up and down the room quickly. She looked out +of the window; she took up book after book, only immediately to put it +down again unread. She could not read just then--she could not +think--she felt she could not even wait idle in that room any longer, or +she would go mad. + +She was distracted by a feverish nervousness, which was ever +intensifying. She felt that she must go to Mary at once and do what was +required of her--she must do it at once, before it became altogether +impossible for her--so she rang the bell. + +The maid entered the room. + +"How far off is this picnic?" asked Catherine, curtly. + +"About four miles I think, ma'am." + +"Can you tell me the way there?" + +"Yes, ma'am. You will have to walk along the road across the moor until +you come to the bridge. If you cross the bridge, ma'am, and turn to the +right, following the river, you will come to them." + +"You are the only girl I ever met who could direct one clearly; thank +you, I will go there." + +She followed the maid's instructions and walked very fast all the way, +in hopes that the rapid motion would drive away her nervousness. + +At the bridge she stood still for a few moments, and drawing a bottle +from her pocket which contained laudanum, or some other drug, she drank +a small quantity of it. + +Then she looked down the white road before turning off into the wood, +and she saw in the distance a countryman dragging along a ram by a cord. +The sight called up memories of old lessons of her childhood. She +laughed bitterly to herself. "Ah! were I a Christian, I might accept +that as a good omen. Jehovah found Abraham such a substitute at the last +moment when he was about to sacrifice his only son. But for me, alas! +there can be no such hope." + +She walked along the narrow foot-path by the river-side for some way, +when suddenly she heard a sweet human voice rising and falling in a song +wild and untaught as a lark's, a song that seemed to ring with such +ecstacy of pure happiness that she paused to listen. In her present mood +the gladness of it stung her, and she ground her teeth in her agony. + +Then she turned pale and listened intently--yes, the voice was familiar +to her! Cautiously she approached, until she came to some bushes, from +behind which, herself concealed, she perceived Mary sitting on the +river-bank close to her, singing and playing with the flowers. + +The woman stood quite still and watched the girl for several minutes. + +What a storm of passions was sweeping across her fierce mind, torturing +the iron will! At first she felt nothing but a mad hate--the strong hate +of jealousy. But the pathetic image of the happy, half-crazed girl soon +raised other emotions. Love and hate together, joining in one new, wild +passion rose to torment her. Ah, how she hated, how she loved, that weak +child yonder! Her soul yearned upon her. Yet she longed to kill her then +and there--to stab and then clasp the dying girl in her arms--to lie +down by her, kissing the beloved lips--to drink her last breath and die +with her! Ah! how sweet to die with her!--in one long, last +kiss--kissing and stabbing her, loving and torturing her, at the same +time. Strange, impossible fancies crowded on her mind. A passion that +was not love, that was not hate, but the unnatural offspring of the two +and fiercer than either, possessed her--such a discordant passion, as we +are told by the Grecian myths, the Furies sow in the minds of men whom +the Gods have doomed to destruction. + +She looked, and she gnashed her teeth with hate; she looked again, and +tears came into her hot eyes to see her Mary--the dear child--the sole +human being she had ever loved! Yes! she must run forward to her, fall +down and kiss those bare white feet, forego her vengeance and beg +herself for forgiveness. + +But no, no--it could not be. The girl loved a man. She had herself +confessed to it. She must die. + +Then her reason, if reason it could be called, returned to her for a +moment. She hardened her heart. Was not Mary a traitor to the cause? The +safety of the Sisterhood, the success of this grand scheme, called for +her death. She _must_ die. + +But yet, she thought, how was the poor child to blame for all this? Was +it not her own cruel self--she, Catherine King--that had enticed Mary +into the Secret Society, and led her into danger? But she smothered +these fancies--steeled herself for her task. She hesitated no longer, +and stepping out of her ambush, she stood before the girl. + +As soon as Mary perceived her, she dropped the flowers and sprang to +meet her with a smile of joyous welcome. She was not startled by +Catherine's sudden appearance. Her happiness had been too deep to be +disturbed in a moment by any fears. The discord that divided them did +not occur then to her mind; she only remembered the old love between +them. + +But to the girl's surprise, Catherine did not return her fond caresses; +she scarcely seemed to recognize her, but drew back averting her gaze, +as if afraid of meeting those pleading eyes. + +"Mother, dear mother!" cried Mary, looking up to her face as she put her +arms about her. "What is it? Are you still angry with me?" + +The woman took the girl's hands in hers, she could not help it, and +spoke in dreamy absent tones, looking away from her the while across the +river. + +"No Mary, no! but I do not feel very well to-day." + +"Poor mother! I am so sorry," Mary commenced, in a sympathetic voice. + +Catherine could not bear this. She felt she must hurry through her duty, +or else break down. She wished now that she had not come to see the +girl, but had written to her, so she strove against the horror that was +paralyzing her will and spoke again, but with a painful excitement which +she could not suppress. Her words came hurriedly and confusedly. + +"Mary, I must go in a few minutes--I have to catch a train--I wished to +see you for a moment; I want to know if"----she almost broke down +now--"if you will come and stay with me a week or two in town +before--before--" ... but she could trust herself to say no more, and +paused. + +Mary was astonished at the strangely excited, yet constrained manner of +her former mistress, but suspected nothing. + +The woman waited for the girl's reply, waited breathlessly, hoping +against hope that she would refuse the invitation. The pause seemed an +eternity of agony to her, yet it was but of a few seconds. + +Mary answered in a voice full of affection and confidence, "Dear mother! +How can you doubt what my answer will be? I was afraid you would never +be friends with me again. You know how glad I shall be to be with you." +She was going to say more, but stopped suddenly, observing the terrible +change, the expression of extreme anguish that crossed Catherine's face. + +One choking sob escaped the woman, and feeling dizzy she sat down, +almost fell, on the bank, and supporting her head on her hands gazed +into vacancy with an awful look upon her fixed features, a look that +told clearly of her soul's utter despair. + +Mary ran up to her in great bewilderment and alarm, knelt before her, +stroked her hand with her own, fondled her. + +"Mother, my dear mother, what is it? What can I do?" + +Catherine still answered nothing, but she slowly raised her now ghastly +white face toward the girl's; turned her eyes that seemed dim, and to +have no sense in them upon her; eyes that looked at her, yet appeared +not to see, as those of one sightless; and the nervously twitching mouth +moved as if speaking, but no words came forth. + +"Mother! mother!" cried the terrified girl. "Speak to me--are you ill--I +will get you some water--wait for me, only a few moments and I will +fetch assistance." + +"No, no, no!" cried the woman in a spasmodic way. "No! I am better--it +is nothing--stay here--fetch nobody--I have something to say to you." + +She spoke with such a stem authority that the girl could not but obey. + +Then came a long silence, a great suspense--the girl watching her +mistress with open, frightened eyes; the woman sitting motionless with +a fixed inscrutable look again on her features, as if absorbed in +painfully intense thought. + +But Catherine King was not thinking at all. The image of Mary, the touch +of the dear hand, had fascinated her, had paralyzed her brain for the +time. She was conscious of no mental operations; memory and emotion were +effaced. Her mind was a blank, or rather in a state of expectant +attention, waiting for some accident to wake it again to a rush of +thought; like a magazine of powder, inactive till the spark should come. +Such a complete suspension of the mental faculties often succeeds to +excessive excitement and conflict of ideas, only to precede another +mightier wave of emotion, and fiercer gust of will, even as the calm +precedes the storm. + +Of a sudden the spark came, the mind was at work again. But a strange +thing had come to pass. It seemed to Catherine as if her brain had +become a mere machine. Will was dead; there was no deliberation, no +weighing of conflicting motives; but some other power, some dominant +idea that had come from outside, took the place of will, and worked the +mind--drove it along one narrow groove, allowing it to go neither to the +right nor to the left, but straight on, wandering into no side +associations, hindered by no opposing fears, hopes, or memories. + +It was if some demon had possessed her, before whom her reason bowed, a +demon whose biddings she must obey without resistance. + +She felt as if the chord of volition had snapped in her brain, when this +strong impulse fell on it. So without hesitation, or thought of +consequences, she obeyed the impulse and spoke what she was compelled +to--spoke in a dreamy passionless voice at first, like one under the +mesmeric influence. All the fierce love and all the fierce hate were +slumbering for the time, the idea was alone in her mind. + +She rose to her full height, and taking the girl's hand again in hers, +the words, unpremeditated by her, came forth slowly. + +"Mary, you have left us, but you have not betrayed us. I know you too +well to suspect you of that. You are free. It is unnecessary to release +you from your promises to us--you are free without that. Oh, Mary! my +heart is broken. We have failed--failed miserably. Our Society is broken +up. When it came to action, the weak women would not support me. The +very object of the Society is no more. Everything has gone wrong. The +Act of Parliament relating to the Tenure of Land on which all our hopes +hung will not be passed after all. There are signs to show that the +Radicals will not obtain that overwhelming majority we looked forward to +at the coming elections. Our plans are postponed indefinitely, which +means that all is lost. There is an accursed reaction in the country. It +is all over, my scheme, my hopes. You are free--marry, do what you will. +You need not fear the weight of the secret any more. You need not +tremble to read in the papers accounts of our doings. It is all over, +and there is nothing left me now but to die." + +Thus had Catherine King been driven by the irresistible power to tell +this comforting lie to the girl; all the ideas and plans that filled her +mind when she came down having vanished completely as if they had never +been. And she said the very thing that was alone needed to make Mary +really free and happy. The girl had no further cause to fear the secret. +It was a harmless secret now. The horrible work would not be done. Her +conscience would not torment her for preserving a criminal silence, and +so becoming the accomplice of assassins. + +A light of supreme triumphant joy came to Mary's eyes. She could not +speak at first, so moved was she, but stood with her hands clasped +together, trying to realize all that those precious words meant for her. + +Then Catherine was inspired once more by the power to speak--to complete +her work. + +"Mary! you must promise me one thing. Kneel down, girl,--kneel and +swear by the God in whom you now believe that you will keep this +promise." + +She spoke in a terrible voice that compelled obedience. It was not +herself but _that_ which possessed her, that cried through her mouth in +such commanding accents. + +Mary knelt down, pale and trembling. + +"I swear it," she whispered. + +"Remember! as long as you live, if I, or any of the Sisterhood, at any +time, invite you to visit them or meet them anywhere--you must not go. +Avoid us all for ever. If you act otherwise you will die." + +"But, oh! dear mother! what a cruel promise to exact from me," and the +girl embraced the woman. "I must see _you_, you cannot mean that." + +Catherine drew herself back quickly, as if stung by the girl's +affection. "You have sworn," she interrupted her in a hoarse voice. "I +tell you girl that you will surely die if you do not observe that oath." + +Mary approached as if to embrace her mistress once more, her arms +stretched out towards her pleadingly; but Catherine seized, her by the +arm and pushed her back savagely--she was coming to her senses, and +began to realize all she had done. + +"Keep away, girl; keep away!" she almost shrieked. "You don't know what +I have sacrificed for your sake--accursed be the day I met +you!--accursed be my own weakness! Keep away from me! Don't come fawning +on me or I will kill you." + +Then without another word she turned and walked away rapidly through the +woods and was lost to sight, leaving Mary confused, dazed, and full of +compassion for the miserable woman whom she had loved so well; but after +a few moments all other ideas vanished before the great happiness that +had come to her. + +_The shadow had gone._ + +Oh, the blessed relief to the poor distracted soul! It was too intense a +joy for her to bear! She lay down on the grass, and sobbed wildly, +until Mrs. White, who had become anxious about her, came and found her +there. Then the girl rose, and placing her arms round her friend's neck, +cried with an hysterical laugh, "Dear, dear, Mrs. White! the kind God +has answered your prayers for me." + + * * * * * + +That very evening, as soon as she reached Mrs. White's cottage, Mary +wrote her first letter to Dr. Duncan, the first love letter of her life. +It was a very short one. + + "My love, Come to me as soon as you can, + + "Your loving, + "MARY." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +DESPAIR. + + +"What have I done? what have I done? Am I mad?" asked the wretched woman +of herself, as she rocked herself to and fro uneasily, sitting in an +arm-chair by the fire. The weather was warm but Catherine King had lit +the fire; she felt chilly and ill, and could not bear to be left alone +in that still room without some moving thing by her, were it only the +leaping flames. + +It was early in the evening of the day after her interview with Mary +Grimm. She sat in the little parlour of her house in Maida Vale gazing +at the red embers, waiting for the arrival of the two leading Sisters of +the Inner Circle. They were coming to learn from her own lips the result +of her visit to Farnham, to prepare for the execution of the traitor. + +How could she meet them, how to tell them what she had done? She could +not herself distinctly call to mind how it had all happened. She had +gone down to the country with a firm resolve, and had been driven by she +knew not what to act in direct opposition to that resolve and strong +desire. She had done what she now cursed herself for doing. + +"Yes, I am mad--I must be mad to have done this thing!" she muttered to +herself with impatient fury. "With my own hands I have ruined the Cause. +It is all over. I am mad." + +As the time of the appointment drew near, the repugnance she felt to +entering into a personal explanation with the Sisters intensified. No! +she dare not meet them--she would write to them; so she put on her +bonnet and cloak, and was just about to leave the house when a ring came +at the street bell, and the maid-servant announced Sisters Susan and +Eliza. + +"Good-evening, Sisters," said the Chief, "I did not expect you so soon; +you are before your time." + +"I think we are," said Sister Eliza. "The fact is, we were anxious to +learn how you fared at the cottage yesterday." + +"Fared!" exclaimed Catherine bitterly. + +"Yes, Sister Catherine," Susan said, "we are very anxious to get that +girl up here as soon as possible. For my part, I cannot feel safe as +long as she is away." + +"Then I am afraid you will never feel happy again, Sister Susan," +Catherine replied with a mocking ring in her voice. + +"What do you mean?" exclaimed Susan. + +"Sit down--sit down, Sisters! I think you had better hear the worst at +once," said the Chief with a reckless laugh. + +The other two women looked at each other when they heard these +discouraging words; Susan's face turned very pale. + +Catherine observed her and laughed again. "No, no! Susan, it is not so +bad as _you_ think--we are not betrayed--your pretty neck is not +endangered _yet_." + +The strange manner of the Chief--the savage despair of her tones were so +different from anything they had ever noticed with her before, that the +women were too startled to question her. They sat in awed silence while +Catherine paced up and down the room restlessly. Suddenly she stopped, +and turning to the elder of her two accomplices said, "Sister Eliza! I +will tell you what I have done--I will hide nothing from you--I am too +maddened to care what you may think. I know after this, all my influence +will be lost, but it matters not now. I have seen Mary Grimm. I have +done exactly the reverse of what I went down to do. I did not invite her +to town--but I made her swear to keep out of our way. I have given her +her freedom. I told her the Society was broken up, that we should need +her no longer, I did all this--What do you think of it? Eh! What do you +think of it?" + +She spoke very rapidly and wildly; then she sat down in the chair by the +fire and turned her head away from them. + +For several minutes there was a complete silence in the room, none of +them made the slightest movement. At last Catherine turned abruptly and +exclaimed with passionate vehemence, "Are you both dumb? Can you not say +anything?" + +Sister Eliza first recovered her composure. "Sister Catherine," she +said, "I do not understand you. You are not yourself this evening. You +are ill and excited. We will wait until to-morrow morning, then you will +explain this matter to us. I have sufficient faith in you to know that +you have acted for the best." + +"And I," exclaimed Susan with a contemptuous bitterness in her voice, +"believe that this is the beginning of the end. I foresee that the +Society has received its death-blow. This weakness of yours will leak +out, Sister Catherine. Oh, yes! I understand what you have done. You +_must_ know what will happen now. When the Sisters discover that the +Chief has so little care of their safety, that she refuses to remove a +great danger, because forsooth to do so stands in the way of her private +affection, do you think they will believe in her any more, trust her +again? Why, they will never know from what side to expect danger next. +They will desert the Cause in panic, seeing that their very general has +betrayed them." + +Catherine paid no heed to Susan's angry words, but rose slowly from the +chair, and said in an absent weary way, "I wish to be alone. I have told +you everything. If you desire to know more come to-morrow--but leave me +alone now, I pray you--good-night!" + +"This is the shortest meeting we have ever had," said Susan with a +sneer; "but if the business of the Society is to be transacted in this +way, it looks as if we are likely to have a last shorter meeting still +some day--one in front of the gallows. Treachery--" + +"Silence, Sister Susan!" interrupted the boarding-house keeper, sternly. +"Let us go. Sister Catherine, I will come here to-morrow morning. +Good-night! you want rest; sleep will do you good." + +"Sleep!" echoed Catherine in a despairing voice. Sister Eliza looked +over her shoulder anxiously at her Chief, as she went out of the room +with Susan Riley, and the woman was once more left alone with the +thoughts that were killing her. + +Sister Eliza and Susan Riley walked together down the Edgware Road. For +some time neither spoke. Each in her different way was dismayed at the +prospect before the Secret Society, and was pondering over the +situation. + +Susan felt absolutely ill with rage and disappointment. Her scheme of +vengeance against the girl she hated had been frustrated, at any rate +for the time. But this was not all. She clearly saw that the Chief's +line of conduct with regard to Mary, boded great peril to the Society. +She felt that Catherine King would never recover her self-esteem and +consciousness of power. She knew the woman's character too well. And she +was well aware what an unstable institution that Society was, how soon +it would be scattered when the master-mind failed to hold its sway. +Susan's passion for intrigue and conspiracy had made her an enthusiast a +selfish one it is true, of the Cause. It had now become a necessity of +her life, and she trembled as she thought how near the collapse of it +threatened to be. + +She spoke in a low voice to her companion as they walked along: "Eliza! +the Chief will never recover from the results of this piece of folly. I +know her: she is lost, and after her the Cause." + +"I don't know," replied the boarding-house keeper. "She has not fully +explained her motives to us yet. Wait until to-morrow, then we will +understand everything. I cannot believe that she has not acted for the +best. Her wisdom is not ours, Susan." + +"Ha!" laughed Susan, contemptuously, "I understand you. You amuse me. +You remind me of what happened a few years back when the prime minister, +that then infallible idol of England, committed that terrible mistake in +his foreign policy. Do you remember how all the thinking men of his own +party, though they perceived his errors, tried to stifle their +convictions and reason? You remember with what timid vague speeches, men +who ought to have known better, defended that suicidal policy in the +House. They thought that venerated man, whose gigantic intellect so +towered above their own, could not be at fault. They said to themselves +that he must be right in everything. He doubtlessly saw what they could +not. Who were they to question his wisdom? Well, Eliza, that's exactly +the way you always think and talk about your infallible idol, our Chief. +You believe she must be right somehow, though you can't see how, though +she seems to be acting as wrongly as possible. But you will soon find it +out, Sister Eliza, very soon. Catherine King will never again hold up +her head, and dictate to the Sisterhood as she could two days ago. Her +power of compelling them to believe in her, will all go. You will see +it, I tell you--you will see it." + +Susan spoke excitedly. Sister Eliza's sinking heart told her that the +words were true, but she was unwilling to confess this. "Take care, +Susan," she said, wishing to turn the conversation. "The street is +rather too crowded for discussion of these matters. We shall be +overheard, if you don't take care." + +"Trust me," was the reply, "I'm keeping my eyes open; besides, I shall +say nothing that can possibly be understood by passers-by. But tell me, +Sister Eliza, don't you agree with what I said?" + +"No! I cannot yet see wherein lies the very great danger of sparing this +wretched girl." + +"Not see it! but this is absurd, you do see it. You know what she now +is, religious, love-sick, and a lunatic to boot. How can you expect such +a one to keep a secret like ours? Sister Eliza! you must understand as +well as I do, the meaning of what has happened. You see that the Chief +has sacrificed the Cause to her private feelings. You know how she will +hate and despise herself when she awakes from her folly, and then she +will be as weak as Samson after the loss of his locks; for she will have +lost what is _her_ strength, _her_ secret of success--belief in herself. +And without Catherine King what do you think will happen to the Cause?" + +"I am afraid, without her, it will be lost." + +"Of course it will. But we must do our best. Even the Inner Circle must +not know how it is that the judgment on Mary Grimm has not been +executed. We must see Catherine to-morrow. We must concoct between us +some plausible lie for the Sisters. We might make them believe that the +girl is dead, anything rather than let them guess the fatal weakness of +the Chief." + +"That does seem the only thing to do," said Sister Eliza, thoughtfully. +"I will try and think the whole matter over to-night." + +"There is one other way out of the difficulty." + +"And what is that?" + +"Cannot we execute this judgment still, without consulting Catherine +King? But, no, no!" she continued, in tones of suppressed rage, "that is +too dangerous now; she told us that she has actually warned the girl +against us. Why, the Chief herself is a traitor!" + +"Sister Susan, I should advise you to take care what you say," quietly +observed the boarding-house keeper. + +"Ah! yes, I know," said Susan, contemptuously. "You are a strong friend +of hers, you will stick to her through anything. You believe in all she +does." + +"Well, here we are in Oxford Street," interrupted the other, "I think I +shall get into this omnibus. I will call on you early to-morrow morning, +and we will talk over everything before we see Catherine King." + +"I feel very upset," said Susan to herself after they had separated. +"All seems to be going wrong just now; but it won't do to worry--worry +brings grey hairs. I must amuse myself--I must have dissipation to-night +to keep the blues away. Let me see, it's only six o'clock now; a stroll +in the Burlington, and a few glasses of sherry, will be a good +beginning." So she got into a hansom and drove to Piccadilly, touching +up her complexion on the way, with the apparatus she carried in her +little hand-bag. + +She sauntered up and down the Arcade several times, looking into the +shop windows, and feeling quite happy again when she perceived that she +attracted a satisfactory share of the attention of the men. + +"How do you do, Miss Riley?" said a quiet voice by her side. + +She started, and turning round saw Dr. Duncan. + +"Why, doctor!" she exclaimed, rather confused. "You are the last person +I should have expected to meet here." + +"Well, it is not very often I am to be seen in the Burlington," he +replied; "but as it happened to lie on my way, I am strolling through +it." + +"And I," she said, with a laugh, "have been calling on my bootmaker." + +"I have not seen you since you left the hospital, Miss Riley." + +She saw that he glanced with some surmise at her fashionable and +expensive attire, so different from the simple dress of the hospital +nurse he had always been accustomed to see her in. It might prove +inconvenient to her, at some future time, were this man to entertain any +suspicions as to her mode of living, so she said, with a pretty attempt +at a bashful smile, "You must not call me Miss Riley now, Dr. Duncan. I +have changed my name." + +"Let me congratulate you? May I ask by what name I am to call you for +the future?" + +"Well I have changed my name and yet not changed it--I am Mrs. Riley--I +have married a cousin. But, doctor! I am so glad to have met you, I am +anxious to know how poor Mary Grimm is now. Have you heard from your +sister lately?" + +"I am very glad to have good news to tell you, Mrs. Riley. I saw Miss +Grimm yesterday. Her health is certainly improving very rapidly. I am +looking forward to her complete recovery, at an early date." + +"Ah! you saw her yesterday; did she say whether her aunt had been there +lately?" + +"I don't think Mrs. King has been down there for about a week." + +"Indeed! She told me she was going to Farnham yesterday." + +"She was certainly not there before I left, and that was late in the +afternoon." + +"And shall you see Mary again soon, doctor?" + +Mary's letter was in his pocket; he had received it that morning, and +had been beside himself with delight ever since. His exultation rang in +his voice as he replied: + +"I am going to see her to-morrow morning." + +Susan perceived the expression in his eyes, and his joy irritated her +excessively. "Well, good-night, Dr. Duncan," she said, in a harder tone. +"Thank you for your good news. When you see Mary, to-morrow, give her my +love, and please tell her that I inquired about her. Say that I have not +forgotten her and won't. Don't forget will you, doctor?" + +"I don't like that cunning face of yours, Mrs. Riley," he said to +himself when she had gone. "I distrust you. It is foolish of me, but I +cannot help it. I cannot help imagining you dislike my poor little bird +down there--and yet you seemed very anxious about her when she was ill. +There is thorough malice in your voice and eye, but we don't fear you." + +His love for Mary had inspired him with a subtle instinct, that told him +when danger to her was near; and he felt a strong antipathy for the +pretty woman with the wicked languishing eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE FIRST WARNING. + + +On the following morning Dr. Duncan took the train to Farnham, and full +of delightful anticipation walked over to his sister's cottage. + +It was the most lovely spring day imaginable. The young vegetation +glowed beneath the bright sky, and a warm fresh breeze stirred it to +happy music. It was, indeed, the very morning to go a-wooing. All nature +was in harmony with the man's feelings, and he felt all its joyous +sympathy as he walked with buoyant step along the fair English lanes, +and the open moorland tracks, with fancies exultant and blithe as a +lark's morning song. + +At last he reached a little iron gate that opened on to the grounds of +the cottage. He passed through it, and followed the path that clove the +shrubbery, whose waving blossoms of lilac and laburnum seemed to whisper +a glad welcome to him. Then, his heart beating fast, he walked on, till +turning round a corner of the bushes, the lawn opened out before him, +with the creeper-covered cottage beyond it. + +And then he saw a sight that made him stand quite still suddenly, and +hold his breath with keen emotion. + +One who loved him had been watching for him, and had seen him from her +window coming down the road, then she had gone out to meet him. + +He saw the young girl walking towards him across the fresh +daisy-sprinkled grass which still sparkled with dew at her feet. Her +hands were slightly extended as if eager to greet him. She wore a +morning dress of white muslin. There was no hat on her head, and the +sunshine gleamed in her tresses. A faint blush lit her cheek, and on her +lips played that smile of pleasure which, when a lover finds his +presence brings it to his mistress, makes him know the most exceeding +happiness this world can give. + +He did not move, but stood still, wishing to prolong each stage of his +delight, gazing with adoration at the lovely figure as it approached. So +ethereal a being did she appear in that white robe, with her face pale +save for the faint glow of joy that flushed either cheek; so fair, so +fragile a creature, that she seemed to her lover as of some sweet noble +order of spirits, too high, too pure, for the coarse affections of this +earth; and tears came to his eyes with the tenderness he felt in his +worship of this delicate girl. + +She came up to him, and placed her hands in his. He held her at his +arms' length for a few moments, saying nothing, feasting his eyes with +her beauty; then he drew her close to him and kissed her passionately. + +She tried to free herself from his grasp with a little low laugh that +only encouraged him to hold her the closer, and they felt their hearts +beat against each other. + +When he released her there was a deep colour on her face, and she looked +up at him with a pretty expression, a half smile, half-pout upon her +mouth, as if she did not quite know whether to laugh or cry, be pleased +or angry. + +He led her to the bench under the beech-tree, and when they were seated +spoke to her, her hands still held in his. + +"My darling! so you have sent for me. Oh, my love! I can see that it is +good news you have to tell me this day." + +She made no reply, but he felt her hand tighten its grasp of his. + +"Mary! dare I hope at last, that you will allow me to be your friend, +your husband? Have all the difficulties you spoke of been removed?" + +"Harry! the shadow has gone from my life. What I feared would be done +will not be done. You were right in what you said. To reveal my secret +now would do no harm nor good to anyone. The mischief of the secret has +gone for ever." + +"Thank God!" cried her lover excitedly; "and now, Mary, there is nothing +between us. Keep the secret; do not betray your friends. I do not care +to know it. I understand you, this precious scheme, whatever it was, has +come to nothing, has been abandoned. My darling! What do I care what it +was? I know well it is nothing that should bring blame to your innocent +soul. Poor child! that you should have become the tool of these wicked +designing wretches! But now it is all over. You trust me, Mary, don't +you?" + +Another pressure of the hand was a sufficient answer to him. + +"Then, Mary, the whole of my life will be devoted to your happiness. Ah! +I never imagined that I could ever love a woman as I do you! Oh, Mary, +Mary! I do not deserve to have been made so happy by you. And you really +will have me as a husband? This is not a dream is it?" + +"If you wish it," she whispered; "I will do all you wish." + +"All _I_ wish, that is how you always speak; but what do _you_ wish?" + +She raised her eyes till they met his, and whatever doubts he might have +held about her feelings towards him, were dispelled by that soft, yet +passionate look. + +"Mary, Mary, my love!" + +"Harry! my love! my husband! You ask me for my love. Ah! indeed, you +know you have it. Oh, Harry, do you think that all women feel this, do +they love their husbands as dearly as I love you? It seems all so +strange, so wonderful." + +He drew her head towards him and kissed the tears from her tender eyes; +suddenly she started. + +"Harry!" + +"Yes! my dear little girl." + +"I must pray." + +He looked at her with some surprise. There was a great earnestness in +her eyes as she clung to his hand and exclaimed, "Oh, Harry! you know +how wicked I have been. You know how for many years I did not even +believe in God. I was an atheist!" She shuddered as she uttered the word +in accents of loathing. "And yet, see! he has sent me this wonderful +happiness, this sweet, sweet love. How good this God must be! He is kind +even to me, to me! Do you think he will hear me, will he be pleased if I +pray to him, Harry, if I thank him for all that he has done?" + +Her wistful look, the simple pathos of her speech touched the man's +heart and his eyes dimmed, as he cried out passionately in reply, "Oh, +my darling! my dear, dear, little sweetheart! You wicked, indeed! If God +does find pleasure in any prayer, he must surely do so in such true, +pure prayer as yours. You are right, Mary, you are right. We ought, +indeed, to thank God together for having filled our hearts with this +delicious love. I even more than you; for unlike you I have had +everything in my favour, and yet I have lived an irreligious wicked +selfish life. You have taught me a lesson, oh, my sweet little wife!" + + * * * * * + +Can Heaven itself disclose greater delights than did this glorious May +day for these two! Ah! those golden hours; how the one, who later on +will be left alone in the cold world will recall the magic rapture of +them! Ah, precious hours, glimpses of Paradise, of which so few come to +brighten the long dark days of most of us. + + * * * * * + +After a time the lovers went indoors, and the doctor told his sister +everything. Poor little Mrs. White, how fussy and excited she was all +that day! I verily believe she was happy as were they themselves on +seeing that matters had been settled definitely at last between these +two people whom she loved so dearly. + +At lunch exceedingly high spirits prevailed, high spirits that were not +far removed from tears at times, from so profound depths they sprung. +The little children caught the contagion from their elders and became +very unruly in their merriment; and yet they were not reproved by their +mother, who seemed to have lost her head in the excess of her gladness, +and laughed so much at their pranks that their quick perceptions grasped +the situation in a way; they saw that some very joyful thing had +happened, and that discipline was to be ignored for the day; they +discovered that mother, uncle, and "Auntie Mary," would tolerate +anything, and they profited by the occasion. + +"Uncle Harry, have you brought me some chokkies?" asked the little boy, +and was not even rebuked for his rudeness. + +Uncle had forgotten all about chocolates this time, but replied, "Bobby, +I'll send you pocketsful of chokkies to-morrow." + +"And a boat, Uncle Harry?" + +"Yes, and a nice boat, and a new rocking-horse." + +The children clapped their hands and shouted with delight; they thought +their elders had surely gone mad, and that the Infant Millenium had +come. + +"And a new dolly for me?" cried the eldest girl. + +"Yes! and a doll's house too, with lots of furniture," immediately +responded the evidently insane uncle. + +But, at last, the nurse, a worthy female, who alone in the establishment +had not altogether lost her head, thought fit to come down and +intervene, and she marched the reluctant youngsters off. + +Mrs. White had to attend to her household cares, so the lovers were +again left alone. They had somewhat settled down to their new relations +by this time, so they sat side by side and talked over the vague bright +future before them. They arranged where they would live and so on, and +formed all manner of plans, as is the way of young people in their +situation. + +"Why, I feel quite like an old married woman already," said Mary at +last, with a smile. + +"You see we know each other pretty well by this time--we are not +strangers to each other," he replied. + +"No, Harry! but I can hardly realize all this yet. Poor Mrs. King! what +will become of her?" she exclaimed suddenly, as the recent events +flashed across her mind. + +"Oh! she will be all right, I suppose," replied the doctor, who could +hardly be expected to take much interest in Catherine's welfare. + +"She was very good to me," said Mary, thoughtfully. "We loved each other +very much." + +"How came you to live with her, Mary? I beg your pardon; that may be +part of your secret." + +"Oh no! It is not. I can tell you all about that. In fact, I had made up +my mind to tell you some time to-day. You ought to know something about +me before you make me your wife, dear." + +"I know quite enough about you, my darling, to know that I shall always +love you very much, and that you deserve the love of a better man than +me," he replied, kissing her. + +"Ah! but you will be ashamed of me when I tell you this. Harry, I have +deceived you. Mrs. King is not really my aunt." + +"So much the better, my pet. I am very glad to hear it." + +"I must tell you who I am, Harry. It has been on my mind for a long time +to do so. Now listen, and don't interrupt me till I have finished." + +Dr. Duncan had never before inquired into her history, and now, for the +first time, she told him who her parents were, of her life at Brixton, +how she had run away from home, how she had been kindly treated by the +unfortunate barrister, and how, at last, she had met Catherine King and +had been adopted by her. + +When she had completed her narration, she sobbed and covered her face +with her hands. "Ah, Harry!" she cried, "now you know what a wicked girl +I have been. You will not put trust in me any more. Do you hate me now, +Harry?" + +"Hate you!" he exclaimed, taking her hands from her face and kissing it. +"You silly little thing! you say that to tease me." He paused a little, +looking into her eyes as he held her head, and then continued in a voice +that shook with strong passion, "You know I trust you--trust you as I +would--as I would--yes!--even as I would trust the good God himself, who +created that pure soul of yours, my queen! Ah! Mary, Mary, you do not +half understand how dear you are to me now!" + +"Yes I do, Harry; I have only to think of what you are to me, to +understand it," she said, smiling through her tears. + +"It _is_ delicious to hear those words from your lips, Mary!" + +"And you are not ashamed of me then, dear, after what I have told you?" + +"Ashamed of you? No! prouder of you than ever. It is a strange history +this of yours, Mary. Very few could have come out of such an ordeal +unscathed, as you have done." + +"I wish I could tell you all the rest too, dear; I do so wish you knew +my secret. But I have sworn not to reveal it." + +"There is now no object for revealing it, pet, except to gratify my idle +curiosity; and I would not have you do that. But I have an important +question to ask you." + +"What is it?" + +He put his arm round her and drew her close to him. "When are we to be +married?" + +"Oh! I have not thought of that yet." + +"Well, it is rather sudden; but, Mary, it will do you so much good to +go abroad for awhile. Now, if we are married soon, we can go away +together for a long holiday. I can get someone to do my work for me in +my absence." + +So it was settled that the marriage should take place in the course of a +few weeks; and when the sun set that evening, and the lights were lit in +the cottage, there were no happier people in all merry England than the +doctor, his sweetheart, and his sister. + + * * * * * + +But even on that, the first evening of unalloyed happiness for the +lovers, the stern Fate that seemed to hunt relentlessly the unfortunate +girl put forth her grim finger in warning. While the three were sitting +down in the cosy drawing-room after dinner, the postman's knock was +heard at the door and the maid brought Mary a letter. + +"A letter for me!" she exclaimed as she took it, and her face paled, and +a shiver ran through her body as she turned it over in her hands +uneasily without opening it. No one ever wrote to her, and she felt a +foreboding of some great ill. Instinctively she moved her chair a little +nearer to her lover, who was sitting by her, as if to lean upon him for +protection against the unknown danger. He understood that pleading +gesture, and placed his arm firmly round her. + +Then she opened the letter, she turned to the signature at the end of it +and saw that it was from Susan Riley. She dropped it again on her lap. + +"Harry," she said, "I feel that I am going to read something terrible. +All through this bright day I have felt that such perfect happiness +could not last long, that some misfortune must soon follow." + +"Read the letter, dear, and don't be so superstitious," said Mrs. White. + +She took it up again and read steadily through it. It ran thus-- + + "DEAR MARY,--So you have left us. I thought you would. I fear the + Society has gone to the dogs, so I will have to look out for some + other field for my energies. Did the doctor give you my message? I + asked him to tell you that I would never forget my little sister + nurse. You don't trouble much about me, but see how considerate I am + for you. Three weeks ago I saw the enclosed extract in a suburban + paper. I did not send it to you then, fearing that it might give you + a shock in your feeble state of health--little as you loved your + father. But now I hear from Dr. Duncan that you are very much + better, so I forward it to you. The doctor tells me that he will be + with you this evening, so you will have someone by to help you bear + up under your affliction. Accept my condolence for your loss, also + my congratulation on your coming happiness--for I have eyes in my + head, Mary, and I can guess that you will soon be married. I suppose + what has happened will put off the happy day though. I suppose + you'll have a baby or babies. How funny that _one of us_ should go + in for that sort of thing! I promise you that I'll take a great + interest in your life, dear. _I'll stand as fairy god-mother to your + baby._ Good-bye, dear. Yours ever, + + "SUSAN." + + "_P.S._ Did Dr. Duncan tell you that I have married my cousin? + Sha'n't I make a capital wife?" + +The cutting from the newspaper which was enclosed in the letter was an +announcement of her father's death. + +Mary read the letter slowly, and each line seemed a separate sting, as +doubtlessly it was intended to be. Little as she loved her father, she +was shocked to hear that he was dead. She had intended to go to him as +soon as she was married, and implore his forgiveness. She had looked +forward to the reconciliation with him, for all her hate had died away +long since. She was troubled, too, by the vague threats the letter +contained, couched though they were in terms of affectionate +solicitude. She felt a great terror when she read the underlined promise +of the woman who hated her, to stand as fairy god-mother to her child. +She could not shake away the fear that the shadow, far away though it +was now, would once again rise up from the horizon to cloud her +happiness; but she stifled these fancies with a great effort, and said, +"Oh, Harry! my poor father is dead." + +There were no exaggerated protestations of sympathy where little grief +was felt, but the event cast a chill over the party. + +This letter had come at so inopportune a moment, that it could not but +raise forebodings. Even the doctor felt a vague dread, and Mrs. White +was quite upset by what she considered a very bad omen indeed. + +No one had spoken for some time, Mary had been holding the letter in her +hand thinking; at last she said, "Harry, I cannot tell whether I ought +to show you this letter. Will you be angry if I don't. There is +something about the secret in it." + +"Mary, darling, unless there is something in it you want to preserve, I +should put that letter in the fire. Observe your oath, and don't worry +yourself about showing me everything as if I was suspicious of you. You +know I am not that." + +"Thank you, dear; I will burn it then." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +SHATTERED IDOLS. + + +About six months had passed away since the events narrated in the last +chapter. In that short time a considerable change had come over the +lives of the characters of this story. + +Dr. Duncan and Mary were husband and wife, and had settled down in a +comfortable little house in St. John's Wood, in which district he had +purchased a practice. + +As Susan Riley had foretold, the decay of the Secret Society commenced +on that day when the Chief had shown weak mercy to a deserter. Catherine +King gradually lost her hold of the wills of the Sisterhood. She was +changed; the difference might have been imperceptible to a casual +observer, but there it was. She was no longer infallible to her +followers; she was no longer believed in, because she no longer believed +in herself; and that subtle power which faith in self gives, and which +compels faith and obedience in others, had gone for ever. The magic of +her direct personal influence had been her best, perhaps her only true +qualification for the task she had set herself. She was wanting in the +faculty of organization, and was fully conscious of this; so when her +personal influence waned, the real instability of the Society soon +commenced to make itself manifest. Disputes and doubts arose, and many +of the Sisters having lost all confidence in their Chief, became timid, +and kept quietly away from the Society. + +So far nothing had been done by this band of fanatics; the abominable +work contemplated by them had not yet commenced. They were waiting for +those expected changes in the laws relating to the tenure of land, which +were to be rendered more effective by their action. + +With an intense anxiety did Catherine King await the general election. +All her hopes depended on that. Were the enemies of private property to +gain the day, were the desired act of Parliament to be passed, the +signal would be given to the Sisters to proceed at once upon their +labours. A new vitality would then stir the Society; the old enthusiasm +would return, and in the midst of the peril of the battle she would soon +regain all her lost influence. But she thought it best, in the present +temper of her associates, to keep aloof from them until the moment for +action came. She did not show herself to them, but entrusted Sister +Eliza to see that everything was prepared. It was a period of anxious +suspense, of oppressive inactivity for all. + +At last the general election took place. An intense excitement pervaded +the whole country. Questions of the utmost importance were in the air. +The programme of one party was so violent and revolutionary, that its +supporters would, not so long since, have rendered themselves liable to +the penalties for treason; and all moderate men were filled with dismay. +Democrats of the extremest type seemed to be having it all their own way +in the land, if one could judge by their noise and confidence of +success. Several boroughs returned men of this stamp during the first +few days of the polling. Eagerly did Catherine snatch up the different +editions of the papers to follow the progress of each contest, and hope +and ambition returned to her as she read the results. + +But after the first few days, matters did not look so bright for the +Radicals. The intemperance of their language, the wildness of the +reforms they promised, defeated their own ends. A reaction set in. The +great mass of Englishmen who are not led away by the impracticable +theories of political adventurers recorded their votes as usual for the +candidates of common sense belonging to both of the two great parties; +but that considerable army of vain men, who, though they possess +property, and therefore an interest in the order of the State, yet pose +as philosophical Radicals and talk communism without understanding what +they mean, became alarmed at the destructive programme of their +friends--they perceived that they themselves were threatened as well as +the lords and landed proprietors they hated and envied. So panic seized +them, and in their selfish fear they did exactly what might have been +expected from such creatures--they rushed to the opposite extreme, +babbled about Constitutionalism, and voted for ultra-Tories to protect +them. + +And lo! instead of the Radical House that was to return the great Land +Act and other more startling measures, an assembly of which the large +majority held very different views indeed was elected, to the exceeding +surprise of the over-cute wire-pullers, who thought they had arranged +everything so cleverly. + +Catherine stayed at home, greedily reading the papers, day after day, +and hope died away again and she became sick at heart. When at last +there could be no doubt about the result, she wrote to Sister Eliza and +asked her to come to her. + +Her friend was shocked when she entered the little parlour in Maida Vale +to see how ill and worn her Chief was looking. + +"Good-afternoon, Eliza," said Catherine in a feeble voice; "I sent for +you because you are the only one I could bear to see. You do not look at +me with reproachful eyes as the others do--and I am unwell and weak." + +There was sympathy expressed on Sister Eliza's homely features as she +replied: + +"No wonder, Sister Catherine, after what you have been suffering. But +brighter days will come." + +"Never, never! Sister Eliza--but I have sent for you to learn the whole +truth. What has happened--what do _they_ say now?" + +"Fools and cowards!" exclaimed the boarding-house keeper, +contemptuously; "they do not know their own minds." + +"I thought it would be so; and what do they say? Tell me all!" + +"The Sisters are in a very discontented mood; they grumble at +everything. Many have for the first time discovered that our whole +project is ridiculous in the extreme. They say that they have wasted +time and money for nothing." + +"And whose fault is it that it has been for nothing?" + +"Those who supplied the treasury of the Society with considerable sums +of money, notably Sister Jane, are clamouring for its restitution or a +full account of how it has been spent." + +"They shall have neither," cried Catherine, indignantly. + +"Some of the Sisters even hint that you have put by a pretty purse for +yourself out of the funds--those were the very words of one." + +"They dare say that!--they dare accuse me of that!" exclaimed the Chief, +rising to her feet and walking impatiently up and down the room, her +eyes blazing with wrath and her fists clenched. "Cowardly wretches! are +these the earnest martyrs with whose assistance I hoped to forward the +emancipation of humanity?--and what more do they say?" + +"One fool--it was Sister Jane, by-the-bye--even spoke of suing you for +the money she advanced, until I explained to her that Justice will only +listen to a plaintiff who comes into court with clean hands, and +reminded her that there were slight objections to her revealing in court +the objects for which she had advanced the money." + +"Do you mean that she actually proposed to betray us?" + +"No! she spoke wildly, not thinking of what she was saying. She dare not +be a traitor." + +"And what does Susan Riley and the others of the Inner Circle say?" + +"They, of course, dare not desert the Cause; but they hint that it +would be as well to dissolve the Society, now that the object of it has +been indefinitely postponed by this unfortunate election. They say it +cannot hold together much longer." + +"And Sister Susan says this, too?" + +"She has virtually left us; at any rate she keeps away now, and seems to +take no interest whatever in the Society," replied Sister Eliza in +scornful tones. + +"And it has come to this, then!" said Catherine, musingly; then she +turned and asked abruptly, "and what do you think about it?" + +"I don't know what to think. I should like to make an example of a few +of the wretches, curse them!" muttered Eliza between her teeth, feeling +a bitter indignation as she thought of the meanness of her associates. +"Ah! they are unworthy to follow you, Sister Catherine." + +Catherine sat down again, and was silent for several minutes. A black +despair settled down upon her mind. She saw that it was all over--the +Cause had received its death-blow. Of all her friends and disciples, but +one was left her--this faithful Eliza, who would, if she let her, cling +all the closer to her fallen Chief. It was all over--the hopes, the +doubts, the suspense, were gone; and when she spoke it was in a quite +calm and passionless voice. + +"I understand now, Sister Eliza; I will give my last order to the +Sisterhood. Go to them and tell them the Society is dissolved--they may +all go their separate ways. Remind them that they must, throughout their +lives, observe their oath of secrecy--that is all I ask of them. If they +fail to do this, a higher Society will know how to punish traitors. Tell +them that I will render no account of the moneys that have passed +through my hands. I have never taken one penny of the fund for my own +use. Whatever balance there is I will send to another Society--a Society +of men, not of cowardly women--who will make good use of it. This is my +last message to the Sisters." + +"But if--" her amazed listener was commencing in a faltering voice. + +"No, no! Eliza," interrupted Catherine, impatiently; "no buts and +ifs--it is too late for them. I do not wish to discuss this matter. I do +not wish ever again to hear the Society mentioned before me. To think of +it maddens me. Please do not talk to me about it. Let us change the +conversation; I will ring the bell for some tea." + +The strong green tea was brought up. Sister Eliza sipped hers in +silence, gazing sadly at her broken-hearted Chief. + +Soon Catherine got up from her chair, and going to a cupboard, drew out +a small bottle. She laughed a little hysterical laugh--one of those +laughs that have more pain in them than any sob--and said: + +"I am taking a leaf out of our friend Susan Riley's book. She found +laudanum useful. A little mixed with one's tea is good; at any rate it +prevents rage from driving one quite mad," and she poured some of the +contents of the bottle into her cup. + +"It is a dangerous practice though," observed her friend. + +"Dangerous! how so? What have I to fear? The habit of laudanum-tippling +soon spoils a young woman's beauty. Look at Susan, it has made her +vanity suffer somewhat, I know; but it can't hurt me in that way, or in +any other way, for the matter of that," and she laughed that terrible +laugh again. + +Sister Eliza felt a sincere sorrow for this one human being she admired; +she saw that Catherine ought not to be left alone in her present wild +state of mind. "I should like to come and see you often, Sister +Catherine," she ventured to say. + +"It is very kind of you, Eliza, but it cannot be a good thing for you, +as I don't feel like being a very pleasant companion just now. I leave +town to-morrow, perhaps for years, and I cannot tell you where I am +going." + +Sister Eliza found that her presence, far from soothing, only irritated +the more the miserable woman. Catherine would not be comforted. She was +in that mood when the mind rejects all consolation, and loves to torture +itself--when one purposely hurts the feelings of one's best friends to +make one's own heart bleed the more; so Sister Eliza, seeing that no +good would be effected by staying longer, bade her good-bye and left +her. + + * * * * * + +The Sisterhood was no more. Susan Riley, like a rat, had early deserted +the falling house: unlike the Chief, she had profited not a little in +various ways from the Society, and had been in receipt of a salary as +one of the officers; but gratitude was not one of this young lady's +characteristics. Having saved some money, she now took a small +tobacconist's shop in the neighbourhood of the Strand. She thought it +would be the very business to suit her, genteel, idle, and affording +excellent opportunities for flirtations and intrigues with such of her +customers as were possessed of more money than brains. + +But there was little store of happiness for Susan now. The gay butterfly +portion of her life was over, and weary ennui, alternating with bitter +reflections, filled most of her long hours. For it happened that in the +course of a few months her beauty had faded rapidly. Bad temper and +laudanum had deepened her wrinkles, sallowed her complexion, and even +scattered a few grey hairs through her once lustrous locks. + +All the object of her life had gone from her. She perceived that men no +longer admired her, she was old, she was ugly, there was nothing sweet +in the whole world for her now, she hated life, but, still more, she +feared the grim phantom death. A restless nervousness tormented her. She +became subject to what she would herself describe as "the blues," a +despondent fearful condition peculiar to temperaments such as hers. + +She was in a miserable state--a state not uncommon though among the men +and women of luxurious cities, whose lives have been devoted to selfish +indulgence only, when they have exhausted every joy, and dull satiety +alone remains. Such a melancholy darkened the last days of many a +worn-out voluptuary of ancient Rome, driving him to insane deeds of +cruelty, and orgies of strange vices in vain hope of relief. + +In this condition a man or woman is tortured by observing the happiness +of others in contrast to his own misery. Susan hated youth, beauty, +virtue, happiness, with a bitter hate. + +Sometimes she thought of Mary, the girl she despised, who, she +considered, had twice stood between her and her lovers, who had +indirectly brought about the collapse of the Society. She thought of her +as being now a young wife, happy, and loved, and the thought made her +feel so absolutely ill with the intensity of her ungratified malice, +that she was often obliged to withdraw her mind from the painful +contemplation. + +Now it happened one day, about six months after Mary's marriage, that +Susan, being in a more restless and irritable mood than usual, deserted +her counter, leaving the girl who assisted her in charge of the shop. It +was a mellow October afternoon, and she walked to her favourite haunt of +old at that hour--Regent Street. + +The usual idle well-dressed crowd of men about town, lady-adventurers +and so on, was taking its wonted promenade. In former days many of these +men would have stared pretty hard at Miss Susan Riley, but now no one +would notice her, or at most a gentleman would glance momentarily at her +with a look void of admiration, and then turn his eyes to some more +tempting object. She felt the humiliation of this bitterly, and her +ill-temper was written on her mouth and brow, which rendered her less +attractive than ever. She could have cried with rage. + +At last she came to a well-known photographic establishment, and joined +the throng in front of the window, contemplating the portraits of +actresses, statesmen, professional beauties, bishops, and other +celebrities, when she heard a merry laugh by her side that made her +start. + +She hated now to hear the glad innocent laughter of her fellows, but +there was something in that laugh which she seemed to recognize. She +turned suddenly and perceived Dr. Duncan and his wife walking away from +the window. + +She followed them for a short way, keeping a little to one side of them, +so as to scan Mary's features without being herself observed. She +contrived to catch a glimpse of her face; it was enough to show her that +all the anxiety had died away from it. The face was not so thin as of +old, it had more colour, it was prettier than ever. + +The husband and wife were engaged in a lively conversation. Then Susan +heard Mary laugh again, the same low happy laugh. Its gladness jarred +upon her own black thoughts. She turned away suddenly, uttering a savage +oath to herself. + +The sight of her enemy's happiness goaded her into a state of great +fury; she walked back to her shop as fast as she could. On entering it +she found her assistant engaged in a mild flirtation with a customer +across the counter. + +Here was a pretext for venting her wrath on some one. She called the +assistant into the back-room and reprimanded her in such insulting terms +that the girl burst into tears and said she would leave her on the spot. + +"Go at once then!" cried the enraged woman, "out with you into the +streets. You'll find as many men as you want there." + +Susan could not sleep all that night for malice; and from that day she +was absorbed by her hatred for Mary. It was a hate that became a very +monomania with her. It was the only passion left to relieve the +monotonous weariness of her existence, and it ever grew more intense. +She would rub her hands together and laugh in her excitement when she +sat alone. "I have again something worth living for," she would mutter +to herself, "I will ruin that girl's happiness--somehow--somehow," and +her subtle mind pondered and plotted how to effect a sweet revenge. + +But weeks passed, and so far she had formed no definite plan, had +discovered no safe but extreme torture, so she determined for the +present to do all she could in a small way to annoy her foe +periodically. She knew that with her devilish ingenuity she could not +fail to find some method of undermining the young wife's happiness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE SECOND WARNING. + + +During these early months of her married life, Mary enjoyed an almost +perfect happiness, for the first time of her short existence. She +sometimes wondered and was afraid when she thought of it, looking upon +herself as being altogether unworthy of so many joys. + +She had passed through the terrible ordeal, and the strange vicissitudes +of her life had produced an ennobling and refining effect upon her +character, which was reflected on her beautiful face. She was, indeed, +as sweet a woman as the soul of man could desire. There was something +peculiarly winning about her now; every graceful movement, every word +and smile told of a heart full of innocent gladness and love. There was +a childish simplicity, there was a delightful playfulness about her, +that yet betrayed profound depths of feeling. She fascinated all with +the unconscious witchery of her manners. The coarsest man could not fail +to feel better in her company; she could touch what good was yet left in +his nature; it would seem to him as if she were surrounded by some +subtle atmosphere that affected his heart somewhat in the way that +beautiful music does, a hymn of perfect chastened joy breathing of the +lost Paradise. + +When the husband and wife returned from their honeymoon--a long +leisurely ramble among Italian lakes--Mary entered into the spirit of +housekeeping with great zest. It was pretty to observe the delight she +took in her new duties. She was quite in love with the little villa in +St. John's Wood, with its trees and garden and greenhouse, there was so +much to look after and take a pride in, and she was always busy at one +thing or the other, filling the house with her blithe song. + +Mrs. White passed some time with them at first to give the young wife +some lessons in house-keeping, and very merry lessons they were. + +One evening, the three were sitting in the drawing-room after dinner. +The doctor was pretending to read a newspaper, but was really, under +cover of it, watching his wife and sister with quiet amusement. They +were engaged at a little work-table strewed with account books and other +domestic documents, now chattering earnestly over them, now laughing +together at Mary's blunders. + +At last Mary caught her husband's eye; she stamped her foot in simulated +anger, "You must not watch me, sir!" she cried. "This is not your +business. If you confuse me by looking over me, all the accounts will +get muddled, and then you'll be complaining of my extravagance." + +"You are ruining me as it is, Mary," he replied, laughing. "You won't +let me do anything for myself--you are always running here and there +anticipating all my wants. Do you know you are spoiling me? I am +becoming quite lazy and good-for-nothing in consequence of your +treatment." + +"Don't talk nonsense, sir, or I shall come and kiss you." + +"Then I certainly shall talk nonsense," he emphatically exclaimed, +putting down the newspaper. + +"No one would imagine you had been married so long, Harry--you ought to +have become more staid by this time." + +"So long! Why we have not been married six months yet." + +"Well it does seem a long long time to me. I suppose it is because all +my life has been so different, Harry--but I threatened to kiss you if +you talked any more nonsense, and I shall keep my word," and she walked +towards him and inflicted the threatened punishment. + +He seized her and made her sit on his knee. "You dear little wife," he +said, "I thought you were perfect before I married you, but every day I +see something new in you to love; I get quite afraid of you, I begin to +think you are some sort of spirit, and will suddenly fly away from me +one of these days." + +She put her hand upon his lips, "No more of this nonsense, sir!--Now let +me go. It is time for you to have that horrid grog of yours--I will ring +the bell for the hot water--then we will leave you to read the paper by +yourself--I am sure that is more instructive for you than watching us +adding up butcher's bills." + +"But not half so amusing. I am sick of these elections--the papers are +full of nothing else. I am glad though that these detestable Radicals +have been so well thrashed." + +"Is that so then, Harry?" asked Mary becoming suddenly serious, and +sitting again on his knee from which she had just commenced to rise. + +"Yes, Mary, and it is their own fault too, they boasted too much about +the revolutionary measures they intended to pass. They were going to +confiscate the land and do all sorts of wild things, so people got +frightened and would not vote for them." + +A thoughtful look came to Mary's face; she said nothing more about the +elections, but became unusually quiet for the rest of the evening. Soon +Mrs. White retired to her room, and Mary mixed her husband his glass of +punch. She sat by his side nestling close to him, placing her hand in +his. + +He drew her head to his shoulder and stroked her soft hair as he gazed +down at her pensive face. "Mary," he said at last, "what is it, my pet? +How quiet you are! and you look quite sad." + +Her eyes filled with tears, and he was startled by the vehement passion +with which she spoke. "It is--because I love you so! I cannot help being +sad sometimes--Oh, Harry! Harry! I _do_ love you so!" and she put her +arms round his neck and began to sob. + +"You curious little pet!" he said tenderly. + +"Oh, Harry!--If I could only tell you my secret!--I wonder if you would +still love me, if you would ever forgive me, were you to discover it." + +"My darling! I thought we had settled that matter long ago. Really it is +very silly of you to worry yourself about it." + +"I cannot help it sometimes, Harry--but I will be good now, and think no +more about it," she said, smiling through her tears and kissing him. + +This was the one thorn in her happiness which still troubled her +occasionally. Now and then, some circumstance, such as her husband's +chance allusion to the elections on this occasion, would recall memories +of her dark past. She could not tell him all. It was true that she was +not deceiving him. He knew she had this secret, and he quite approved of +the scruples that forbade her to confide it to him. But yet--there was +this secret between them; and to her simple heart this was a terrible +thing to be. There should be nothing of this kind, she told herself, +between husband and wife. In her sensitive affection she imagined that +the existence of a secret could not but separate them, though it were by +an imperceptible distance only, that his love for her could not be quite +perfect so long as this one chamber of her mind had to be kept shut to +him. + +It was, perhaps, an unnecessarily morbid view to take of the matter, but +it caused her some painful reflection. However, it was but rarely that +even this small cloud came to mar the serenity of her life. + + * * * * * + +The happy summer had passed away, and autumn had come again. One +morning, after breakfast, Mary, who was in an exceptionally gay mood, +insisted on taking her husband by the hand and leading him into the +greenhouse, where she was about to gather the nosegay of flowers which +it was her custom to give him every day to carry with him in his +carriage on his round of visits. + +"What a shame!" she exclaimed as she plucked the sober-hued autumnal +blossoms. "The flowers that are out now are such dowdy-looking things. I +can't give you the bright-looking bouquets you used to like so much a +month or two ago, Harry." + +"Why, this is very nice, pet; look what rich colours your chrysanthemums +have! I often wonder how you manage to keep up such a brilliant show of +flowers here at all seasons. I believe it will be just the same in +mid-winter." + +"I shall try my best; but here is your bouquet all ready; so take it and +be off, sir," she said playfully. "You are late, the carriage has been +at the door these ten minutes." + +"Good-bye, dear!" he said taking the bouquet and kissing her, "I shall +be back early to-day." + +She stood still, watching the carriage with a wistful look in her eyes +as it drove down the road. "Ah! do I deserve such happiness as this?" +she said to herself with a sigh. She was about to return to the house +when she perceived the postman stop at the garden gate and drop some +letters into the box. "What a pity! Harry has just missed his letters," +she thought as she walked down the drive and took them out. + +There were two letters. She saw that one was addressed to her husband, +the other to herself. She looked at the last. It bore a London +post-mark. She at once recognised the dreaded hand-writing on the +envelope, and the colour left her cheeks. She knew that the woman who +penned that letter would not write to her save with the object of +inflicting pain. + +She opened it with trembling hands and read the contents. They were not +quite so ingeniously cruel as might have been expected from the author +of them: yet they were well calculated to seriously alarm the young +wife, and wake her from her dream of happy security. + + "DEAR MARY,--I write to warn you that you are in great danger. The + mouchards know all about a certain scheme. Some of the former + Sisters have blabbed. It has been falsely stated that you, Catherine + King, and myself are organising a new Society. There are certain + definite accusations against you which you will find it difficult to + disprove. It would be a good thing if you could go abroad for a + time. I warn and advise you, not because I love you, but because my + own safety depends on yours. There will be an exposure of all if you + neglect my advice. Above all, say nothing of this warning to your + husband. He must know nothing if he is questioned. Remember your + oath and the penalty. You are being watched. If you love your + husband you will be cautious and spare him _what may happen_." + +There was no address at the head of this letter, nor signature at the +foot of it, but there could be no doubt as to the identity of the +author. + +Susan Riley's first warning had been sent to Mary on that day when the +girl at last consented to become the doctor's wife. This was the second +warning, a malicious pack of falsehoods inspired by the sight of the +young wife's happy face in Regent Street. Susan Riley could not tell +whether Mary would place any credence in her alarming story; even if +that were the case, she hardly expected her to follow her advice and go +abroad; but she knew her letter could not fail to terrify and inflict +some mischief on her enemy, how much, chance would decide. + +Mary was glad that her husband was not by to observe the scared look +which she felt had come to her face. She could think this letter quietly +over by herself for some hours before she saw him again. + +She went into the drawing-room, and stood by the fire-place for some +time meditating, and unconsciously she tore the letter into minute +fragments and threw them one by one into the fire. + +She felt very miserable and frightened: but the danger instead of +paralysing her mind seemed to stimulate it at first, and she met the +blow bravely. She considered the matter over with a calm resolution +which astonished herself. + +She pondered what would be the right thing to do, the most Christian +course of action; for, as is the usual case with converts, religion was +a great reality to her now, a leading motive in her every deliberation, +even making her rather intolerant at times. She could not tell her +husband the contents of the letter without betraying her secret: that +she must not do for several reasons. Again, to fly abroad as Susan +suggested, was of course out of the question: besides, how could she +know that there was any truth in the statements of this wicked woman who +hated her so bitterly? + +Had there been an address to Susan's letter she would have written to +her for a more definite explanation of this danger which threatened her. + +She saw that her only course was to take no notice of the communication, +to wait and pray. + +But, in spite of her bravery, the cruel letter did its work. The +uncertainty, the vague suspense, was more than she could bear. That day +she excused her paleness and distraught air by saying she had a +headache; but the next day she was no better; and after a week she +shuddered as she felt that the shadow was slowly gathering once again to +veil the happy sunshine of her life. + +Her husband watched her with anxious eyes. "My poor darling!" he said +one day, "you are getting quite ill and pale again. We must take you to +the sea-side to bring the roses back to your cheeks." + +She put her head on his shoulders and burst into tears. + +"My dear little girl!" he said tenderly, as he stroked her hair, "what +is it? Is there anything that is making you unhappy?" + +But to his questionings she would only reply that she felt nervous, and +suffered from fearful dreams. This was the truth, though she concealed +the cause of the disease. + +There was one dream which occurred to her almost nightly, so full of +horror that she came to be afraid of going to bed, knowing what she was +to suffer. In this dream she found herself a prisoner at the Bar in a +dingy Law Court. She was on her trial as being an accomplice in an awful +crime. She looked around; and on the faces of the judge, and lawyers, +and jury, and witnesses, and lookers on, she saw only an intense +loathing expressed. No sympathy, no pity, hate alone was felt for the +abominable murderer of babies. Susan Riley, too, was standing in the +witness-box, her eyes glittering with malice, giving Queen's evidence, +nay, more, bearing false witness against her, weaving tissues of lies +around her that there was no disproving, cunningly making her to appear +more detestable a wretch than any criminal that had ever been tried +before in that accursed place through all its long annals of crime. And +her husband was there also, pale, haggard, his hair turned grey with +woe, his eyes cast down, not daring to raise them towards his guilty +wife. Oh, most horrible thing of all! even he, he whom she loved, +worshipped, turning away from her, disbelieving, despising, loathing +her! + +And then she would wake up with a start, with cries and tears, to find +her husband by her side, soothing her with loving words and fondling her +as she lay sobbing on his breast. + +She knew that she had an implacable enemy. She could not tell in what +way Susan would work her harm, but she was only too certain that the +malicious woman would do so to the utmost of her ability. The shadow +darkened around Mary as she waited for the blow to strike, not knowing +at what moment it might come. Yet how to prevent it! What to do! + +In a fortnight after the receipt of the letter, a great change had come +over her. All the innocent gladness had forsaken her. She wandered about +the house a pale and listless being, taking no interest in the pursuits +she once loved. Her great delight had been to take the green-house +completely under her care; she had been very proud of it, and would +allow no one else to interfere in its management. But now it made the +doctor's heart bleed to see its neglected condition, its melancholy show +of withered leaves that lay unswept, and faded blossoms on the untended +plants, a sure sad sign to him of the darkness that was coming to his +young wife's mind. + +It was in vain that he tried to discover the cause of this change: his +questions could elicit nothing from her. One evening towards the end of +this miserable fortnight, they were sitting together in the +drawing-room. He drew his chair close to hers, and after some +conversation in which he did his best to coax her with affectionate +words into her happy confiding mood of old, he said: + +"Mary, dear! I know that there is something on your mind, you are just +as you used to be in those sad days when I first knew you. You know I do +not wish you to tell me your secret: but there can be no harm in your +saying if your present trouble is connected with it in any way." + +She moved uneasily in her chair, as if afraid of his earnest gaze, and +replied with hesitation, "I don't know, Harry, I can't say. But there is +no good in talking about it. I shall grow out of this nervous state +again soon, I suppose." + +"But there _is_ good in talking about it. I want to understand what to +do with you, how to make my poor little pet happy again. Here you are, +getting sadder, and paler, and thinner, every day, and you will give me +no clue to all this. You will not allow me to help you. Do so, Mary, +please now! for my sake if not for your own. You don't know how +miserable I am all day thinking of you." + +"You promised not to ask me my secret," she replied in wretched accents. +"Besides," she continued in desperation "what is the matter with me now, +has nothing to do with my secret," and she could have bitten her tongue +out immediately afterwards that she had uttered the untruth. + +"Then _what_ is it?" he asked. + +"I don't know," she replied in a sullen voice. + +"My darling," he said sadly, "I don't think you are treating me quite +fairly." + +"Don't you believe what I say?" she said, half crying. + +"Mary! I did not imply or mean that, and you know it. It is my love for +you that makes me speak, and it is hard that you should reply to me as +if I was trying to extract some secret from you out of mere curiosity." + +"Oh, Harry! it will do me no good to worry me in this way. Please let us +change the conversation." + +She spoke in a pettish way, almost angrily, feeling the while bitterly +ashamed of herself, knowing that she was in the wrong. She hated herself +for having told a falsehood to her husband, and she revenged her misery +on him. It is the way of our poor human nature when we hate ourselves, +to torture those we love the most. + +He thought in silence for a few minutes and then said sadly, "I don't +understand you to-day, Mary; but I will ask you no more questions now." + +Here the conversation dropped and a painful silence followed. Both were +very miserable. It was the first approach to a quarrel that had occurred +between them, and though slight, was keenly felt by natures rendered +delicately sensitive by the great love that bound them together. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Duncan could not understand the change that had come over his wife. +He saw that some sorrow preyed upon her health, that she was not +suffering from mere bodily illness, though she would often impatiently +deny this. + +Occasionally he spoke to her in terms of mild annoyance. This stung her +to the quick; she would become moody, and sink into stubborn silence. + +Sometimes she would prevaricate when he questioned her, for her mental +and moral strength were gradually failing beneath the great strain. + +He perceived that her manner towards him was not sincere as of old. This +caused him great uneasiness. Vague suspicions that assumed no definite +shape crossed his mind, and by degrees a sort of estrangement really +sprang up between them. Not that they were less affectionate than +before; they were even more so, but by fits only, divided from each +other by periods of coolness felt instinctively rather than openly +shown, arising from mutual misunderstanding. + +A really serious secret existing between a husband and wife cannot fail +to bring about this result. It is more than can be expected from human +nature, that such a mystery should not call up some doubts, though to be +indignantly put away as soon as they have risen. But the doubts _did_ +rise and that was enough to work much mischief. + +So on one side there was the doubt, and on the other side, indignation +at being doubted, and shame, and sorrow, and dread foreboding. Susan +Riley's second warning did its work well, and had cast a shadow on the +happy home. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +AGAIN THE SHADOW. + + +But as time wore on, Dr. Duncan put away his suspicions, whatever they +might have been, and repented bitterly every unkind word he had +addressed to his little wife. His solicitude for her evidently failing +health made him more tender than he had ever been in his conduct towards +her. He determined that no harsh word or slightest coolness of manner +that might wound the delicate girl should escape him, however peevish or +unreasonable she should become. For a great fear was weighing on him, +lest her mind was on the eve of a still deeper darkening than before. He +did all that he could to render her life cheerful, to make her +surroundings bright and changing; but all seemed of no avail; the shadow +was ever deepening; a pathetic melancholy possessed her which there was +no dispelling. + +At last he made a discovery which still more increased his anxious care. + +His wife was about to make him a father. + +He now humoured her every whim, and finding that his presence exercised +a most soothing effect upon her, he devoted to her all the time he +possibly could, attending to her with a loving watchfulness that did +doubtlessly keep off the terrible calamity with which she was +threatened. + +She herself was conscious of this--she felt, when he was by her, that +the brightness of his love stood between her and the impending shadow, +hiding it for the time. + +But when alone she would weep miserably at the awful fancies which she +could not drive away. The shadow was gradually, daily, surrounding her. +She felt that soon it would close in altogether upon her--she would be +mad--there was but a slight partition to break down, and then her mind +would die. + +The long silence of Susan Riley terrified her. She knew that an evil eye +was ever watching an opportunity for her destruction, and in her +monomania--for her terror of the woman amounted to this--she attributed +impossible powers of mischief to her malignant hate. + +She had received two warnings from her enemy already, and she felt an +intuition, a certain conviction, which she could not reason away, that +there would be a _third_--that a last, cruellest blow would be struck +which would prove fatal to her; and she would kneel down in her room and +pray in tears and agony that the blow might strike herself alone, and +not her husband and the little babe that was to be soon born into the +world. + +To her it seemed unnatural and dreadful that she who had once so nearly +been a killer of babes should become a mother. Was it--she thought--the +just vengeance of God that was about to visit her? Was she to have a +child, only that it might be torn from her at once, only that her +punishment might be the more severe in its remorse-awaking appositeness +to her crime! + +She remembered that first warning, that letter in which Susan had +written, "_I'll stand as fairy godmother to your baby_," underlining the +ominous sentence. These words seemed now full of fearful meaning; they +were never out of her mind; and she could always see them before her +standing out in characters of blood. "She is capable even of that," she +thought with horror, as the idea of a fiendish revenge occurred to her. + +Shortly before her confinement, she suffered from an extreme agitation. +She felt that the whole world was about to slip away from her. "And what +will happen to my baby," she said to herself, "if I go mad and cannot +protect it? No! I must not go mad! O God! give me strength against +madness. She will take my innocent babe away if I am not there to +watch." + +In her fear for her unborn child, she thought of breaking her oath and +telling her husband all; then she reflected that to do this would be of +no avail. What could she tell him?--that the Secret Society to which she +had belonged had been formed for a certain object; that the Society had +broken up. That was all--what definite accusation could she make against +anyone? She had no reason for imagining that Susan Riley was plotting +her destruction, except that a strong, instinctive voice told her so. If +she confided this to her husband, he would merely regard her dread as a +species of insane delusion. No! better far to preserve her secret, and +endeavour to shield her child by other means. + +So one night she came up to the chair on which her husband was sitting, +and placing herself at his feet, she seized his hands and looked +earnestly into his face. + +"Harry!" she said, "I have something very important to ask you." + +"What is it, my pet?" + +"You will not laugh at me or think me foolish?" + +"Why, Mary! you know I will not do so, especially when your poor little +face looks so serious as it does now." + +"Yes! but, Harry," she persisted, "I know you _will_ think me foolish; +you will imagine that I have got some delusion into my head when you +hear what I have to say." + +"Well, let us hear what it is, darling," he said, kissing her. + +"Harry, if--if--anything happens to me, what will become of my baby?" + +He looked puzzled, not understanding the drift of her question, so +replied: "My dear Mary, you must not take it into your head that you are +going to be ill." + +"Yes! but _if_ I am," she continued, anxiously--"if I am, who will take +care of my baby?" + +"My dear child, don't worry yourself about such a matter as that. +Supposing even that you were ill, there are such things as trustworthy +nurses to be found, I suppose." + +"Never!" she almost shrieked in her excitement, as she tightened her +clasp of his hands. "Never, oh, never! You don't know--you don't know! +Harry, if I am ill, send for your sister's nurse--I can trust her. But +you must promise me that no strange nurse--no other nurse but that +one--comes into this house. I should go mad--I should die, if I thought +that there was any chance of your doing so. Oh, Harry! you will kill me +if you won't grant me this. I tell you you will kill me and your child, +too." + +"My darling! my poor little darling! do not be so agitated. I will +promise you this. Calm yourself, Mary; you can rely on me to carry out +all your wishes." + +"That is it! I must feel that I can rely on you or I shall die. Do not +promise me this merely to humour me, Harry--to humour what you think is +a morbid fancy. When I am lying ill, dear, I must feel that friends are +watching my baby as I would myself. Oh, Harry! if I could only tell +you--if I could only tell you! This is not a mere fancy--I know that +there is a great peril before us, and I do not know whether we can +escape it." + +She wrung her hands as she uttered these last words in accents of wild +anguish; then pausing, she looked into his eyes for a few moments and +continued, earnestly: "Harry, I see in your face that you do not believe +this: you think that I am merely crazed and nervous. For God's sake, put +that idea out of your mind. Oh, if I could tell you! and yet what could +I tell you? I don't myself know yet what is the danger, or whence it is +coming." + +She burst into hysterical tears and hid her face in her hands. + +"Mary, dear," her husband said in earnest tones as he folded her in his +arms; "my dear little wife, I promise to you, whatever opinions I may +hold about this fear of yours, that no one shall go near our baby except +my sister and her own children's nurse, if you are ill. No strange +servants shall be allowed to enter this house. You can be quite sure, +dear, that I will do what I say." + +"Thank you, Harry! Ah! I know I can rely upon you now. What a weight you +have taken off my mind!" She paused a moment and shuddered as she began +to speak again in an awed voice. "Oh, husband! I dreamt last night that +I was so ill. They had to take my baby away from me; and a woman who +hates me came up, and they gave my baby to her to nurse. She took it in +her arms and smiled at me--such a smile of triumphant malice! I knew +then that my baby would die, I knew that she would kill it; but I could +not tell you, I could not warn you. I lay there on the bed, so very ill, +so weak, that I could not move even a finger. I tried to scream out, but +no voice would come. I lay there and saw my child being carried off to +perish, and a word would have saved him, and I could not utter it. Oh, +it was awful!" Her brow knitted, and her gaze seemed to turn inwards as +she recalled that dreadful vision. "But, Harry!" she continued +anxiously, "remember that it is not because of dreams and delusions that +I fear for my baby. There is a real danger. Oh, it is horrible that I +cannot explain it all to you!" + +He soothed her mind; and she felt satisfied that, were she to be ill, +and were it found necessary to take her baby from her, her husband would +keep off all approach of the danger she feared, even as much as if he +himself believed in its reality. + + * * * * * + +Mary's fears, though exaggerated by ill-health, were far from being +without foundation; for Susan Riley was now possessed by the one idea +how to gratify her fierce lust of vengeance against the girl who had +stood in her way and thwarted her plans. She discovered where Mary +lived, and she made it almost a practice to walk to St. John's Wood +every Sunday, so that, herself unseen, she could observe her enemy +coming out of church. + +On the Sunday that followed the sending of her second warning, Susan +waited in this manner outside the church-door, and her keen eye detected +on the face of Mary a shade that had not been there before. It was clear +to her that the letter had made the young wife unhappy; she noticed how +pale and thin the face was becoming again; so she returned to her +cigar-shop with a light and exultant heart, encouraged by her success to +ponder over a more deadly attack. + +A month or so after this, an illness compelled Susan to abandon these +visits to St John's Wood for some time. + +When she was recovered she started one Sunday morning to the church +door, anxious to see what change might have come over Mary during those +weeks. + +It was a bitterly cold day towards the end of winter. A keen north-east +wind was blowing. Occasional strong squalls accompanied by stinging +sleet rushed down the dreary streets; but yet Susan, with the energy of +hate, walked all the way, and posted herself as usual on a path among +the grey grave-stones, to await the coming out of the Duncans from the +church. + +She had to wait long, for in her eagerness she had arrived much too +early. She walked up and down the frozen gravel-path, reading the +inscriptions on the grave-stones, stamping her feet to keep them warm, +and listening impatiently to the sounds of alternate chanting, reading +and hymn-singing, that issued from the building. Then there came, what +appeared to her outside the church to be a long silence. This, she knew, +must be the sermon. + +"Curse that parson! How long he is with his Firstly, Secondly, +Thirdly!" she muttered to herself. "When _will_ he come to his Lastly? +Ah! there is the final hymn at last. Now for the collection, and the +respectable crowd will pour out to their early Sunday dinners. We will +see what you look like now, Mrs. Henry Duncan. If you look happy, I must +find something to check your joy without delay." + +But Susan was to be disappointed this day. She stood by the side of the +path, her thick veil drawn over her face to prevent recognition, and +watched all the congregation as they came out. But she saw neither Dr. +Duncan nor his wife. This puzzled her a good deal, for she knew that +Mary had become very regular in her attendance at church. + +She went there again on the following Sunday, and then she saw Dr. +Duncan come out alone at the conclusion of the service. She longed to go +up to him and learn what was the cause of his wife's absence, but she +felt afraid of the doctor, and did not relish the idea of confronting +him. + +But she carefully scanned his face, and thought she could read much +anxiety on it. "I suppose Mary is ill," she pondered, "I wonder what it +is, but I will soon find that out." + +A few days afterwards, the wind having changed, the weather became +delightfully mild and pleasant. It was the birthday of the young spring, +a glorious sunny morning, when Susan, who had been fretting herself with +curiosity, at last made up her mind to take a bold step. She would call +at the doctor's house on some pretence or other when he was out, and +discover what had happened to Mary. + +As usual she went on foot. Her route lay through the Regent's Park. She +was passing along a path, bordered by tall shrubberies, meditating on +what she was about to do, on what she should say to Mary in case they +met, when she perceived two women walking slowly towards her who +evidently bore the relation to each other of mistress and maid. + +When they approached nearer, she recognised in the mistress the very +woman she was seeking--Yes! there could be no doubt about it--she had +found her enemy at last. + +There was a seat in a little recess among the bushes. Susan went to it +and sat down, concealing her face as much as possible, but closely +watching Mary as she went by. Susan saw that Mary walked on with a step +that seemed mechanical, as if she was not conscious of what she was +doing, or where she was. She looked neither to the right nor to the +left, her eyes were directed to the ground. She did not address or +notice in any way her companion, and appeared as one wholly absorbed by +a hopeless melancholy. + +"Why, she must have gone mad again!" thought Susan, and an +incontrollable desire seized her to rise from her seat and address her +victim--to satisfy herself as to the correctness of the suspicion. She +was just on the point of following the impulse--Mary was now close by +her--when an astonished look came suddenly to her face; she sank again +upon the seat and sat still, allowing the two women to pass out of sight +without disclosing her identity. + +Then having recovered from her surprise, she laughed to herself. "Oh! +that is the matter with you, my lady, is it? What a fool I must be not +to have suspected that before. So I shall have to carry out my promise +about acting as fairy god-mother soon, shall I?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE THIRD WARNING. + + +Susan saw that her opportunity had arrived. She conceived the devilish +plan of striking another blow at Mary, while she was in the sensitive +condition of approaching maternity. + +So maddened by her hate was this woman that she even thought of gaining +access to her enemy's baby when it was born, and stealing it from her, +or, perhaps, killing it; but she dismissed this as too perilous to be +practicable; for her malice had not made her altogether reckless of +consequences. + +She felt that there must be some other method as sure, though free from +danger to herself, by which she might attack the mind of Mary with a +sudden shock from which she could never recover. But how to carry out +this design? To write another letter was out of the question. Susan +Riley dared not commit to writing the venom with which she determined to +complete her work. + +Time passed by and she felt greatly disgusted with herself that she had +so far been unable to devise anything. All her ingenuity could not +discover a means of satisfying her hate, tempered as it was by +cowardice. + +One morning she read the announcement of the birth of Mary's child in +the papers--"The wife of Dr. H. Duncan of a son." The words seemed to +burn themselves into her brain. + +So entirely was she the slave of her mania of hate that she now +neglected her business and employed the greater portion of each day in +watching the home in St. John's Wood. + +She did not herself question the doctor's servants, as it might stand in +the way of future plans to be recognized by them, but she discovered +several shops at which the family dealt, and would go into these under +the pretext of buying some small article, and elicit a good deal of +information by means of casual inquiries about Mrs. Duncan. + +She learnt that Mary was "doing well, but suffering from great +weakness." + +There was one old woman who kept a newspaper shop. She was very fond of +a gossip with a customer, and was also wont to take a deep interest in +all her neighbours' affairs, prying assiduously into them whenever +possible. + +Susan had soon discovered these useful traits in the old woman's +character, so often called on her with the object of sounding her. + +One day, about a week after the birth of Mary's child, Susan went into +the shop and purchased a copy of _The Guardian_ newspaper. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Harris," she said, "I have not seen you for some +days; I hope you are well." + +"As well as can be expected, Miss, in this world of misery and trouble." + +"Why, Mrs. Harris, I should not have thought that the world was using +you very hardly. But I suppose when one is a sympathetic soul like you, +ever thinking over other people's woes, one gets through a good deal of +suffering by proxy." + +Mrs. Harris hardly understood the meaning of the words, certainly not +the sarcastic drift of them, but took them as a complimentary tribute to +the tenderness of her heart; so she shook her curls slowly backwards and +forwards and looked mournful. + +"Ah yes, Miss!" she said, "I really do think that I take as much +interest in other peoples' sorrows as in my own." + +"As a true Christian should," replied Susan, biting her lips to conceal +the smile she could scarcely keep down. "I noticed how feelingly you +spoke about that poor lady who had the baby the other day--the doctor's +wife--Mrs. Duncan I think her name was. How is she getting on now, by +the way, Mrs. Harris--have you heard?" + +"Poor thing! Poor thing!" said the old lady in a lackadaisical voice, +putting on a very solemn expression and shaking her corkscrew curls +again. + +"Is she worse then?" asked Susan. + +"No, no! It is not that--at least not exactly that. I believe that her +confinement has passed by in a very satisfactory way; but--" and she +shook her head yet once again in a mysterious fashion. + +"I do not quite understand you," observed Susan. + +"If I were a gossip, which I am glad to say I am not," spoke up Mrs. +Harris in deliberate tones, "I might say strange things about that +house." + +"Good gracious! what _do_ you mean?" + +"Her husband is a popular man hereabouts it is true--but--" and Mrs. +Harris shut her mouth with a snap, as if determined to say no more. + +"You don't mean to say that her husband ill-treats her!" + +"No, Miss! I don't exactly say that, I don't know that he does. All I +say is that it is very, very strange, but I'd rather say nothing more +about it, Miss." + +Susan made no further remark just then, but proceeded to select and +purchase a few copies of _The Family Herald_; she knew that if she +waited a little longer, the old lady's gossiping instincts would compel +her to tell all her story, even without any questioning. + +"Do you think, Miss," Mrs. Harris recommenced at last, "that a lady with +everything she can have in the way of comfort around her, could get pale +and melancholy and hardly ever speak a word to anyone for weeks, +without any reason at all?" + +"No, I should think not--that is unless she is becoming mad," replied +Susan. + +"Now that's exactly it, Miss! _Is_ she becoming mad, or is she +ill-treated by her husband--it's one or the other--now which is it?" + +"Did you say that they quarrelled?" + +"I have spoken with the servants--they come over here to get a paper now +and again. _They_ say there never was a kinder husband than the +doctor--but they can't tell--it may be all his deceit like. I once read +of a husband--he was a doctor too--and his wife began to ail; she got +paler and thinner and weaker every day. He pretended to love her so +much, and was so concerned about her, and he nursed her himself, and +allowed none but himself to prepare her food. Well do you know, Miss, at +last she died--and what do you think was discovered afterwards?" At this +point of her narrative she put on her spectacles and looked steadfastly +at Susan. + +"I really cannot imagine--what was it?" + +"He had been poisoning her all the time for her money--There!" whispered +Mrs. Harris in a melo-dramatic voice. + +"Dear me! how shocking! you make my flesh creep. And do you really think +that this Dr. Duncan is doing the same?" asked Susan, much amused at the +old woman's folly. + +"No, no, Miss, don't go away and think I believe that," Mrs. Harris +exclaimed in alarm; "all I say is that it's strange--very strange +indeed." + +"And what do the servants think about it?" + +"They think that there's something wrong here," and she tapped her +forehead. "The maid says she's got the horrors like. She's very afraid +about her baby; she seems to think that there's some harm coming to it; +she won't let it out of her sight, and when anyone comes into the room, +she starts and trembles fearful. They say, Miss, that it's just as if +she had a delusion that everyone wanted to murder the child. Now that +ain't natural like, allowing for all a mother's affection." + +"It is indeed very strange," said Susan musingly; "but I must not waste +your time any longer, Mrs. Harris--I am a sad gossip. Good morning to +you, I will see you again soon." + +So this was Mary's vulnerable point. Susan had suspected as much. She +fancied that it would not be very difficult to make use of this extreme +anxiety of the mother for her child. + +As she came out of the shop she noticed an old woman, shabbily dressed +in black and much bent with age, tottering feebly along the pavement on +the opposite side of the street with a large basket on her arm. + +Had Susan kept her eyes as open as usual during these expeditions to St. +John's Wood, she would have observed, before this, that she herself was +not the only person who was acting the detective round Dr. Duncan's +house. On nearly every occasion that she had come to the neighbourhood, +the shabby old woman had been there too, dogging her footsteps, watching +her movements unsuspected, spying the spy. + +Susan had contrived to discover that Dr. Duncan was in the habit every +Saturday of visiting a patient who lived a considerable way out of +London. Failing, as I have said, with all her cleverness, to mature a +definite plan of action, she determined to risk all, and call boldly on +Mary while her husband was away on the following Saturday. + +She had a great confidence in her luck; she felt that something would +turn up to favour her purpose, if she once gained admittance into the +house. Knowing Mary as she did, she considered that it would not be +difficult to terrify her again into her former crazed state. + +For a few days prior to her contemplated visit Susan was very fidgety; +so to occupy her mind and prevent it from dwelling too anxiously on the +perils of her task, she employed herself in a way which was peculiarly +congenial and interesting to her. She set to work to forge as well as +she was able--and she succeeded very fairly--a variety of documents; +some purported to be letters from Catherine King, and other members of +the late Secret Society; there were copies too of imaginary warrants for +the arrest of unknown persons, whose appearance was carefully described. +All these pointed to a great danger which threatened those who had been +connected with the Sisterhood, especially Mary Duncan. There were other +papers too which tended to show that the members of the Society +attributed their peril to the treason of one of their number--clearly +Mary--who was accused of having made certain disclosures to the +authorities. They were alarming documents, intended to prove clearly +that the young mother was suspected by both sides, was being hunted down +by both the police and by her old associates. + +Susan would laugh to herself as she completed each of these works of +art, and would look at them with no small pride. "I wonder if she will +be fool enough to swallow all this?" she asked herself. "And yet why +not? If she does believe in them, she will see that one course only is +left to her--to fly from England, to desert her husband and her child, +so as not to bring disgrace upon their heads. I believe I am on the +right track at last. Ah! Susie, you have not forgotten your cunning +after all!" + +At last the fatal Saturday arrived, and she started for St. John's Wood, +armed with her papers, intending to show some, all, or none of them, to +Mary, exactly as circumstances should make expedient. + +She prowled about in the neighbourhood of the house, till she saw the +doctor go out. She followed him to the railway station and satisfied +herself that he had started; but she did not observe that the shabby old +woman with the basket was following her also, though at a long distance, +never losing sight of her. + +Susan walked back to the doctor's house, reaching it about ten minutes +after he had left it, and rang the bell. + +The housemaid opened the door. + +"How is Mrs. Duncan to-day? I have called to see her," Susan said. + +"Mrs. Duncan is very ill, ma'am, and she is not allowed to see anyone." + +"Oh! but it is all right," Susan explained, "I am Mrs. Duncan's oldest +friend. I have just met the doctor on my way here. He would have come +back with me; but he said he had no time to do so, as he was obliged to +catch the train to P----" + +"Did Dr. Duncan know that you wished to see my mistress, ma'am?" + +"Indeed he did. He particularly asked me to see Mary--Mrs. Duncan I +mean, he thinks it will do her good. Will you kindly tell your mistress +that Mrs. Riley has called to see her, that the doctor has sent me to +see her. Kindly tell her also that I have some news of great importance +to communicate to her." + +The girl hesitated. She had received strict injunctions to admit no +visitors to her mistress. But she could scarcely discredit the statement +of this lady, who, she reasoned, must certainly have conversed with the +doctor on his way, else she could not have known his destination. + +But then she remembered that Dr. Duncan had enjoined her not to take any +letter or message to his wife under any circumstances whatever, so she +replied: "It is very difficult for me, ma'am, to do as you wish. I have +received such strict orders from my master not to carry any message from +anyone to my mistress. Could you not call to-morrow, ma'am, when my +master will be here." + +"You stupid girl!" exclaimed Susan angrily, "do you not understand me? I +tell you I have just seen your master; he knows that I am going to call +on your mistress. Do you disbelieve my word?" + +"No, ma'am, but--" + +"But! But what?" + +"I don't exactly know, ma'am, but--" the girl stammered, looking very +confused and red, then suddenly her face brightened, and she exclaimed, +"Ah! here is the nurse, ma'am; I will ask her about it." + +For at that moment a comely-looking strong country girl came out of a +door leading into the hall, carrying a little white bundle in her arms. + +"Ah!" cried Susan, "is that dear Mrs. Duncan's little boy? Do let me see +it!" + +There could be no harm in allowing the strange lady to see the baby for +a moment, at any rate, so the proud nurse drew back the clothes and +disclosed a little sleeping face. + +Susan felt her veins tingle with an excitement, the meaning of which she +could not herself understand, as she approached and looked at the +innocent features. + +"Mary's child," she said, "Mary's child; dear me, how strange!" and she +stooped to kiss him, as she knew it was her bounden duty to do, if she +did not wish to offend the nurse beyond pardon, and so prejudice her +chance of seeing the mother. + +But just as her lips were about to touch the soft cheek, a sudden +surprised cry from the housemaid made her raise her head again. + +Then her cowardly spirit failed her, and she looked aghast at what was +before her, motionless, save for the tremor that shook her frame. + +A form more like a ghost than a living woman was hurrying down the +stairs towards her, with arms outstretched, a form that seemed to glide +rather than run, so evidently unconscious was its motion. + +Clad merely in her white bed-clothes, with face as white as they, the +mother was rushing to save her babe. Her expression was one of fixed +intense horror; her lips were apart, her eyes dilated, but she spoke no +word. She flew to the nurse and snatched her infant into her arms, +pressing it against her breast, palpitating with her frightful emotion. + +She stood erect and firm, but trembling in every limb, staring at Susan +with the same fixed look. Her white throat rose and fell convulsively +with the choking sensations that prevented her from speaking. + +She stood thus an awful image for many minutes, the frightened servants +gazing at her open-mouthed, not knowing what to do. At last she spoke; +she raised her arm, and pointing at Susan, cried in a voice that did not +sound like her own, so strange and hollow it was, "Go! Go!" + +Susan hesitated, and seemed to be about to speak, when the mother made a +step towards her, with so menacing a gesture, with such fury in her +eyes--altogether so different a being from the timid girl of old--that +Susan was quite cowed, and lost her presence of mind. She shrank back +and tried to smile, but she could not manage it; the grin as of a wild +beast at bay, full of rage and mortal fear, was the only result. + +"Go!" cried the mother again. + +Susan felt that she was beaten, she could do no more, she looked round +at the group, and then without a word slunk out of the door, which the +housemaid, recovering her presence of mind, slammed indignantly behind +her. + + * * * * * + +Mary hurried upstairs with the baby, saying nothing, and went into her +bed-room, the two women following, full of simple sympathy, yet knowing +not how to show it. + +Then to their astonishment the poor mother, with frantic haste, yet with +tender care, pulled the clothes off her child, and laid him on the bed. +With an eager anxiety that was painful to see, she examined all the +little body, dreading lest she should find the small spot which showed +that the accursed instrument of the Sisterhood had done its work. + +But there was nothing to be seen. "Oh, my God! I thank Thee, I thank +Thee. Oh, my God! My Christ," she cried, incoherently, as she fell +weeping on the child, covering it with passionate kisses. Then she rose +and said wildly, "Jane! Jane! please look and see that there is no +mark--no wound--nothing. I cannot see, my eyes are so dim. Please look +carefully, and make quite, quite certain of it." + +The nurse, thinking to humour her poor crazed mistress, pretended to +examine the baby, though her own eyes were really as dim with tears as +were the mother's. "No, ma'am, I assure you that there is nothing at +all--nothing. The little darling is all right; but now you must go to +bed, poor dear; you will be very ill if you don't. For your little +baby's sake go to bed, and try and rest." + +Mary, now as docile as a child, allowed herself to be put into her bed, +and sobbed herself asleep--a broken slumber full of frightful dreams, +from which she awoke into as painful a delirium. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +THE LAST OF SUSAN RILEY. + + +When Susan was outside Dr. Duncan's house, she walked away rapidly, +careless whither, cursing and hating herself and all the world besides, +in the sense of the ignominious manner of her failure in her plans. + +She was not yet fifty yards from the house, when she perceived, hobbling +towards her along the pavement, the same stooping, shabby, old woman +whom she had observed near Mrs. Harris's shop a few days previously. + +In her irritable mood, Susan would not move aside for the old creature, +but pushed roughly against her as she passed. + +But to her surprise, the apparently feeble hag, instead of reeling +aside, or even falling, as she had half expected her to do, suddenly +extended her hand and seized Susan by the arm with so firm and nervous a +grip that it stopped her short, notwithstanding the speed at which she +was walking. Susan turned round fiercely to face her, and then was +astonished to see every sign of decrepitude disappear from the woman who +held her. The stooping back straightened; the hands no longer trembled +with the weakness of extreme old age; it was a tall, middle-aged woman +who stood erect before her; and she recognized the stern, pale face of +Catherine King, whose eyes were looking intently into hers as if reading +her inmost thoughts. + +Unnerved by her recent discomfiture, Susan shrank beneath the strong +grasp and keen eye of her former Chief, and was too startled by her +unexpected appearance to speak a word. + +These few months had worked a great change in the features of Catherine +King. She appeared much older; her hair was much whiter; and though her +eye had lost little of its old fire, the light in it was unnatural as of +fever, and there were several signs about her to indicate that some slow +but fatal disease had taken hold of her. + +She was indeed broken-hearted. She had lost Mary and the Scheme--the +only two affections in the whole world for her; so she had gone away, as +a wounded wild beast does, to die alone in some out-of-the-way spot in +the wilderness of London where no one knew her. When she changed her +residence, she left behind her no clue by which she might be traced. She +avoided even her one faithful friend, Sister Eliza, whose society was +now painful to her for the memories it called up--a standing reproach. + +For a few moments Catherine King looked into Susan's face, a bitter +smile playing on her lips the while, then she addressed her. + +"And what are you doing in this part of the world, my old associate?" + +"That is my business, Mrs. King, and not yours," hissed out Susan. + +"Indeed, Sister Susan! I am not so sure of that," said Catherine, +quietly. "But I have not come down here to argue with you, but to give +you certain orders which you will have to obey." + +"Orders! from you!--obey you! Why, you must be mad!" + +"You think so!" continued Catherine, as quietly as ever. "Well, to begin +with, I know why you have been down here so much lately. I know whom you +are hunting down." + +"Catherine King! too much learning has made you mad!" exclaimed Susan, +with a derisive laugh which could not conceal the uneasiness she really +felt. + +"Mad, perhaps; but not so mad that I cannot put a stop--and at once, +too--to all this plotting of yours, Sister Susan." + +"I have no fear of you now, Mrs. King, I can assure you." + +"But you have of the gallows." + +"It strikes me that those same gallows would have to string you up as +well, O my accomplice! O great centre of the Sisterhood!" replied Susan +with a bow, and in tones of mock politeness. + +Catherine looked at her contemptuously and said, "I am not a coward like +you. Do you imagine that fear of death would deter me from anything? +Life has nothing for me now. I tell you, woman! that if I was to be +hanged to-morrow, the knowledge would trouble me far less than the +discovery of one new grey hair in your head, or of one fresh wrinkle on +your face, would trouble you. I may tell you that I _am_ dying. An +incurable disease of the heart is hurrying me to the grave; and it is +sweet to me to know this, I am so weary of this world. But enough of +that--you know me by this time. Now, Susan Riley, I intend to prevent +you from carrying out your scheme of vengeance against that girl. I warn +you to desist, or I shall have to make matters very unpleasant for you." + +Susan here made a gesture of impatience, and withdrawing herself from +Catherine's grasp, commenced to walk down the road. The Chief let her +go, but walked by the side of her and continued: "Very well, Sister +Susan, we will walk on if you like it better. Certainly we will attract +less attention than if we stand discussing in one spot--not that I care +who sees, or even overhears us, for that matter." + +"Be quick, then, and let me hear what you have to say--then leave me," +said Susan, in a sullen voice. + +"That is exactly what I intend to do. I shall leave you as soon as I +have brought you to reason. Now mark me, Susan Riley! I intend to call +on Dr. Duncan to-morrow. I shall tell him all about the Society--that +is, all that is necessary for my purpose--and without endangering +anyone. I shall also tell him all your history, and acquaint him of your +plots against his wife." + +"And hang yourself as well as me!" + +"Not necessarily. Dr. Duncan will not make use of his information except +in self-defence. He will not molest you unless you become dangerous to +him." + +"Traitor that you are and mad-woman!" cried Susan, passionately, "What +are you doing? You inveigled us all into this precious scheme of yours, +and then betrayed us on account of this miserable hysterical girl. And +now--" + +"Stop!" interrupted Catherine, sternly, "I never betrayed you. I would +not sanction an unnecessary assassination; on this you all deserted me. +But the work you are engaged on now is in no way connected with the +Society, you are merely satisfying your private malice. I have been +watching you for some time, Sister Susan; and I intend to take the sting +out of you before I leave you to-day." + +"I do not fear you," replied Susan with a forced carelessness of manner. +"You have no hold upon me. Now come, Sister Catherine! after all, what +could you prove against me that could do me much injury? Why, absolutely +nothing!" + +"So you think that, do you? so you defy my power!" said Catherine with +the same quiet smile of assurance that had made Susan's heart sink +before. "Well! I shall have to go into details, that is all. Now, listen +to what I have to say, Susan! I am quite aware that little could be made +out of your connection with the Society, seeing that we never carried +our scheme into action, save on one occasion, by the way, I think you +had something to do with that, a barrister was it not? Private malice +was not the least of your motives then, too." She paused and seemed to +enjoy the sight of Susan's blanching face. "But let that matter pass. It +would be difficult to bring that home to you." + +"Impossible," said Susan, recovering a little of her courage. + +"I think you are right," went on Catherine in the same calm voice, "I am +not so foolish as to threaten you with that charge; but I will go on to +other little doings of yours which I imagine will be more to the +purpose." + +Susan looked up and felt all her courage ooze out again when she read +the expression on her companion's face. She felt that Catherine was +playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse, certain of being able to +secure her prey when the fancy takes her to extend her claw. + +The woman spoke again, but now in stern and earnest tones. + +"Now, look you, Sister Susan; when you first came to us, I saw what sort +of a woman you were. I knew that you might be of great service to us; I +felt you might also prove to be exceedingly dangerous to us. Do you +think I should have been so foolish as to admit you to the Inner Circle +before I had carefully inquired into all your antecedents? Do you +imagine that I did not make myself acquainted with your most secret +history first? At all events, I gathered sufficient to satisfy myself +that I could hold you in my power when necessity should demand it. I +knew you had claws, so, before I would entrust our secrets to you, I +learnt how to clip those claws, in case they ever showed themselves. I +can prove all that I know, too. I can hang you, Miss Susan, for a very +old crime committed long before you knew us." + +She stood still, and facing Susan, continued in a louder voice than she +had hitherto employed, "I know all about something that occurred in the +little cottage near Bath. Do you remember the incident? Do you +understand me, or shall I be more explicit?" + +Susan started, and looked uneasily around her. She could not mask her +terror now. Could Catherine King, indeed, know that black secret, which +she had fondly imagined her own soul alone possessed? She said to +herself it was impossible. How could Catherine have found _that_ out? +So she tried to smile, and determined to brazen it out. + +Catherine, who was scrutinizing her face, read the expression of it. So +she came close to her and whispered into her ear for nearly a minute. + +Susan caught every damning word of the story of her ancient crime, and +her livid face and twitching lips confessed to her guilt. + +Her accuser stepped back a few paces and smiled as she read the effects +of the communication on the cowardly features, then she spoke again, +this time aloud: + +"Now, remember this, Susan Riley. If you ever again approach Mary +Duncan--if you write letters to her, or annoy her in the slightest or +most indirect manner--Scotland Yard shall know your little secret. Dr. +Duncan shall know it to-morrow. He will use it to defend his wife, if +you ever dare to renew your malicious cowardly attacks. You understand +me, don't you?" + +"I am not a fool," answered Susan in a voice choking with vain spite. + +"And I have something more to say, you must leave London within four +days. You must never return to it, nor come within a hundred miles of +it. You will be closely watched. Remember that there is a mightier +Society than the one you were initiated into; a Society of which you +know nothing, though ours was in reality but a branch of it. It is a +Society that has a myriad eyes, and a myriad secret weapons which it can +use well against traitors. Remember that you have committed one of the +greatest crimes that a member of a Secret Society can commit. You +prostituted the methods of political execution to private malice, when +you murdered the barrister Hudson. This has been marked down against +you. You will have now to obey my orders; and take care that you do not +slip again. Wherever you are, your every action will be watched, you +cannot escape. Why, fool! you little guessed that we have known all your +doings for the last many years; your secret thoughts were hardly hidden +from us. Now you have received your orders; will you obey them?" + +Susan did not reply for some time; she hung down her head as she +pondered over it all. She did not wish Catherine to see her face on +which she felt that the anguish of defeat was too plainly written. All +her brazen effrontery had vanished now. She knew that she could not +fight longer against the heavy odds that were opposed to her. At last +having succeeded in smothering her feelings to some extent, she replied +to Catherine's question in a dogged voice, + +"I must yield to the force of circumstances; I will go away from +London." + +"Very good!" said Catherine, "I will now leave you. We will never meet +again. I cannot wish you a farewell--it would be a vain wish, for you +will never know happiness again. I almost pity you sometimes--poor +wretch! With that unfortunate temperament of yours, what a Hell you will +make to yourself, and carry about with you in your mind wherever you go, +now that you are getting old and ugly, now that those transitory joys +which were your only joys have forsaken you! Your bitterest enemy could +not wish you a more terrible retribution for your many sins. I almost +think it would be a mercy to put you out of your agony at once, to hand +you over to the police now." + +She paused and looked into Susan's face, which was fixed in a strange +half vacant stare, as if she were in a sort of cataleptic state. + +"You don't look well. Ah, yes! I remember. You have already had two +epileptic fits have you not, Susan? The strain of your amusements and +your hates is telling on your nervous system. I suspect that that death +in life in which the live mind burns in agony out of the dead body is +not far from you, Susan. Poor butterfly! your summer day is over. Your +wings are even now faded and no longer beautiful; they will draggle +impotently by your side soon, no longer able to carry you out into the +delight of the sunshine. There will be no more sunshine for you, but +cold darkness and biting pains. I must leave you now, wishing you a +speedy release, and in the meantime do not forget your orders." + +Catherine turned from her and walked away: but Susan did not move. +Catherine took one glance over her shoulders as she went, and she saw +that the fixed expression had not left Susan's face; the wretched woman +was standing motionless and speechless, heedless of the sharp wind of +March that swept by her; but two large tears were now hanging from her +eyes. Catherine saw them and was touched. It was indeed so strange a +thing to see tears in _those_ eyes! and her heart smote her as she +walked home, and she reproached herself that she had allowed herself to +be carried away in the rage of victory to trample so ungenerously on a +fallen foe, and inflict needless torture on one sufficiently punished. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +PEACE. + + +When Dr. Duncan returned home, he found his wife suffering from a +nervous fever, and in a delirious condition. The servants told him in +what way it had been produced--how a lady who gave the name of Mrs. +Riley had called at the house, representing that he had sent her; how +Mary had heard her voice from upstairs, had hurried down and ordered her +to go, exhibiting extreme agitation; and had been ill ever since. He +closely cross-examined the two women who had been present at the +interview, and learnt every detail of it; and it was perhaps well for +Susan Riley that she was not by, so transported he was with grief and +rage. + +He watched by the side of his wife all the night, and on the following +day, which was Sunday, he perceived that the crisis was past. But she +was still delirious, starting up wildly at times to cry out that her +baby had been murdered, and not being satisfied when it was even brought +in and shown her. + +Dr. Duncan began to suspect that there must be some cause in facts at +the bottom of this fancy, that it was something more than the delusion +of an unhinged brain; so he carefully listened to every word she dropped +in her delirium, hoping to gather some clue to the mystery, which might +enable him to take definite action against these enemies of his wife, +and for once and all, remove the weight of terror from her mind. He +determined that he would find out what this secret of hers was, what +was this dread which was goading her to madness. To begin with, he +would put detectives on the track of this Mrs. Riley--he would spare no +pains or expense to discover whether Mary was the victim of a mania or +of a foul conspiracy; he would no longer remain in this state of +perplexity as to which it was. + +On Sunday afternoon Mary fell into a refreshing sleep. Her husband sat +by her bedside hour after hour watching and thinking over the problem +which he had set himself to solve. + +At last she woke with a sudden cry and looked round her with a puzzled +frightened expression. Then her eyes met his, and a softer look came +into them. She stretched out her arms feebly towards him and said in low +half conscious tones, her mind still wandering, "Kiss me, Harry, dear;" +he kissed her--she closed her eyes and continued in an intermittent +dreamy way, "My love! my love! how delicious to be with you again after +so long, so long--going through the green fields hand in hand with you +plucking the pretty flowers. Ah! you told me of all this happiness in +those dark old days in horrible London; but I never thought they would +come. Do not let me go back there! Do not leave me, Harry! I am afraid!" +She looked wildly around the room as she uttered the last words. + +"Of what, my poor little pet?" he said, clasping her in his arms. "See, +I am with you--there is no cause to be afraid." + +"Ah! but, dear, I am afraid of all this great happiness--something will +happen. See even now how clouded it is getting, and the green grass and +the flowers are turning black and withering--and, oh! all those dead +leaves whirling about! But I will not be afraid, I am with you. How nice +to be in the fields once more with you and baby--and baby--baby! O God!" +she started up in the bed, her eyes dilated and staring in a horrible +fashion. "O God, my baby! oh, they have taken away my baby--Harry! +Harry! where is my baby? She has got him at last, yes, she--that woman +there--Susan Riley! Ah, my baby!" and her awful cry rang through the +house and was even heard in the street, so that passers-by stopped and +turned pale at the agony of it. "Oh, my beautiful baby! oh, give me back +my baby! Pity me, Susan, I kneel before you--kill me--torture me in any +way, but spare my baby! What have you done with him? Oh, do not smile +that cruel smile--what do you mean? Oh, murderess! murderess!" + +The very extremity of her anguish prevented its continuance. After this +paroxysm she appeared dazed and was quiet for some time, then her mind +commenced to wander in other channels. "Mrs. King! mother! do not look +so coldly at me. Pity your poor little girl! you used to love me once. I +have not betrayed you, mother. I have never breathed the secret that was +killing me, even to my husband. I have given you my life." + +Then she closed her eyes for a few minutes. She opened them again and +looked wistfully at her husband. "Harry, kiss me--am I so ugly, dear? I +think they have cut off all my hair; but they said I was ugly before +that. Mrs. Grimm used to say I was ugly; but you don't think so, do you, +dear?" + +The man put his lips to hers and his tears fell on her cheek, he could +not keep them back. Then her eyes lit up with a beautiful light of great +love. "Kiss me once more, dear--I am dying; one last sweet kiss from you +just as I am dying. I will die as you kiss, die in your dear arms, +Harry," and she stretched out her hands to him. + +He clasped her softly in his arms and kissed her hot brow. She lay there +with a contented smile on her lips, her eyes closed, and in a few +moments she fell into a deep tranquil sleep. + +He did not move his arm away lest he should disturb her, and nearly an +hour passed, and his heart became light within him, as he saw that the +danger was passing, that in all probability she would awake refreshed +and calm, with a sound mind. + +At last there came a gentle tap at the door, and the nurse entered. + +"Please, Dr. Duncan," she said, "there is a lady downstairs who has +called to see you. I told her that you were engaged--as you ordered--but +she will not go: she said she must see you, that her business is of the +utmost importance." + +"Tell her that I cannot possibly see her just now," whispered the +doctor. + +The woman went out but returned in a minute or so. + +"Has she not gone?" he asked, an angry look on his face. + +"No, sir! she won't go; she says she will wait for you till you can see +her." + +"What name did she give?" + +"She wouldn't give her name, sir," replied the nurse, "she says you must +see her, that she has come on a matter of life and death. She says that +what she has to tell you is a secret that affects Mrs. Duncan." The +woman hesitated as she continued, "She told me to tell you, sir, that +she can save Mrs. Duncan's life. I think she is crazy, sir; but she +looks as if she were very much in earnest." + +The doctor pondered for a few moments, then seeing that his wife was +still in a profound sleep, he drew his arm gently from under her head, +and after whispering to the nurse to remain there until he returned, he +noiselessly left the room. + +On entering the study he saw Catherine King standing by the fire-place, +erect as of old, but with a face deadly pale. + +His brain had been rendered irritable by his anxious watching, and as +soon as he beheld her a great rage seized him. He said to himself that +it was this woman and her crew that had tortured, maddened his little +wife: and now she, the worst of all, had even dared to beard him within +his own doors. + +Scarcely knowing what he did, he approached her, his arm doubled +menacingly, and trembling with passion. + +"What are you doing here, woman?" he cried. "Another of the accursed +brood! Out, or I shall forget myself--out, I say! But no! stay here! you +shall not go out," he went to the door, locked it and put the key in his +pocket. "You will have to tell me what all this means before I let you +go, Mrs. King." + +"That is exactly what I have come here to do, Dr. Duncan," she replied +quietly. She was standing firmly and proudly, meeting his furious look +with a calm sad eye in which there was no wrath or fear, but a great +pity. + +He saw that look, and in spite of his strong prejudice against her, he +felt the sympathy of it, so he checked himself and stood still, gazing +at her with an expression of doubt and wonder on his face. + +She spoke again: "Dr. Duncan, you will understand me soon. You +altogether mistake my intentions now, and no great wonder is it that you +do. Dr. Duncan, believe me, I have come to save your wife, to bring her +happiness back to her, to make reparation for a great wrong, before I +die." + +He looked at her face and clearly perceived the signs of fatal illness +on the passion-lined features. He was touched. He felt that the woman +was speaking the truth; he imagined that he might be wrong after all in +his suspicions of her--she might have come as a friend and not as a foe. + +"Take this chair, Mrs. King," he said kindly. "You look very tired. I +apologize for my ungentlemanly rudeness, but I am off my head almost +with worry and anxiety. I am very glad you have come. You can throw some +light on all this. I must tell you"--and he scanned her face earnestly +as he spoke--"that certain circumstances have made me suspect that you +have something to do with the cause of my wife's illness." + +"I have all to do with your wife's illness. I am the cause of it," +Catherine replied, meeting his eye fearlessly. "Dr. Duncan, I have much +to say to you. I will help you to understand Mary's illness. I will +teach you how to ward off all danger from her for the future, and I will +bring peace to her mind." + +She placed her hand to her heart, as if in pain, and looked so ill that +he exclaimed, "Mrs. King, you are seriously ill--you must not excite +yourself--speak quietly, I entreat you." + +"I know that--I am dying; but I have come to save Mary's life." + +She dwelt lovingly on the beloved syllables of the girl's name, and she +closed her eyes for a moment to shut out the present, as the picture of +the old happy days, when her darling lived with her, rose to her memory. + +Seeing how weak she was and how weary were her tones, he mixed her a +draught to ease the labouring of the strained heart and persuaded her to +drink it. + +"I feel better now," she said with a sigh of relief. "Doctor,"--she then +continued quickly as if in fear that something might occur to prevent +her from completing the long explanations which was before her. "Dr. +Duncan, your wife has a secret--she cannot tell it you--it is this that +troubles her." + +"It is so." + +"I will tell it to you." + +He drew a chair to the table opposite to her, and leaning his head on +his hand gazed into her face, as he listened to her narrative with so +intense an attention, that he found himself holding his breath at times +lest his own heart should beat too loudly, and he should miss one word. + +Then she told him the whole strange story from the beginning to the +end--of her scheme--its failure--of her love for Mary--of her intention +to kill the girl--of her repentance at the last moment--of Susan and her +crimes and plots--she omitted nothing. + +When she had come to the end of it she said, "Now you know all. I +dragged poor Mary into this against her will. I loved her, yet I would +have destroyed her. The only wish I have left now in the world is to +make atonement, to take away all this weight from her, and make her life +happy. You may not believe me, but it matters not--I care not--if I can +only save her." + +But Dr. Duncan did believe her. He listened to her and he understood all +now. He pitied the brave and generous, though misguided woman before +him. In his joy at what he had heard, he forgave her everything for her +great unselfish love for his darling. A crowd of thoughts rushed across +his mind. He recalled many remarks of his wife that corroborated this +story. He remembered how she had ever expressed love and admiration for +Catherine King. Yes, this was the Secret!--and what did all this +confession of Catherine mean to him? Why! that his wife had not been the +victim of delusion--that she was not drifting as he so much feared, into +some terrible and incurable form of insanity. Her fears had been but too +reasonable--and now it needed but a few words to clear the shadow from +her mind for ever! All this trouble was over now. In the excess of his +delight he could bear no ill-will to the bringer of such good tidings, +he could not reason calmly about her crimes and errors. + +He rose from his chair, and approaching Catherine he seized her hand and +said with a deep emotion, "Mrs. King, I have misjudged you. In spite of +all you have confessed, I believe that you are a good--a noble woman. I +should like you to consider me as your friend." + +She took his proffered hand without saying a word. He continued, "Ah! +Mrs. King, you have told me what will save my darling's life. How can I +thank you sufficiently?" + +"You can do one thing for me," she replied anxiously. + +"What is it?" + +She clasped her hands together. "Oh, Dr. Duncan!" she cried imploringly, +"let me see her sometimes. I must be vile in her sight, and you too must +hate me, though you speak so kindly. But I will do you no more harm--you +know that. I nearly brought her to ruin; but you need not fear me now. +Oh, Dr. Duncan! you do not know how I love her, how my heart yearns +after her--you yourself do not love her more. I cannot live much +longer--you can see that yourself. Let me see her now and then during +the short remainder of my life! For your God's sake be merciful to me; +have pity on me and grant me this thing!" + +"Mrs. King, believe me, when I tell you that I bear you no ill-will +whatever, very much the reverse indeed; and Mary has always spoken of +you in terms of the deepest affection. If all goes well now, as I fully +expect it will, you may come as often as you like to see Mary, and you +will be really welcome. I shall be very glad if you will call to-morrow +afternoon. By that time I shall have told Mary all; and I think she will +be well enough to see you." + +"Thank you very much, Dr. Duncan!" said Catherine simply, but with a +grasp of his hand that fully expressed the depth of her gratitude. "I +will go now and I will come again to-morrow afternoon." + + * * * * * + +When Mary woke she found her husband sitting by her bedside, with the +light of such a great joy in his eyes, that a glad wonder at once came +into her own. She felt that some very happy thing must have come to +pass, and she raised herself in the bed, and, taking his hand in hers, +she gazed expectantly into his face. + +"Mary, I have some very good news indeed for you," he said gently but +very earnestly. + +"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaimed, trembling violently. + +"Mary, can you bear to hear it now?--how do you feel?" + +"Oh, now--now!" she cried vehemently. "Tell it to me now, at once, +before I go away again. Oh! Harry--you don't understand--sometimes the +whole world seems to slip away from me. I feel as if my soul was being +carried right away into some dark place--and I leave memory and love and +everything but sensation behind me--I cannot think then, Harry. Tell me +quick, for I can understand now. Tell me at once, or the darkness will +come again, and it will be too late!" + +"My darling! my darling! The darkness will never come to you again. +Mary, dear, listen to me. I know your secret, and your enemies can never +trouble you more." + +She passed her hand across her brow several times, then said in a feeble +puzzled voice, "You cannot know all, or you would hate me." + +"I do know all, and I love you more than ever!" he exclaimed +passionately as he put his arms about her and kissed her. + +She hid her head on his breast and sobbed in the fulness of her great +joy. + +"Mary," he continued, "you need no longer fear Susan Riley's plots. She +will never molest you again. And who do you think is the friend who has +saved us? It is Mrs. King--she is coming to see you to-morrow." + +Gradually he told her all that Catherine King had revealed to him. At +first she could not bring herself to believe that this was more than a +very happy dream; she feared she would awake again soon and find herself +in the presence of the shadow. But before he left her, she had realized +all that had happened on that day; and with tears and inarticulate +prayers of gratitude to the God who had not deserted her, she relieved +her o'er-wrought spirit, until a sweet sleep closed her weary eyes. + + * * * * * + +Catherine King called as she had promised on the following afternoon. +"How is she? Shall I be able to see her?" she asked anxiously, as soon +as the doctor came into the room. + +"Mary is very much better. Indeed there is very little the matter with +her now," he replied. "But I wish to say a few words to you before we go +upstairs. Mrs. King, I have had a long talk with Mary about you. My dear +friend!--I hope you will allow me to call you that now--we have decided +that you are to stay with us; you must live here with Mary. She insists +on it. You know how she loves you--it will be cruel of you to refuse. It +has been settled that you are not to leave us even this night. The +weather is very bad, and you are too ill to be out in it. Indeed you +must be looked after. A room has been got ready for you, and to-morrow +you can give up your lodgings. No! No refusal! I am your doctor now, and +my orders are peremptory. You will be happy yet and live long with us." + +She shook her head and smiled. "I will not trouble you long. But oh, Dr. +Duncan!" and she stooped and kissed his hand in the fervour of her +gratitude, "I thank you from my heart for what you have done this day. +Oh, generous man! I have not deserved this kindness. I have done much +wrong to Mary and you, and yet you forgive me like this. Ah! if a dying +woman's true gratitude be of any good, you indeed have it now." + +Catherine followed the doctor upstairs. Mary was slightly hysterical at +first with the excitement of the meeting. She put her arms round +Catherine's neck and cried, "Oh, mother! dear mother! You too! you too! +and I loved you so. But you have forgiven me now, and you will not hurt +my baby, my poor little baby!" + +Catherine wept. Her heart had been softened by her lonely misery of the +last few months--she wept, and stooping she kissed Mary's forehead and +said, "My darling, I will love your baby, even as I love you." + + * * * * * + +Mary soon entirely recovered her health. This was her last shock. The +terror was no more, the shadow had disappeared for ever; and the +knowledge that there was now no secret between her husband and herself, +removed the last cloud from her mind. She went through life with him +along a smoother way, a happy wife and mother. + +But Catherine's health grew rapidly worse. Soon she was confined to her +bed, peacefully, painlessly, fading away, and Mary nursed her. + +Her last days were made even delicious to her by the love of her two +friends. She was very happy in that she had saved Mary, happier than she +had ever been before--even in the old time when she had been drunk with +the glory of her visionary scheme. She had learned at last that highest, +intensest of pleasures--self-sacrifice for those we love. No shadow came +across the glory of those last bright days. She was so grateful, so full +of love, so peacefully happy, and at last she died even as a saint might +have died with Mary by her side. + +The noble, erring soul had gone to find Divine mercy. Her last words +were, as she turned her eyes to Mary with a wistful look, "Mary! I feel +that I know nothing about it, it is all a mystery. But it may be that +there is another world, the other side--pray for me, Mary! pray for me! +I cannot pray for myself; for if there is another world I do so want to +meet you again there, my darling! my darling! but it is all a +mystery--all a mystery. Kiss me, Mary!" + +The funeral of Mrs. King took place on one wild winter's day. Dr. Duncan +accompanied it as the only mourner. But on reaching the cemetery he +perceived there a woman dressed in black and closely veiled. + +She stood by the grave as the coffin was being lowered, and was +evidently weeping bitterly. + +He wondered who she could be, but she carefully concealed her face, and +went away without disclosing her identity. + +It was the boarding-house keeper of Bayswater, Sister Eliza, of the +Secret Society, who, after much vain search, had only two days before +discovered where her beloved Chief had gone. + + +THE END. + + + * * * * * + + + + 42, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, + MAY, 1885. + +_VIZETELLY & CO.'S NEW BOOKS, AND NEW EDITIONS._ + +[Illustration] + + +_Second Edition, in Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, price 12s. 6d._ + +A JOURNEY DUE SOUTH; + +TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF SUNSHINE. + +BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. + +ILLUSTRATED WITH 16 FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS BY VARIOUS ARTISTS. + +CONTENTS:-- + + I.--A Few Hours in the Delightful City. + II.--Life at Marseilles. + III.--Southern Fare and Bouillabaisse. + IV.--Nice and its Nefarious Neighbour. + V.--Quite Another Nice. + VI.--From Nice to Bastia. + VII.--On Shore at Bastia. + VIII.--The Diligence come to Life again. + IX.--Sunday at Ajaccio. + X.--The Hotel too soon. + XI.--The House in St. Charles Street, Ajaccio. + XII.--A Winter City. + XIII.--Genoa the Superb: the City of the Leaning Tower. + XIV.--Austere Bologna. + XV.--A Day of the Dead. + XVI.--Venice Preserved. + XVII.--The Two Romes. I. The Old. + XVIII.--The Two Romes. II. The New. + XIX.--The Two Romes. II. The New (_cont._). + XX.--The Roman Season. + XXI.--In the Vatican: Mosaics. + XXII.--With the Trappists in the Campagna. + XXIII.--From Naples to Pompeii. + XXIV.--The Show of a Long-Buried Past. + XXV.--The "Movimento" of Naples. + XXVI.--In the Shade. + XXVII.--Spring Time in Paris. + XXVIII.--"To All the Glories of France." + XXIX.--Le Roi Soleil and La Belle Bourbonnaise. + XXX.--A Queen's Plaything. + + + +IMPORTANT NEW WORK BY THE AUTHOR OF "SIDE LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY." + +_Two Vols. large Post 8vo, attractively bound, price 25s._ + +UNDER THE LENS: + +_SOCIAL PHOTOGRAPHS._ + +BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. + +_ILLUSTRATED WITH ABOUT 300 ENGRAVINGS BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS._ + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. I. + +=JILTS:=--Mrs. Pinkerton--A Western County Belle--Zoe, Lady Tryon--An +Inconsolable Jilt--A Jilted Drysalter--Love and Pickles--An +Entr'acte--Mrs. Prago and Miss Daisy Caunter--A Widow with a Nice Little +Estate--An Unmercenary Pair of Jilts. + +=ADVENTURERS AND ADVENTURESSES:=--Of the Genus Generally--Matrimonial +Adventurers--The Joint Stock Company Chairman--A Financial Adventurer--A +Professional Greek--The Countess D'Orenbarre--Lady Goldsworth--Mirabel +Hildacourse--Lily Gore--Bella Martingale--Pious Mrs. Palmhold--Mrs. +Decoy--Mrs. Lawkins. + +=PUBLIC SCHOOLBOYS AND UNDERGRADUATES:=--Drawbacks of Eton--Of Various +Eton Boys--Rugby and Rugbeians--Harrow, Winchester, Westminster--Oxford +Undergraduates--University Discipline--Sporting and Athletic +Undergraduates--Reading and Religious Undergraduates. + + +CONTENTS OF VOL. II. + +=SPENDTHRIFTS:=--Prefatory--The Gambletons--Lord Charles Innynges--Lord +Luke Poer--Lord Rottenham--Lord Barker--The Marquis of Malplaquet--The +Lords Lumber--Sir Calling Earley--Tommy Dabble--Dicky Duff. + +=HONORABLE GENTLEMEN (M.P.'s):=--Preliminary--Erudite Members--Crotchety +Members--Free Lances--The Irish Contingent--Very Noble M.P.'s--Money +Bags--Beery M.P.'s--Workingmen M.P.'s--Party Leaders--A Seatless Member. + +=SOME WOMEN I HAVE KNOWN:=--An Ex-Beauty--Miss Jenny--Mademoiselle +Sylvie--Miss Rose--Madame de l'Esbrouffe-Tourbillon. + +=ROUGHS OF HIGH AND LOW DEGREE:=--How Roughs are Made--The Nobleman +Rough--The Foreign Garrison Rough--The Clerical Rough--The Legal +Rough--Medical Roughs--The Rough Flirt--The Wife-Beating Rough--Vandal +Roughs--The Tourist Rough--The Nautical Rough--The Professional +Bruiser--The Low-Class Rough--Women Roughs. + + "Brilliant, highly-coloured sketches ... contains beyond doubt some + of the best writing that has come from Mr. Grenville-Murray's + pen."--_St. James's Gazette._ + + "Limned audaciously, unsparingly, and with much ability."--_World._ + + "Distinguished by their pitiless fidelity to nature."--_Society._ + + "Extremely personal. The author, brilliant as were his parts, + appears to have laboured under a delusion which obliged him to + mistake personal abuse for satire, and ill-nature for moral + indignation."--_Athenæum._ + + "Some of Mr. Murray's trenchant blows do real service to the cause + of public morality and order."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "Includes unvarnished portraits of various characters who have made + a flutter in recent times in this little world of ours."--_Vanity + Fair._ + +[Illustration: THE MISSES D'ORENBARRE EXHIBIT THEIR AVERSION TO FAT MEN +AND SMOKERS: _from_ "_UNDER THE LENS_."] + + + +VIZETELLY'S ONE-VOLUME NOVELS. + +_In Crown 8vo, good readable type, and attractive binding, price 6s. +each._ + + "The idea of publishing cheap one-volume novels is a good one, and + we wish the series every success."--_Saturday Review._ + + The Book that made M. Ohnet's reputation, and was crowned by the + French Academy. + + +PRINCE SERGE PANINE. + +BY GEORGES OHNET. + +AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." + +TRANSLATED, without Abridgment, from the 110TH FRENCH EDITION. + + +MR. BUTLER'S WARD. + +BY MABEL ROBINSON. + + "A charming book, poetically conceived, and worked out with + tenderness and insight."--_Athenæum._ + + "The heroine is a very happy conception, a beautiful creation whose + affecting history is treated with much delicacy, sympathy, and + command of all that is touching."--_Illustrated News._ + + "'Mr. Butler's Ward' is of exceptional merit and interest as a first + novel.... All the characters are new to fiction, and the author is + to be congratulated on having made so full and original a haul out + of the supposed to be exhausted waters of modern society.... A + writer who can at the outset write such admirable sense and + transform the results of much minute observation into so pathetic + and tender a whole, takes at once a high position."--_Graphic._ + + +THE CORSARS; OR, LOVE AND LUCRE. + +BY JOHN HILL. + +AUTHOR OF "THE WATERS OF MARAH," "SALLY," &C. + + "It is indubitable that Mr. Hill has produced a strong and lively + novel, full of story, character, situations, murder, gold mines, + excursions, and alarms. The book is so rich in promise that we hope + to receive some day from Mr. Hill a romance which will win every + vote."--_Saturday Review._ + + +COUNTESS SARAH. + +BY GEORGES OHNET. + +AUTHOR OF "THE IRONMASTER." + +TRANSLATED, WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT, FROM THE 118TH FRENCH EDITION. + + "The book contains some very powerful situations and first-rate + character studies."--_Whitehall Review._ + + +BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN. + +BY INA L. CASSILIS. + +AUTHOR OF "SOCIETY'S QUEEN," "STRANGELY WOOED: STRANGELY WON," &C. + + +NUMA ROUMESTAN; OR, JOY ABROAD AND GRIEF AT HOME. + +BY ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +TRANSLATED BY MRS. J. G. LAYARD. + + "'Numa Roumestan' is a masterpiece; it is really a perfect work; it + has no fault, no weakness. It is a compact and harmonious + whole."--MR. HENRY JAMES. + + +A MUMMER'S WIFE. A REALISTIC NOVEL. + +BY GEORGE MOORE, Author of "A Modern Lover." + + "A striking book, different in tone from current English fiction. + The woman's character is a very powerful study."--_Athenæum._ + + "'A Mummer's Wife,' in virtue of its vividness of presentation and + real literary skill, may be regarded as in some degree a + representative example of the work of a literary school that has of + late years attracted to itself a good deal of the notoriety which is + a very useful substitute for fame."--_Spectator._ + + "'A Mummer's Wife' holds at present a unique position among English + novels. It is a conspicuous success of its kind."--_Graphic._ + + +THE FORKED TONGUE. + +BY R. LANGSTAFF DE HAVILLAND, M.A. + +AUTHOR OF "ENSLAVED," &C. + + +THE THREATENING EYE. + +BY E. F. KNIGHT. + +AUTHOR OF "A CRUISE IN THE FALCON." + + +_In Large Crown 8vo, beautifully printed on toned paper, and handsomely +bound, with gilt edges, price 7s. 6d., suitable in every way for a +present,_ + +An Illustrated Edition of M. Ohnet's Celebrated Novel, + +THE IRONMASTER; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. + +TRANSLATED FROM THE 146th FRENCH EDITION AND CONTAINING 42 FULL-PAGE +ENGRAVINGS BY FRENCH ARTISTS, PRINTED SEPARATE FROM THE TEXT. + + "M. Georges Ohnet's 'Ironmaster' has proved the greatest literary + success in any language of recent times, the author having already + realised £12,000 from the French edition of the work." + +"The Ironmaster" is published in small 8vo, without the Illustrations, +price 3s. 6d. + + +_Second Edition, in small 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ + +A MODERN LOVER. + +BY GEORGE MOORE. AUTHOR OF "A MUMMER'S WIFE." + + +_In small 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ + +CAROLINE BAUER AND THE COBURGS. + +FROM THE GERMAN. + +ILLUSTRATED with TWO carefully engraved PORTRAITS of CAROLINE BAUER. + + "Caroline Bauer's name became in a mysterious and almost tragic + manner connected with those of two men highly esteemed and well + remembered in England--Prince Leopold of Coburg, the husband and + widower of Princess Charlotte, afterwards first King of the + Belgians, and his nephew, Prince Albert's trusty friend and adviser, + Baron Stockmar."--_The Times._ + + "Caroline Bauer was rather hardly used in her lifetime, but she + certainly contrived to take a very exemplary revenge. People who + offended her are gibbeted in one of the most fascinating books that + has appeared for a long time. Nothing essential escaped her eye, and + she could describe as well as she could observe. She lived in + England when George IV. and his remarkable Court were conducting + themselves after their manner, and she collected about as pretty a + set of scandals as ever was seen."--_Vanity Fair._ + + + +[Illustration] + +_Fourth Edition, in Post 8vo, handsomely bound, price 7s. 6d._ + +SIDE-LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY: + +Sketches from Life, Social and Satirical. + +BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. + +_ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 300 CHARACTERISTIC ENGRAVINGS._ + +CONTENTS:--I. FLIRTS. II. ON HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S SERVICE. III. +SEMI-DETACHED WIVES. IV. NOBLE LORDS. V. YOUNG WIDOWS. VI. OUR SILVERED +YOUTH, OR NOBLE OLD BOYS. + + "This is a startling book. The volume is expensively and elaborately + got up; the writing is bitter, unsparing, and extremely + clever."--_Vanity Fair._ + + "Mr. Grenville-Murray sparkles very steadily throughout the present + volume, and puts to excellent use his incomparable knowledge of life + and manners, of men and cities, of appearances and facts. Of his + several descants upon English types, I shall only remark that they + are brilliantly and dashingly written, curious as to their matter, + and admirably readable."--_Truth._ + + "No one can question the brilliancy of the sketches, nor affirm that + 'Side-Lights' is aught but a fascinating book.... The book is + destined to make a great noise in the world."--_Whitehall Review._ + + +_Second Edition, with Frontispiece and Vignette, price 5s._ + +HIGH LIFE IN FRANCE UNDER THE REPUBLIC: + +SOCIAL AND SATIRICAL SKETCHES IN PARIS AND THE PROVINCES. + +BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. + +AUTHOR OF "SIDE-LIGHTS ON ENGLISH SOCIETY," &C. + + "Take this book as it stands, with the limitations imposed upon its + author by circumstances, and it will be found very enjoyable.... The + volume is studded with shrewd observations on French life at the + present day."--_Spectator._ + + "A very clever and entertaining series of social and satirical + sketches, almost French in their point and vivacity."--_Contemporary + Review._ + + +_In Large Post 8vo, cloth gilt, price 9s._ + +IMPRISONED IN A SPANISH CONVENT: + +AN ENGLISH GIRL'S EXPERIENCES. + +BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. + +ILLUSTRATED WITH PAGE AND OTHER ENGRAVINGS. + +[Illustration: THE RICH WIDOW (reduced from the original engraving).] + + +_Second Edition, in large 8vo, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price +10s. 6d._ + +PEOPLE I HAVE MET. + +BY E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY. + +_Illustrated with 54 tinted Page Engravings, from Designs by FRED. +BARNARD._ + +CONTENTS:-- + + The Old Earl. + The Dowager. + The Family Solicitor. + The College Don. + The Rich Widow. + The Ornamental Director. + The Old Maid. + The Rector. + The Curate. + The Governess. + The Tutor. + The Promising Son. + The Favourite Daughter. + The Squire. + The Doctor. + The Retired Colonel. + The Chaperon. + The Usurer. + The Spendthrift. + Le Nouveau Riche. + The Maiden Aunt. + The Bachelor. + The Younger Son. + The Grandmother. + The Newspaper Editor. + The Butler. + The Devotee. + + "Mr. Grenville-Murray's pages sparkle with cleverness and with a + shrewd wit, caustic or cynical at times, but by no means excluding a + due appreciation of the softer virtues of women and the sterner + excellences of men. The talent of the artist (Mr. Barnard) is akin + to that of the author, and the result of the combination is a book + that, once taken up, can hardly be laid down until the last page is + perused."--_Spectator._ + +=An Edition of "PEOPLE I HAVE MET" is published in small 8vo, with +Sixteen Illustrations, price 6s.= + + + +_In Crown 8vo, price 5s._ + +DUTCH PICTURES, and PICTURES DONE WITH A QUILL. + +_Illustrated with a Frontispiece and other Page Engravings._ + +FORMING THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE + +CHOICER MISCELLANEOUS WORKS OF GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. + +A SMALL NUMBER OF COPIES OF THE ABOVE WORK HAVE BEEN PRINTED IN DEMY +OCTAVO, ON HAND-MADE PAPER, WITH THE ILLUSTRATIONS ON INDIA PAPER +MOUNTED. + +_The Graphic_ remarks: "We have received a sumptuous new edition of Mr. +G. A. Sala's well-known 'Dutch Pictures.' It is printed on rough paper, +and is enriched with many admirable illustrations." + + [Illustration: A BUCK OF THE REGENCY: _from "DUTCH PICTURES."_ + + "Mr. Sala's best work has in it something of Montaigne, a great deal + of Charles Lamb--made deeper and broader--and not a little of Lamb's + model, the accomplished and quaint Sir Thomas Brown. These 'Dutch + Pictures' and 'Pictures Done With a Quill' should be placed + alongside Oliver Wendell Holmes's inimitable budgets of friendly + gossip and Thackeray's 'Roundabout Papers.' They display to + perfection the quick eye, good taste, and ready hand of the born + essayist--they are never tiresome."--_Daily Telegraph._] + + + +_Uniform with the above Volume_, + +UNDER THE SUN. + +ESSAYS MAINLY WRITTEN IN HOT COUNTRIES. + +BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. + +_Illustrated with an etched Portrait of the Author, and various Page +Engravings._ + + + +_In One Volume, Demy 8vo, 560 pages, price 12s., the FIFTH EDITION of_ + +AMERICA REVISITED, + +From the Bay of New York to the Gulf of Mexico, and from Lake Michigan +to the Pacific; + +INCLUDING A SOJOURN AMONG THE MORMONS IN SALT LAKE CITY. + +BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. + +ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 400 ENGRAVINGS. + +CONTENTS. + + Outward Bound. + Thanksgiving Day in New York. + Transformation of New York. + All the Fun of the Fair. + A Morning with Justice. + On the Cars. + Fashion and Food in New York. + The Monumental City. + Baltimore come to Life again. + The Great Grant "Boom." + A Philadelphian Babel. + At the Continental. + Christmas and the New Year. + On to Richmond. + Still on to Richmond. + In Richmond. + Genial Richmond. + In the Tombs--and out of them. + Prosperous Augusta. + The City of many Cows. + A Pantomime in the South. + Arrogant Atlanta. + The Crescent City. + On Canal Street. + In Jackson Square. + A Southern Parliament. + Sunday in New Orleans. + The Carnival Booming. + The Carnival Booms. + Going West. + The Wonderful Prairie City. + The Home of the Setting Sun. + At Omaha. + The Road to Eldorado. + Still on the Road to Eldorado. + At Last. + Aspects of 'Frisco. + China Town. + The Drama in China Town. + Scenes in China Town. + China Town by Night. + From 'Frisco to Salt Lake City. + Down among the Mormons. + The Stock-yards of Chicago. + +[Illustration: "It was like your imperence to come smouchin' round here, +looking after de white folks' washin."] + + "In 'America Revisited' Mr. Sala is seen at his very best; better + even than in his Paris book, more evenly genial and gay, and with a + fresher subject to handle."--_World._ + + "Mr. Sala's good stories lie thick as plums in a pudding throughout + this handsome work."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + "A new book of travel by Mr. Sala is sure to be welcome. He + possesses the happy knack of adorning whatever he touches, and of + finding something worth telling when traversing beaten + ground."--_Athenæum._ + + "A pleasant day may be spent with this book. Open where you will you + find kindly chat and pleasant description. The illustrations are + admirable."--_Vanity Fair._ + + "As for the style of this entertaining and lively book, it is + exactly what we should have expected. The writer is full of life, + observation, and swiftness to seize upon salient and characteristic + points. His description of the Chinese quarter of San Francisco may + be strongly commended."--_Saturday Review._ + + "This brilliant work possesses an irresistible charm, difficult to + define indeed, but none the less delightful. Reading it is like + listening to a good talker--the usual slightly wearisome sense of + reading is effaced by the vivaciousness of the style in which the + cleverest _feuilletoniste_ of the day has narrated his experiences + on the occasion of his last visit to America."--_Morning Post._ + + "'America Revisited' is bright, lively, and amusing. We doubt + whether Mr. Sala could be dull even if he tried."--_Globe._ + + + +[Illustration] + +_Seventh Edition, in Crown 8vo, 558 pages, attractively bound, price 3s. +6d., or gilt at the side and with gilt edges, 5s._ + +PARIS HERSELF AGAIN. + +BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. + +WITH 350 CHARACTERISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRENCH ARTISTS. + + "The author's 'round-about' chapters are as animated as they are + varied and sympathetic, for few Englishmen have the French _verve_ + like Mr. Sala, or so light a touch on congenial subjects. He has + stores of out-of-the-way information, a very many-sided gift of + appreciation, with a singularly tenacious memory, and on subjects + like those in his present work he is at his best."--_The Times._ + + "Most amusing letters they are, with clever little pictures + scattered so profusely through the solid volume that it would be + difficult to prick the edges with a pin at any point without coming + upon one or more. Few writers can rival Mr. Sala's fertility of + illustration and ever ready command of lively comment."--_Daily + News._ + + "'Paris Herself Again' furnishes a happy illustration of the + attractiveness of Mr. Sala's style and the fertility of his + resources. For those who do and those who do not know Paris these + volumes contain a fund of instruction and amusement."--_Saturday + Review._ + + "This book is one of the most readable that has appeared for many a + day. Few Englishmen know so much of old and modern Paris as Mr. + Sala. Endowed with a facility to extract humour from every phase of + the world's stage, and blessed with a wondrous store of recondite + lore, he outdoes himself when he deals with a city like Paris that + he knows so well, and that affords such an opportunity for his + pen."--_Truth._ + + "'Paris Herself Again' is infinitely more amusing than most novels, + and will give you information which you can turn to advantage, and + innumerable anecdotes for the dinner-table and the smoking-room. + There is no style so chatty and so unwearying as that of which Mr. + Sala is a master."--_The World._ + + + +ZOLA'S POWERFUL REALISTIC NOVELS. + +_In Crown 8vo, price 6s. each._ + + +PIPING HOT! + +("POT-BOUILLE.") + +_Translated from the 63rd French edition. Illustrated with Sixteen Page +Engravings by French Artists._ + + +NANA: + +TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 127TH FRENCH EDITION. + +_Illustrated with Twenty-four Tinted Page Engravings, by French +Artists._ + +[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF THE ELEVEN YOUNG MEN AT NANA'S EVENING +PARTY.] + + Mr. HENRY JAMES on "NANA." + + "A novelist with a system, a passionate conviction, a great + plan--incontestable attributes of M. Zola--is not now to be easily + found in England or the United States, where the story-teller's art + is almost exclusively feminine, is mainly in the hands of timid + (even when very accomplished) women, whose acquaintance with life is + severely restricted, and who are not conspicuous for general views. + The novel, moreover, among ourselves, is almost always addressed to + young unmarried ladies, or at least always assumes them to be a + large part of the novelist's public. + + "This fact, to a French story-teller, appears, of course, a damnable + restriction, and M. Zola would probably decline to take _au sérieux_ + any work produced under such unnatural conditions. Half of life is a + sealed book to young unmarried ladies, and how can a novel be worth + anything that deals only with half of life? These objections are + perfectly valid, and it may be said that our English system is a + good thing for virgins and boys, and a bad thing for the novel + itself, when the novel is regarded as something more than a simple + _jeu d'esprit_, and considered as a composition that treats of life + at large and helps us to _know_." + + +THE "ASSOMMOIR;" + +(The Prelude to "NANA.") + +TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 97TH FRENCH EDITION. + +_Illustrated with Sixteen Tinted Page Engravings, by French Artists._ + + "After reading Zola's novels it seems as if in all others, even in + the truest, there were a veil between the reader and the things + described, and there is present to our minds the same difference as + exists between the representations of human faces on canvas and the + reflection of the same faces in a mirror. It is like finding truth + for the first time. + + "Zola is one of the most moral novelists in France, and it is really + astonishing how anyone can doubt this. He makes us note the smell of + vice, not its perfume: his nude figures are those of the anatomical + table, which do not inspire the slightest immoral thought; there is + not one of his books, not even the crudest, that does not leave + behind it pure, firm, and unmistakable aversion, or scorn, for the + base passions of which he treats."--_Signor de Amicis._ + +=The above Works are published without the Illustrations, price 5s. +each.= + + +_In Preparation. Uniform with the above Volumes._ + + GERMINAL; OR, MASTER AND MAN. + THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. + THE LADIES' PARADISE. + THÉRÈSE RAQUIN. + + +_In large 8vo, handsomely bound and gilt, price 7s. 6d._ + +A NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF M. EMILE ZOLA'S REALISTIC NOVEL, + +NANA. + +_Illustrated with upwards of 100 Engravings, nearly half of which are +full-page._ + +TO BE FOLLOWED BY ILLUSTRATED EDITIONS OF + +THE "ASSOMMOIR," PIPING HOT! + +AND THE REST OF M. ZOLA'S MORE POPULAR WORKS. + + + +_In Crown 8vo, handsomely bound and gilt, price 6s., the Third and +Completely Revised Edition of_ + +THE STORY OF + +THE DIAMOND NECKLACE, + +COMPRISING A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE COUNTESS DE LA MOTTE, PRETENDED +CONFIDANTE OF MARIE-ANTOINETTE, WITH PARTICULARS OF THE CAREERS OF THE +OTHER ACTORS IN THIS REMARKABLE DRAMA. + +BY HENRY VIZETELLY. + +AUTHOR OF "BERLIN UNDER THE NEW EMPIRE," "PARIS IN PERIL," &C. + +_Illustrated with an Exact Representation of the Diamond Necklace, from +a contemporary Drawing, and a Portrait of the Countess de la Motte, +engraved on Steel._ + + "Mr. Vizetelly's tale has all the interest of a romance which is too + strange not to be true.... His summing up of the evidence, both + negative and positive, which exculpates Marie-Antoinette from any + complicity whatever with the scandalous intrigue in which she was + represented as bearing a part, is admirable."--_Saturday Review._ + + "We can, without fear of contradiction, describe Mr. Henry + Vizetelly's 'Story of the Diamond Necklace' as a book of thrilling + interest. He has not only executed his task with skill and + faithfulness, but also with tact and delicacy."--_Standard._ + + "Had the most daring of our sensational novelists put forth the + present plain unvarnished statement of facts as a work of fiction, + it would have been denounced as so violating all probabilities as to + be a positive insult to the common sense of the reader. Yet strange, + startling, incomprehensible as is the narrative which the author has + here evolved, every word of it is true."--_Notes and Queries._ + + +_In Large Crown 8vo, handsomely printed and bound, price 6s._ + +THE AMUSING ADVENTURES OF GUZMAN OF ALFARAQUE. + +A SPANISH NOVEL. TRANSLATED BY EDWARD LOWDELL. + +_ILLUSTRATED WITH HIGHLY-FINISHED ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL FROM DESIGNS BY +STAHL._ + + "The wit, vivacity and variety of this masterpiece cannot be + over-estimated."--_Morning Post._ + + "A very well executed translation of a famous 'Rogue's + Progress.'"--_Spectator._ + + "The story is infinitely amusing, and illustrated as it is with + several excellent designs on steel, it will be acceptable to a good + many readers."--_Scotsman._ + + +_In Crown 8vo, attractively bound, price 2s. 6d._ + +THE RED CROSS, AND OTHER STORIES. + +BY LUIGI. + + "The short stories are the best--Luigi is in places tender and + pathetic."--_Athenæum._ + + "The plans of the tales are excellent. Many of the incidents are + admirable, and there is a good deal of pathos in the + writing."--_Scotsman._ + + +_In Two Volumes, post 8vo, prices 10s. 6d._ + +SOCIETY NOVELETTES. + +BY F. C. BURNAND, H. SAVILE CLARKE, R. E. FRANCILLON, JOSEPH HATTON, +RICHARD JEFFERIES, the Author of "A French Heiress in her own Château," +&c. &c. + +_Illustrated with numerous Page and other Engravings, from Designs by R. +Caldecott, Linley Sambourne, M. E. Edwards, F. Dadd, &c._ + + "The reader will not be disappointed in the hopes raised by Messrs. + Vizetelly's pleasing volumes.... There is much that is original and + clever in these 'Society' tales."--_Athenæum._ + + "Many of the stories are of the greatest merit; and indeed with such + contributors, the reader might be sure of the unusual interest and + amusement which these volumes supply."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + +_In Crown 8vo, price 3s. 6d._ + +A NEW EDITION, COMPRISING MUCH ADDITIONAL MATTER, OF + +IN STRANGE COMPANY. + +BY JAMES GREENWOOD (the "Amateur Casual"). + +ILLUSTRATED WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, ENGRAVED ON STEEL. + + +_In square 8vo, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d._ + +LAYS OF THE SAINTLY; + +OR, THE NEW GOLDEN LEGEND. + +By the LONDON HERMIT (W. PARKE), + +_WITH HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. LEITCH_. + + "Lovers of laughter, raillery, and things ludicrous would do well to + become possessed of this volume of humorous poems levelled against + the absurd though amusing superstitions of the Middle + Ages."--_Newcastle Chronicle._ + + +_In Post 8vo, price 2s. 6d._ + +THE CHILDISHNESS AND BRUTALITY OF THE TIME: + +SOME PLAIN TRUTHS IN PLAIN LANGUAGE. + +By HARGRAVE JENNINGS, Author of "The Rosicrucians," &c. + + "Mr. Jennings has a knack of writing in good, racy, trenchant style. + His sketch of behind the scenes of the Opera, and his story of a + mutiny on board an Indiaman of the old time, are penned with + surprising freshness and spirit."--_Daily News._ + + +_In Demy 4to, handsomely printed and bound, with gilt edges, price 12s._ + +A HISTORY OF CHAMPAGNE; + +WITH NOTES ON THE OTHER SPARKLING WINES OF FRANCE. + +BY HENRY VIZETELLY. + +CHEVALIER OF THE ORDER OF FRANZ-JOSEF. + +WINE JUROR FOR GREAT BRITAIN AT THE VIENNA AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS OF 1873 +AND 1878. + +Illustrated with 350 Engravings, + +FROM ORIGINAL SKETCHES AND PHOTOGRAPHS, ANCIENT MSS., EARLY PRINTED +BOOKS, RARE PRINTS, CARICATURES, ETC. + + "A very agreeable medley of history, anecdote, geographical + description, and such like matter, distinguished by an accuracy not + often found in such medleys, and illustrated in the most abundant + and pleasingly miscellaneous fashion."--_Daily News._ + + "Mr. Henry Vizetelly's handsome book about Champagne and other + sparkling wines of France is full of curious information and + amusement. It should be widely read and appreciated."--_Saturday + Review._ + + "Mr. Henry Vizetelly has written a quarto volume on the 'History of + Champagne,' in which he has collected a large number of facts, many + of them very curious and interesting. Many of the woodcuts are + excellent."--_Athenæum._ + + +_In large imperial 8vo, price 6d._ + +THE SOCIAL ZOO; + +SATIRICAL, SOCIAL, AND HUMOROUS SKETCHES BY THE BEST WRITERS. + +_Copiously Illustrated in Many Styles by well-known Artists._ + +NOW READY. + + OUR GILDED YOUTH. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----NICE GIRLS. By R. + MOUNTENEY JEPHSON----NOBLE LORDS. By E. C. + GRENVILLE-MURRAY----FLIRTS. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----OUR + SILVERED YOUTH. By E. C. GRENVILLE-MURRAY----MILITARY MEN AS THEY + WERE. By E. DYNE FENTON. + + +_In double volumes, bound in scarlet cloth, price 2s. 6d. each._ + +NEW EDITIONS OF + +GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. + +_NOW READY_ + + 1.--THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL AND THE GILDED CLIQUE. + 2.--THE LEROGUE CASE, AND OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. + 3.--LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 4.--THE SLAVES OF PARIS. + 5.--DOSSIER NO. 113, AND THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. + 6.--IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE, AND INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. + 7.--THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 8.--THE CATASTROPHE. + + +_Uniform with the above_, + +THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. + +BY F. DU BOISGOBEY. + + + +_In Small Post 8vo, ornamental covers, 1s. each._ + +GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. + +_THE FAVOURITE READING OF PRINCE BISMARCK._ + + "Ah, friend, how many and many a while + They've made the slow time fleetly flow, + And solaced pain and charmed exile, + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau!" + + _Ballade of Railway Novels in "Longman's Magazine."_ + + +IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE. + + "A story of thrilling interest and admirably translated."--_Sunday + Times._ + + "Hardly ever has a more ingenious circumstantial case been imagined + than that which puts the hero in peril of his life, and the manner + in which the proof of his innocence is finally brought about is + scarcely less skilful."--_Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News._ + +THE LEROUGE CASE. + + "M. Gaboriau is a skilful and brilliant writer, capable of + so diverting the attention and interest of his readers that + not one word or line in his book will be skipped or read + carelessly."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ + +OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. + + "The interest is kept up throughout, and the story is told + graphically and with a good deal of art."--_London Figaro._ + +LECOQ THE DETECTIVE. Two vols. + + "In the art of forging a tangled chain of complicated incidents + involved and inexplicable until the last link is reached and the + whole made clear, Mr. Wilkie Collins is equalled, if not excelled, + by M. Gaboriau. The same skill in constructing a story is shown by + both, as likewise the same ability to build up a superstructure of + facts on a foundation which, sound enough in appearance, is + shattered when the long-concealed touchstone of truth is at length + applied to it."--_Brighton Herald._ + +THE GILDED CLIQUE. + + "Full of incident and instinct with life and action. Altogether this + is a most fascinating book."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ + +THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. + + "The Author keeps the interest of the reader at fever heat, and by a + succession of unexpected turns and incidents, the drama is + ultimately worked out to a very pleasant result. The ability + displayed is unquestionable."--_Sheffield Independent._ + +DOSSIER NO. 113. + + "The plot is worked out with great skill, and from first to last the + reader's interest is never allowed to flag."--_Dumbarton Herald._ + +THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. + +THE SLAVES OF PARIS. Two vols. + + "Sensational, full of interest, cleverly conceived and wrought out + with consummate skill."--_Oxford and Cambridge Journal._ + +THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. Two vols. + +INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. + +THE CATASTROPHE. Two vols. + + + +_Publishing in Monthly Volumes, 1s. each._ + +=UNIFORM WITH GABORIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS.= + +DU BOISGOBEY'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. + +_NOW READY._ + + THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. Two vols. + THE SEVERED HAND. + IN THE SERPENTS' COILS. + +_TO BE FOLLOWED BY_ + +THE THUMB STROKE.--BERTHA'S SECRET.--THE GOLDEN TRESS.--THE MATAPAN +AFFAIR, ETC. + + + +_In Small Post 8vo, ornamental covers, 1s. each; in cloth, 1s. 6d._ + +VIZETELLY'S POPULAR FRENCH NOVELS. + +TRANSLATIONS OF THE BEST EXAMPLES OF RECENT FRENCH FICTION OF AN +UNOBJECTIONABLE CHARACTER. + + "_They are books that may be safely left lying about where the + ladies of the family can pick them up and read them. The interest + they create is happily not of the vicious sort at all._" + SHEFFIELD INDEPENDENT. + +FROMONT THE YOUNGER & RISLER THE ELDER. By A. DAUDET. + + "The series starts well with M. Alphonse Daudet's + masterpiece."--_Athenæum._ + + "A terrible story, powerful after a sledge-hammer fashion in some + parts, and wonderfully tender, touching, and pathetic in + others."--_Illustrated London News._ + +SAMUEL BROHL AND PARTNER. By V. CHERBULIEZ. + + "M. Cherbuliez's novels are read by everybody and offend nobody. + They are excellent studies of character, well constructed, peopled + with interesting men and women, and the style in which they are + written is admirable."--_The Times._ + + "Those who have read this singular story in the original need not be + reminded of that supremely dramatic study of the man who lived two + lives at once, even within himself. The reader's discovery of his + double nature is one of the most cleverly managed of surprises, and + Samuel Brohl's final dissolution of partnership with himself is a + remarkable stroke of almost pathetic comedy."--_The Graphic._ + +THE DRAMA OF THE RUE DE LA PAIX. By A. BELOT. + + "A highly ingenious plot is developed in 'The Drama of the Rue de la + Paix,' in which a decidedly interesting and thrilling narrative is + told with great force and passion, relieved by sprightliness and + tenderness."--_Illustrated London News._ + +MAUGARS JUNIOR. By A. THEURIET. + + "One of the most charming novelettes we have read for a long + time."--_Literary World._ + +WAYWARD DOSIA, & THE GENEROUS DIPLOMATIST. By HENRY GRÉVILLE. + + "As epigrammatic as anything Lord Beaconsfield has ever + written."--_Hampshire Telegraph._ + +A NEW LEASE OF LIFE, & SAVING A DAUGHTER'S DOWRY. By E. ABOUT. + + "'A New Lease of Life' is an absorbing story, the interest of which + is kept up to the very end."--_Dublin Evening Mail._ + + "The story, as a flight of brilliant and eccentric imagination, is + unequalled in its peculiar way."--_The Graphic._ + +COLOMBA, & CARMEN. By P. MÉRIMÉE. + + "The freshness and raciness of 'Colomba' is quite cheering after the + stereotyped three-volume novels with which our circulating libraries + are crammed."--_Halifax Times._ + + "'Carmen' will be welcomed by the lovers of the sprightly and + tuneful opera the heroine of which Minnie Hauk made so popular. It + is a bright and vivacious story."--_Life._ + +A WOMAN'S DIARY, & THE LITTLE COUNTESS. By O. FEUILLET. + + "Is wrought out with masterly skill and affords reading which, + although of a slightly sensational kind, cannot be said to be + hurtful either mentally or morally."--_Dumbarton Herald._ + +BLUE-EYED META HOLDENIS, & A STROKE OF DIPLOMACY. By V. CHERBULIEZ. + + "'Blue-eyed Meta Holdenis' is a delightful tale."--_Civil Service + Gazette._ + + "'A Stroke of Diplomacy' is a bright vivacious story pleasantly + told."--_Hampshire Advertiser._ + +THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS. By A. THEURIET. + + "The rustic personages, the rural scenery and life in the forest + country of Argonne, are painted with the hand of a master. From the + beginning to the close the interest of the story never + flags."--_Life._ + +THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT AND MARIANNE. By GEORGE SAND. + + "George Sand has a great name, and the 'Tower of Percemont' is not + unworthy of it."--_Illustrated London News._ + +THE LOW-BORN LOVER'S REVENGE. By V. CHERBULIEZ. + + "'The Low-born Lover's Revenge' is one of M. Cherbuliez's many + exquisitely written productions. The studies of human nature under + various influences, especially in the cases of the unhappy heroine + and her low-born lover, are wonderfully effective."--_Illustrated + London News._ + +THE NOTARY'S NOSE, AND OTHER AMUSING STORIES. By E. ABOUT. + + "Crisp and bright, full of movement and interest."--_Brighton + Herald._ + +DOCTOR CLAUDE; OR, LOVE RENDERED DESPERATE. By H. MALOT. Two vols. + + "We have to appeal to our very first flight of novelists to find + anything so artistic in English romance as these books."--_Dublin + Evening Mail._ + +THE THREE RED KNIGHTS; OR, THE BROTHERS' VENGEANCE. By P. FÉVAL. + + "The one thing that strikes us in these stories is the marvellous + dramatic skill of the writers."--_Sheffield Independent._ + + + +_In large 8vo, with Picture Cover in Colours, from a Design by R. C. +WOODVILLE, price 1s._ + +GORDON AND THE MAHDI. + +An Illustrated Narrative of the Soudan War + +_TO THE FALL OF KHARTOUM AND THE DEATH OF GENERAL GORDON._ + +=Illustrated with 100 Engravings by the Artists of the "Illustrated +London News."= + + + +MR. HENRY VIZETELLY'S POPULAR BOOKS ON WINE. + + "Mr. Vizetelly discourses brightly and discriminatingly on crus and + bouquets and the different European vineyards, most of which he has + evidently visited."--_The Times._ + + "Mr. Henry Vizetelly's books about different wines have an + importance and a value far greater than will be assigned + them by those who look merely at the price at which they are + published."--_Sunday Times._ + + +_Price 1s. 6d. ornamental cover; or 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding._ + +FACTS ABOUT PORT AND MADEIRA, + +GLEANED DURING A TOUR IN THE AUTUMN OF 1877. + +BY HENRY VIZETELLY. + +WINE JUROR FOR GREAT BRITAIN AT THE VIENNA AND PARIS EXHIBITIONS OF 1873 +AND 1878. + +With 100 Illustrations from Original Sketches and Photographs. + + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR. + +_Price 1s. 6d. ornamental cover; or 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding._ + +FACTS ABOUT CHAMPAGNE AND OTHER SPARKLING WINES, + +COLLECTED DURING NUMEROUS VISITS TO THE CHAMPAGNE AND OTHER VITICULTURAL +DISTRICTS OF FRANCE AND THE PRINCIPAL REMAINING WINE-PRODUCING COUNTRIES +OF EUROPE. + +=Illustrated with 112 Engravings from Sketches and Photographs.= + + +_Price 1s. ornamental cover; or 1s. 6d. cloth gilt._ + +FACTS ABOUT SHERRY, + +GLEANED IN THE VINEYARDS AND BODEGAS OF THE JEREZ, & OTHER DISTRICTS. + +=Illustrated with numerous Engravings from Original Sketches.= + + +_Price 1s. in ornamental cover; or 1s. 6d. cloth gilt._ + +THE WINES OF THE WORLD. + +CHARACTERIZED AND CLASSED. + + +_VIZETELLY & CO., 42, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND._ + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: + +Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. + +In the Table of Contents, Chapter VIII "Light Lover" was printed as +"Light Loves"; this has been changed to match the chapter title as +printed on page 89. + +Variations in hyphenation and spelling have been preserved. + +Punctuation has been standardised, and typographical errors have been +silently corrected. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Threatening Eye, by Edward Frederick Knight + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40278 *** |